My kingdom for the delight of peppermint bark…

…and a crush on a boy.  I think it’s so funny that I am crushless.  I like desire.  I like not wanting anybody else, so that when I think about him, I’ll touch myself (I loved that song to the point of embarrassment).  And yet…yeah.  The singleness is normal to me.  I’m mostly unaffected by it.  But being without a crush?  *Melodramatic back of hand to the forehead maneuver* I simply can’t bear it.

Okay, I can.  But I don’t like it.  Where are the dashing out of reach brothers?  I find myself mired in a whole lot of pomposity, assholery, and generalized douche baggery.  What does one do with that?

Where the brothers with easy smiles, kindly dispositions and pocket squares at?  (My “in my mind” dude, in addition to being in the depths of South America hunting El Chupacabra, wears pocket squares.)  What about a brother with a last name as a first name?  Is that too much to ask?  Jackson Washington, where art thou?  Your decision to hide yourself is giving me stress acne. not even microdermabrasion has helped.

But I was just kidding.  For a crush, I really can’t offer up my kingdom. Maybe we can settle on a stolen kiss, eh?

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Seeking peace, seeking purpose

I have been in such a mental cluster lately.  I’m not out of it.  Not by a long shot.  I’m pretty sure that some of my issues stem from my recent birthday.  Others come from my autumn blues, in part related to the 15th anniversary of my mother’s passing.  Still others relate to the fact that I have VAST life improvements to make.  I’m setting a goal list, and for now, I’m taking baby steps.  Though I know where I want to be next SUMMER, I want to see if bite sized chunky goals will help me.  Rather than saying, “In June I want to be [miscellaneous],” I’m giving “At the end of this month, I want to have accomplished this step in furtherance of my goal.”

I feel like someone is playing jacks with my life, and they’re only on threesies. I’m having that time of life where I look up and think, “What in the seven shits am I doing here?”  Not here as in my locale, here as in this space, this station.  This past week, I’ve had two heart to hearts with good friends, and we talked about getting what we DESIRE out of life.  Not just what we need.

This morning, I was speaking to my cousin about our motivations, and I divulged that I have lost the desire to prove.  I don’t feel the need to prove that I am a great writer, a loving mother, a beautiful soul, or even the baddest bitch.  I simply am those things, and the pissing contest that is often the mistaken as the manifestation of these qualities is lost on me.  No one can remove what you know to be so.  It is very important to be modest, but I find it equally important to believe that you can move mountains.  When you are rightly motivated, you WILL move mountains.

What is the “right” motivation?  I would not be so presumptuous as to believe that I have all the answers, but here is the right answer for me.  I want my success to be a conduit to the happiness of others.  I want people to look at me, and be inspired by the fact that a regular girl from around the way accomplished this.  I don’t have the desire to be shinin’ so I can make them sick.  I want them to see me shine, search themselves, and produce their own light.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
– Marianne Williamson

Just as an aside

And somehow, they love me...

My birthday was Tuesday.  I am now 33.  I think that has been a bit of a distraction.  This year, I partied a big, but I spent a lot of time in reflection, trying to figure out how to right the shit that’s gone left, and how to steady the things that are going as they should.  I have no answers right about now.  I do know that I need to lose a trillion pounds.  But I also know that I wore the most smokin pair of shoes I’ve ever owned.

Yes, I hurt one of my toes. Woo Woo Woo.

Sexy right?  Damn skippy.  Shoe game handled.  Now I have to get on my food journal game.

I’ve been trying to get down to the heart of the matter

I’ve been tryin’ to get down to the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem to scatter
But I think it’s about forgiveness
Forgiveness
Even if, even if you don’t love me anymore
– Don Henley

If you’ve been missing me, it’s because instead of being here, I’ve been here.  I’m trying to broaden my writing endeavors, and in the coming months, I hope to have some juicy tidbits over at Naked Admonition. It’s a partner blog with A.C.T. of Blaxplanation, to ultimately serve as a communication bridge between men and women.

Let’s talk a bit about letting go.  That is some of the hardest shit to do in the world.  I recently came to the realization that, though I’m pretty good at keeping my life going in the midst of adversity, loss or heartbreak, actually letting go is not my strong point.  I can cry about things that happened years ago for no other reason than the fact that I’m having a bad day.

Recently, on one of those bad days, I began thinking of a person in my past that hurt me, somewhat out of the blue.  This hurt has never quite fit in the scar category, because a scar is a badge representing your ability to heal.  I was fully prepared, at the outset of this post, to detail why I was so hurt by him and so destroyed by him, and there was a barrage of “how could/dare hes.” Yeah.  No.  Because it is SO water under the bridge and irrelevant.

The tricky thing is that I love him still.  Not in the “in love” way.  I can get past hurt feelings; a broken heart is a horse of another color.  But that being said, logically, I should hate him, and that’s something that just isn’t in me to do.  And so I have accepted the fact that I will always love him.  I will always want the best for him.  I have also accepted that if I want to have any progress in my emotional life, I have to let those emotions be. I’ll send nothing but positive vibes his way, but the past is just that.  I owe myself that much.

As the great negro poet Shawn Carter says, “I wish for you a hundred years of success, but it’s my time.”