My husband who I am separated from put me on to his mantra of the week about not allowing moments to consume/affect an hour, a day, an overall attitude, etc. I have been thinking about this idea of moments a lot since he posted his thoughts on the matter after reading an email that probably set us back more than he cares to admit.

Moments. I do agree that we should not let life snags, whether they be a parking ticket, a late train, something trivial you would chalk up as a nuisance if you retold the story years later, hold us up.  But here are my deeper thoughts on the matter: what about the good thoughts that we hold on to? Should we shed those and put them in their proper place, minor blips in our day?  Are all moments because of their length and severity (of lack thereof) in the grand scheme of things worthy of tossing aside for only the immense significant life events: births, deaths, promotions, marriage, divorce, disease, etc.

I just spent a weekend with my husband, 3.5 days of good moments, moments that I was so thirsty for while married, moments that I begged him for, moments that he was too preoccupied and calloused to see the importance of. And here we were, all five of us, our family together, sharing all these mini moments of joy, laughter, and love. I returned with my mind whirling, thinking what do these moments mean? Should I add up all the good moments and weigh them next to the not so good moments and decide then? Should I make decisions on the severity of moments: does being able to talk openly, finally, transcend the late night screaming fits about other women? Can these moments erase the other moments? Aren’t our relationship and life decisions based on a combination of moments?

I have yet to decide what to do with moments, good and bad. I do agree that they are just moments and major decisions should not be made on the whim of them individually. But, either way, we are blessed with both for a reason, we get to see people’s growth, character, behavior, patterns, and concern for you by the choices of their moments.  I have learned to appreciate the moments, even if they do not change my life, my decisions, my fear, my heart, my next step, but, for now, I relish in the moments that come, the memories made, the healings that they produce.

Six years ago, I was prepping to get married.  I was running around, handling last minute errands, coordinating with family, managing the personalities of my soon to be in-laws and trying to justify the lack of joy by blaming busyness.

On the morning of my wedding, I got up early, alone, and went to get my hair and make up done, where I was met by my mother in law who sat in an adjacent chair speaking to women in the salon, in her typical scrubs and a shower cap.  She didn’t speak to me for hours nor get any services done, but I could overhear her tell the other women that although the bride might not be late, she would be.  It didn’t matter what she said because all I could remember is what she whispered in my ear at the rehearsal the night before, “I’m scared for you.”

After several hours of her idly sitting at the salon, I asked her to leave. I did not care if she was late, but her presence only took away from what was supposed to be enjoyable.  With a pretty face and lovely curls, I jumped into my car and drove to the church.  I got pulled over as I sped down 295 to DC and told the police officer, “I’m sorry, I’m getting married today.”  He wished me well wishes and sent me on my way.

I got to the church and was met by mother, sister, and godmother who helped me into my dress and assured me that I was beautiful.  I had bought my dress online for 60 dollars and hadn’t even tried it on.  I felt an acceptable level of lovely in it.  I would have preferred my breasts to be better represented, but I kept telling myself, those things are not important.  I tried to explain that to my husband who spent nearly $400 on his outfit and shoes, but again, I kept the focus on the union.

My sister informed me that indeed my soon to be sister in law did in fact wear white, even though my father in law assured me he would handle it, but apparently this Florida girl did not have any other summer dresses than the white one she chose to wore that day.  I shrugged it off even though many of my Brooklyn home girls let me know they could handle it if that’s what I wanted.  I told them it was fine, I had no bridesmaids and she would be sitting along with the other guests.  Lo and behold, she managed to create a reason so she could walk down the aisle during the processional.

Like icky cobwebs, I pushed it aside and kept moving forward.  I walked up the steps from the basement that my husband and I spent many counseling sessions arguing and walked through the door he slammed just a few weeks before when the Pastor advised us that maybe we should wait.  I just kept pushing through.

All in all, it was a lovely ceremony and a sweet luncheon that me and a coworker made on a small budget and a challenging list of demands by my husband. Before the reception was over, my mother in law, my sister in law and my stepson left the festivities to pick up George’s baby mama and to go off on vacation to Fort Lauderdale.  I would have been more offended had I wanted them to stay, but instead, I was grateful that their feigned happiness was exiting the premises.

My new husband and I drove away toward our honeymoon and a few hours after we arrived at the hotel, he fell asleep, claiming food poisoning.  I sat on my phone and called my sister and cried to her and shared that I think I had made a mistake.

Here I am, six years later, after years that included verbal abuse, physical abuse, a miscarriage, a custody battle, an eviction, countless bouts of unemployment, anger, hurt, sadness, isolation, depression, trauma, I do not look at tomorrow with regret nor with longing to celebrate a seventh year, but I reflect on how I can be fairer to my heart and to my desires.  I know that I need to stop at the red flags and not push on the gas.  I know that when people are mean to you and show you little respect it is a reflection of their character and titles and roles do not change that.  I do not know if I will be a Mrs. again, but on the eve of my anniversary, I thank God and I thank my husband for lessons, for my children, and ultimately for doing the best he could.

 

 

In one week, it will be nine months since I left my husband and moved back to New York City, my hometown, to rebuild my life with my two children.  Since I have been home, I have scooped ice cream at an ice cream shop, I have aligned and verified numbers on audit reports and I have handed out VIP bags at a women’s event.  I have applied to over 100 jobs, have had three interviews and have been offered no jobs.  In this time, I have been told that efforts were made to mend the damage done to my marriage, but have found that a girlfriend and (from what I know) three extraneous women later, reconciliation is unlikely.  Additionally, I have been approached by men from the past, noting my brilliance, but only seeking physical fulfillment, which at this point, is so far from my radar, I look at them not only with disdain and rejection, but with an overall bewilderment as to why they even have attempted to engage me in any manner.

I have all of these plans for my future.  As I hone in on what I want my life to be, reflect, and call on my authentic self that has long been silenced and manipulated, I find myself stuck.  With cement shoes, I stand here, waiting, for something to propel me forward.  I am a good Christian woman who believes that all is a part of God’s plan. I believe that I must remain faithful.  I believe that the right thing will come in the right time.  I believe that in this time of feeling stuck, I am to learn some lessons.  I believe all of these things; however, I WANT TO SCREAM.  Every day, at some point, I want to scream.

The only movement I feel is the stagnation pushing me forward to insanity.  In nine months, babies come and join the world.  In nine months, you can grow 4.5 inches of hair (fun fact).  In nine months, a lot can happen, but for me, my nine months has brought me to the same place, nine months later.

Now before people feel the need to give me perspective.  I know that there is a lot that has happened in nine months. I am now in a healthy and safe place. I know that my kids are thriving and happy.  I know that I have researched and gotten my children great childcare and schooling.  These are not things to take lightly.  The fact that I am even here is amazing, as it took six years for me to even have these nine months to speak of, but I am ready for a shift. I am ready for life to move. I am ready to work. I am ready to be in my own place. I am ready to not be stagnant. I AM READY!

Ive charmed my way through a lot of my life
and made excuses because of societal strife
And now I stand with questions abound
for the direction most have, for me has been lost and not found
Theyve always said it’s okay not to know
then why in my angst, I feel abandoned to eat crow
depsite the desire and talent within me
I lack the confidence that others claim they do see
So I stumble through life, with the risks being greater
and although I have fans, there is still one huge hater
the hater is me, im my own hindrance and blockade
for I sit here, discouraged, for the life I have not made.

To uphold truth is what I desire
but I feel like a fraud and out on the wire
Life is too short and I still have time
mixed mantras apply pressure as I hit my prime
At one point do I chalk it all up and realize im done
that ive squandered my existence and in this game I have not won
Is it when the casket is closed or at a reunion of peers
is it in how many smiles or how many tears
I wish it was more mathematical and there was a procedure to compute
So as I figured it out I didnt feel entirely moot.

There’s no happy ending to this rant I write
these feelings are real and I do not intend to be trite
but when success is measured in dollars and sense
bad credit and poor choices make me feel tense
love and kids and memories are great
but for whatever reason it doesnt change my state
I long for the void to be understood and filled
and the frustration within me to pause and be stilled.

Youre my anticipation, soon to be my celebration
with adoration and affirmation with a combination of conversation, penetration and ejaculation
And a transformation of tribulations to sensations of salvation

The temptation of separation left us with a revelation that we are part of a predestination that requires not only observation, but dedication to the elevation of illumination

The indication began with an intimation or inclination of a hesitation about other formations and the gravitation left us with fascination.
So with elation, there was a dedication that for the duration there’d be no more excommunication
with little expectation, but lots of exploration, the two began the facilitation of many years of generations

The explanation is a fine maceration of a foundation with no imitation or instigation, but rather a sophistication and proliferation of a great love that transcends the nation.

You push the boundaries

See how far you can go, how much I can endure

Like those stupid forwards, shuffled around in online-land

What’s on the next floor?

the next, and then even more, the next?

Let’s make a deal

Dressed up in costume, pretending, performing

Do you want to trade in the prize for curtain number 2?

Do you want to trade in the prize?

But what’s under the giant box?

With splendor I glisten, guaranteed, luring

The ultimate battle:

Should I? or shouldn’t I?

The grass ain’t always greener,

That’s what they say

But keep pushing

The limits, the odds, the do-overs

The grass ain’t always greener…

I am the winning ticket

I am the prize

The queen of rare extraordinary

With flashes of spark that sends Bling to his knees

Begging me…please

Because I am the prize

I am the winning ticket

And when you reach the top floor,

Pull away all the curtains

With all things uncovered,

You’re left a donkey, an Ass

No prize to win, a loss, a fall

Silly Rabbit, you risked it all

Because I am the prize

And your time has expired

Go home, empty handed,

Take your shit, you’re fired.

Ugh. First, let me say that even writing this is hard for me because who I am going to write about does not even deserve the 400 words or so he is about to get.  But, I feel very strongly about this and feel very saddened by our world.  Ray J.  Ray J is such a sorry excuse of a man and an artist.  A few weeks ago, he came out with his song, “I Hit It First,” a track about his relationship with Kim Kardashian.  They dated for about three years about a decade ago.  They were both fairly insignificant.  Ray J was a B-List actor, riding on the coat tails of his sister, Brandy, who has a lot of talent, but is only known, now, for killing someone with her car and once having a career.  Kim Kardashian was not known, but ran in fancy circles because she dressed Brandy.  Wack and wack got together and although it was not confirmed, it has been suggested that the two of them made a sex tape and chose to release it to increase notoriety and launch more viable careers.  Well, for Kim, it worked! She and her round buttocks became famous.  Their sex tape came out during the sex-tape phase and people all over the world downloaded it to see this thick white girl (Armenian, if you want to get specific) and black dude do the nasty. With that, Kim and her family acted completely disgusted while signing contracts for reality shows and other opportunities that arose post-sex tape.

Okay, let’s fast-forward to now.  Kim Kardashian has been married two times and is now pregnant by Kanye West, Chicago rapper.  Ray J, on the other hand, has had a handful of catchy songs, a reality show with his family, and a known sexual relationship with the late Whitney Houston.  To me, they are  both non-factors, products of a tragic society that glorifies bullshit as opposed to real talent, intellect, hard work, and positive contributions to our world.  I could care less about Kim Kardashian’s weight, see-through dress, relationship with rappers, ball-players, husbands or whereabouts.  I could care less about whatever skank Ray J has decided to most recently contaminate with his spread too thin penis.  I think it speaks volumes that our society has made a woman famous, rich, and popular who started off picking out clothes and exploiting herself sucking dick.  I hate that my daughter is growing up in a world where the wrong things are praised and too many people just have it wrong.

Back to my point of this mini rant which in about 100 more words just may turn into a straight rant. Ray J is silly, young and a poor excuse of an entertainer and human being.  In order for him to get his record to sell or for people to care was for him to write a song about how he slept with Kim first and then make a music video where the video chick resembles her.  He is so tacky.  First off, Ray J, you, darling, did NOT hit that first.  You may have hit that before Kanye, but who cares, you and many others I’m sure.  I also think it ridiculous and sad that his fame has to be linked to him sexing some chick TEN years ago! Get a life, Ray J.  Like I told a friend, I may have been more interested had you told me about your time with the legendary Whitney Houston.  I impress upon my readers as I vow to do the same, stop talking, Googling, giving any attention to the nonsense that Ray J and any other idiots have to say.  They’re not worth the Internet time and the gratification.

*drops the keyboard and walks away