Precipice

Some people are born with the keys to the kingdom.  Their lives are replete with wheels and cogs that move with laser-like precision.  They’re always in the right place at the right time, and seem to blow up for little more than the uncomplicated act of being. This isn’t to diminish their work or effort, because quite often, these people are loaded with drive, talent or an unstoppable combination of both.  I marvel at them.

I know nothing about that life.  While in the midst of a conversation with a dear friend, she shared with me that such a life is foreign to her as well.  Just as there are those who seem to be charmed.  There are others who exist in a world where they perpetually grind it out, dragon chasing as it were.  This is the life that I know, as does my friend.  I’d be dishonest if I were to say there weren’t some breaks along the way, but they often come with a weighty back story.  It’s not that they aren’t appreciated, because they are.  I give thanks for my blessings every day.  But the accompanying struggle can still wear at the spirit.

It is said that when your will is at its weakest, and you feel that you can’t go another step, your breakthrough is right around the corner.  I’ve lived that.  I know what it’s like to put my kids to bed, lock the bathroom door and cry because I don’t know what the next move might be, only to receive the thing that I need to push me a little further.  Sometimes the “thing” is tangible, other times spiritual or existential; it’s always welcome.  For years I’ve been fueled by the adrenaline of promise.  The high of what will be is what launches a thousand beautiful beginnings: spiritual, secular, and yes romantic.

As my friend so eloquently put it, “I’m just tired of being on the edge of good things.” I see a soul just as weary as I, a true kindred spirit.  She speaks of cracking under the weight of the struggle, yet I see her as being stronger than she even imagines.  I see a person who, despite whatever may be going on around her, pulls determination out of her butt and creates magic.  But everybody has their point where they need an extra push, and that is today’s reality.  The struggle makes for good stories, but there is an urgent need for results.

Every morning, I quote my favorite line from the Chili Peppers’ “Scar Tissue,”  “I’ll make it to the moon if I have to crawl.”  It reminds me that I’m not there yet, and speaks solely to my determination to get there.  I wear my battle scars like badges, and I don’t mind putting in the grunt work.  I’m not an ingrate.  I simply want my patch of earth and sky to make my mark.  There’s a hunger that promise can’t satiate.  After looming over the chasm of the almost and the unknown, I crave my destiny.  I’m jumping.

God, I’ve built my wings.  Please bless me with the wind to soar.

Amen.

Luminosity

I’m parturient with possibility.  Investing in my family, my friends, my work and my dreams has proven to be infinitely rewarding.  I don’t have enough hours in the day, and I wake up and go to bed with a full plate, and I’m loving it.  My book is on the right track, and I’ll be working on my proposal SOON.  My eyes just watered a little when I typed that.  All this time I feel as though I’ve been grinding it out for nothing, and my book proposal now seems like a tangible thing.

Last week I had a heart to heart talk with my sister about the things that were holding me back, and I expected her to be completely ambivalent.  She gave me the greatest gift ever:  Understanding.  She knew exactly what I meant, and was on her own path in pursuing her passion.  For a person who so often feels misunderstood, that was monumental.

Passively waiting is no longer an option.  Action.

Let’s NOT talk about sex

Because…well, just because.  (But since I’m apparently a secret hornball, there at least needed to be a reference to it.)

What do you want?  When you wake up each morning and go about your business of carving out the latest installment of your life, what do you want to look back and see?  Are your actions proof of a genuine interest in the furtherance of your goals and dreams?

I often find myself saying I want x or y, yet when I look back at my actions of the day, I’ve only done b or c.  Where they do that at? Admittedly, I have done better with my finances – not great, but BETTER.  I still have more than half of the money that I allowed myself for this pay period. Score one for the cute, chubby dynamo.  Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my battle of the bulge.  I’m STILL not speaking to pie.  But the stray brownie or cookie still finds it’s way to my soup coolers.  Granted, it doesn’t happen as often, but it does happen more than it should, so I’m planning to get that in control.

In my opinion, it boils down to being armed with at least a sketched out plan to achieve your goal.  I am a woman lacking a plan.  Even a skeletal one. I am a woman lacking w workable realistic plan.  Even a skeletal one.  (Yeah.  That’s better.)

My writing has been less focused as of late as well.  Though I am happy that through it all, I have continued writing, there still is a certain polish that is necessary.  My goal is to buckle down and go back to school, so that I can hone my craft just a little more.

There are a lot of things that I want – and plan – to address via this blog.  Additionally, if my padnah ever gets off his bootay, we’ll get Naked Admonition up and running again.  I may have to NOT wait on The Dialectic, and just get it in myself.  Yes.  I am shaming him into action.  (J/K.  He’s a good guy with a lot on his shoulders.  Unfortunately for him, I’m a part time ball buster, so…yeah…)

Love ya Smoochies!

“This ain’t no time where the usual is suitable” (c) Blackstar

Finding my purpose has become a serious focus of mine.  Of course, I see the answer being in my writing.  Which is hard right now, because I find myself caught up in writer’s block.  I’ve been writing through it, and found myself with a bunch of unusable stuff.  However, I don’t believe in throwing away ideas, because there have been times where I’ve extracted ideas from less than perfect stories, and they enhanced the story.

I realized, however, that I was a woman who lacked hobbies.  I read, I write, I spin (we’ll get to that delicious torture momentarily), but I don’t have a tangible, calm my nerves hobby.  So, just for fun, I’m going to try my hand at making my own jewelry.  I also want to build a couple of book shelves.  I definitely need something to keep me out of trouble this summer.

Weight loss via spinning.  My weight has been never-ending battle for the past ten years.  So in effort to really take things up a notch, I’ve gone to the hard core activity known as spinning.  I think I’m gonna need a medic.  Doing this makes me remember how much I LOVE wearing myself out.  My thighs are sore, my calves are sore.  it’s absolutely intense.  When i leave the class, I feel like I’ve gone 5 rounds with Tyson.  One of my biggest shortcomings is that I don’t take care of myself.  It feels good to step outside of that norm.

I have several post ideas, however, I also have a few writing projects coming down the pike as well, so as soon as I figure out what will go where, I’ll keep you posted.

Love ya madly!

Postcards from the Amethyst Rockstar

Yeah, I’m digging the name.  is it disturbing that I’m completely comfortable with this multiple personality thing I’ve got going on?  Eh well.

Anywhoo, Buenos Sabado lambs!!!  Guess what?  it’s November 1.  You know what that means?  You are now at the beginning of the most kick ass month EVER – the month of my birth!  I’m 21 days from the b-day throwdown, and 23 days from turning flirty-two.  I can’t tell you how smokin I look in my outfit for my party.  Truth be told, I would give MYSELF some.

So, today marks the beginning of the highly anticipated NaNoWriMo, and I will be participating this year. To stay on target, I must write 1,666 words per day (to attain 50,000 by November 30). I have written, uh, zero. Fear not loves, tonight, I’m not going to bed until I write 2,000. That’s right. I’m an overacheiver when I want to be.  For those of you not interested in novel writing, today also marks the start ofNaBloPoMo. I’m attempting to participate in both, using the blog as a warm up exercise, however, if you see chunks of time where I have not posted, I’m probably getting my novel on. Or out somewhere breaking hearts. ;-P

just b

I thought I told you that we don’t stop…

Wouldn’t this be an awesome birthday present to myself? I’m going for the gusto! Wish me luck!

No rest for the weary

One would think that they way I wear myself out during the week, I wouldn’t have midnight blogging sessions, and yet, I do.  Last night when i went to bed, I purposely did not knock out until I was on the verge of a coma.  The kids and I had a “camp-in” where we pretty much ate and joked and watched wrestling until we passed out.  After my blogging session, I noticed Finge was tossing and turning a lot.  I thought maybe he was awake, and so I asked him what he was doing.  “I’m saving you mama.”  My kid dreams about being a hero, lol.  That’s pretty cool.

It’s so gorgeous outside today, I’m going to rush through my errands and then bring them to the park.  They can run themselves crazy while I write.  I desperately need a laptop so that I can write anywhere.  Yes, i plan to be one of those people that set up camp in various public places as they work on their “next big thing.”  Until then, I’ll have to get a couple of good writing tablets.  For those who are interested, Borders has notebooks of the sort for fairly low price.  Purple ones.  (Author’s Note: Purple anything is always a way to get on my good side.  Also note that I have a b-day coming up in a month, so…yeah.)

My writing has been SO much more intense these days.  Even if the story that I wrote doesn’t win the grand prize, it is definitely among my best.  So, if you ever read something about an author to watch…yeah…that’s me.

Off to Target lambs.

just b

Jitters

I stood in line, chattering with my friend, my stomach nervously fluttering for what I was about to do.

When it was my turn, I barely squeaked out, “I’d like a money order for $20.00 please.”

I returned to my desk, and filled out the money order, as well as the certified mail receipt.  My hand trembled the entire time.  I wanted to make sure that I’d written everything down perfectly.  I did.  I sealed the envelope, and along with it, the path to my destiny.

I have officially entered my first writing contest.

Of course, I can’t say that I will win, but in my heart, this contest is mine.  Even if I don’t win (a possibility that I consider, but only dismissively), this is my step to putting myself out there in the view of all and sundry.  In a way, it’s not even about the win.  It’s about the guts to go for what I want and make it known that I want it.

Before I knew I was pretty, before I knew I would be a mother, before I knew that I would eventually be motherless, before I knew pretty much anything about myself – I knew I would be a writer.  It’s my activity for all occasions – be they happy, sad, or anything in between.  If I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep, I write until I do.  There have been times that I have dozed off writing or typing.

I know it probably doesn’t seem like a big thing to some, but for me, it’s a monumental step.  I’m very excited about this guys.

Recap

I didn’t get to bed until after midnight.  I was up at 6.  I was here around 8ish.  I did not take a lunch break.  I peed for the first time at 3:48.  I had one cup of disgusting coffee, and I was tempted to throw it on someone.  Sadly, no one in particular.  This week has been hellacious.

Selling Out…or Getting Them to Buy In?

“No one on the corner…”

Allow me to be the first to say that I believe hip-hop took a decisive turn when the man of many names, who I will simply refer to as Sean Combs, entered the stage. I cringed at his “don’t worry if I write rhymes, I write checks” stance, because I saw it as a frontal assault on my earliest passion: hip-hop. Every time he would do that little hoppity-hop dance, a little part of me would die inside. I believe it was the RZA who said something to the effect of, “Son is alright for what he’s doing. It’s just that what he’s doing is not hip-hop.” I hated him for years. How dare he engage in this mockery?

When I saw the “Puffy is Poison” video, like the other 70,000+ people that saw it, I was entertained.  But then I began to think:  “If I do believe that this life is for the strong and the rich, he has made himself both a strong presence damn near everywhere and rich, can I really knock this dude?”  Well, sure I can in the literal sense of the word.  But, Chris Rock said you can kick an old man down a flight of stairs – but that doesn’t mean it should be done.  So I decided to relax my “Diddy” rule, and observe what he does.  In addition to watching the occasional “I Want to Make a Band With Diddy At Work” episode, I perused his youtube posts and listening to the occasional ignored song.

The video above – I was horrified when I watched it.  A friend sent it to me to lift my spirits.  I thought, “I’m going through some shit, and this dude is sending me Diddy!”  And then I watched him pour the Froot Loops and all was forgiven.  It was then that I realized that he was not quite the ass-clown I thought him to be.  No, I don’t think he became a better rapper.  No, I don’t think that his cologne is no longer overpriced.  No, I don’t think that sunglasses indoors is suddenly cool.  But he has a bead on giving the people what they want; and for some reason, they want him.  He doesn’t have to do it well.  He simply has to do it the way he does it.

Now, I’m sure that some of what he does is for effect, but I simply attribute it to him putting on his “work face.”  We all do silly shit.  I was pop locking (poorly) while I was getting everyone ready to head out the door this morning.  You think that if I could get rich off someone watching me engage in my shenanigans, I’d say “Nah bruh, I’m straight.”  Shiiiiiiid.  Organic chicken breasts don’t drop below $3.99/lb and they for damn sure don’t pay for themselves.

This isn’t a love letter Mr. Combs.  I’m not saying I’m going to buy his next album.  But I respects the hustle, so, player to pimp, you do the damn thing Whatever Your Name Is This Month.