Truth be told, yesterday was one of those days where I think it might have been altogether better to just stay in bed and opt out. But my sense of obligation propelled me forward. Despite be feeling physically horrid, my mind was racing because hi, have you met me? It’s what MY mind does. I valiantly make it in to work and am in the throes of being productive when I get a phone call from the company mail room informing me that I have a “box”. Oh okay… OHHH… It’s the IVF meds. Okay. According to AG’s description last year… it’s about the size of a duane reade’s shopping bag. So I should be cool to take it home on the train and it’ll be okay. But the mailroom guy is asking me if I wanted to come take a look at it. Sure. Why not. I got to the mail room and there was a box… the size of the kind of box you’d store your Christmas tree in at the end of the season. T’was HUGE. I was stopped dead in my tracks. Because…. WTF?? It wasn’t terribly heavy, but it was cumbersome so I had homeboy wheel it back to my area and he sat it on the floor and I just… stared at it. Hadn’t opened it yet but read and re-read the words “PERISHABLE” “REFRIGERATE UPON ARRIVAL” over and over on the box. Placed a quick call to the med company that sent them to make sure that they’re on ice packs in there so they won’t melt or degrade or whatever it is that these meds do. What to I know of meds??? I don’t take aspirin. As a kid, when I had a tummy ache, mommy boiled some clove tea for me, hung a bulb of garlic around my neck and put one or two in my socks and sent me to bed. I woke up ALWAYS feeling better (smelling pretty rank – but FEELING better). So what do I know of hormones and stimulants and all this kind of stuff??? I could run my own black market with all the prescriptions of morphine and vicodin they’ve prescribed for me in the past that I just didn’t fill because – WHY? If the pain is not mind numbing, why pump myself full of chemicals just to “ignore it” It’s not going to “heal” the pain — just make me oblivious to it. I’ll pass. Save my system for something substantial should it be needed.

Maybe this is it.

I sent a frantic BBM to Aisha with a picture of the box and she talked me off my ledge a little. I admitted that it’s hard for me to not have the first thought out of my head be “why me?” “Why me and how come there are so many people who can do this baby thing EFFORTLESSLY and completely take it for granted – but me who desperately wants a family has to jump through flaming hoops at the mere CHANCE of having one?” It felt very unfair. I updated my FB status to state how I wished that somewhere in the countless dimensions and realities out there that there is a Victoria who is spoiled and over privileged; who never has to “hunker down” or “grit her teeth” or “fight the good fight”. She just gets anything she wants when she wants it and how she wants it. Very much the Paris Hilton of her reality. Knowing she’s out there would give me a sense of balance. Because I’ll do all of this… Pay thousands of dollars… inject myself with more hormones than have EVER been in my body… Go under the knife again

ONLY FOR THE CHANCE — Not even a guarantee that it’ll work. Maybe even an opportunity for my heart to be broken again because it doesn’t take…

But it’s the risk I have to be willing to take and the fear I have to overcome if I’m ever to know if I was supposed to be a mom on this planet.

Please pray for me.

*

Greene Light Photography - Hayden Greene

So the latest in Victoria fashion is that I seem to cry alot at baby stories. I watched a few shows of that nature last night with the hubby and ended up bawling every time a baby made it into the world. Used to be something that was so far fetched for me… the idea of giving birth. But it’s become more and more real as of late that the possibility of doing it all makes me feel… empathetic to what the women on the screen are experiencing. More and more though, I know I’d like to have a midwife and a home birth. I use the “home” part loosely. I’d like to have a natural birth in a peaceful setting with minimal pharmaceutical intervention – not necessarily in my apartment living room. If we manage to have a HOUSE by that time, then yes. I’d love to have that.

I watched this documentary put together by Ricki Lake called The Business of Being Born that I was flipping by casually one day cause there was nothing on tv. And it just so happened to be while I was on my 6 week medical leave. I walked away from that documentary knowing a few things for sure 1) Women have an innate knowledge of what the birth process should be like… even if we don’t experience it all the time 2) Women (mostly american ones) have NO IDEA what birth really looks like because all we see on TV are women laid out with their feet in the air screaming for an epidural. It does NOT have to be that way AND? that’s more of that culture of fear. 3) There are always choices but we have to be knowledgeable. We research more for the car we’re going to buy, or the laptop we want than we do for our birth options. In 2005, c-sections were 1 out of every 3 births in America. C-sections are MAJOR Surgery and are SUPPOSED to only be used in dire emergencies. But… I don’t know ONE WOMAN (and I know a LOT) who has recently given birth vaginally. NOT. ONE. I remember noticing this trend back in 2000 and it peaked my interest then. But then it just snow balled. So I’ve always had my antennae up about it.

But I believe and feel more and more now, the reality of having this little life will be my image on the screen one day (edited, of course) LOL And that makes me all teary eyed and happy.

Can’t wait!

*

There was some kind of a crisis outside of a friends building – there was a rally of police cars, fire trucks… something was going down and I happened to be there at my friends house for a get together. When everything died down, we went back upstairs to the apartment party where everyone was sitting around wherever they needed to – living room, kitchen, bedrooms… whatever. I chose to sit on the corner of her bed along with a group of people who sat around the room, on the floor, in chairs and what not watching tv and chatting. I was on the bed playing with my friends baby daughter and ultimately ended up changing her right there (odd – I know). The vibe of the party was this uuber conscious “granola” crowd – a lot of blacks who were fully aware of their “roots” – traced their ancestry back to the countries in Africa, cut off their processed hair and wore clothing weaved of hemp (it’s extreme, but you see them at all the Erykah Badu concerts – drum that up in your mind). And I guess – it’s now not too far of a stretch of the imagination that I was one of them.

So I’m changing this sweet baby girl – not out of anything that would overload the room – but I think I was changing her clothes. And I hear a relatively deep voice from behind me on the bed say softly, “S’ak Passe, cherie m’wen?” (which in creole means – what’s happening my sweet?). So I turn around and laid across the other side of the bed propped up on one arm is this very attractive, very familiar looking man. Light skinned. Tall. Head full of brown curlies, clean shaven, hazel eyes, wicked smile and SWAG… just oozing out of him. I feel like I’ve seen him before… on TV. But in the dream I’m pretty sure he’s a bball player. I respond to him shyly “N’ap kembe.. piti piti.” (which is the equivalent of “hanging in there”). He’s chatting with me for a little while but the whole time he’s talking to me… I could FEEL that he’d locked in on me. I was the subject of his interest and the rest of the world disappeared. He was completely enthralled with me and it felt… amazing. Even through a dream — to have someone think so much of me that I deserved their full attention. Our conversation began to have to wind down because I believe I had to go. In the dream it seems I’m very much still someone else’s girl. “When can I see you again… or talk to you again…?” he asked – being very respectful of my personal space but somehow yet still getting close enough to let me feel his interest. I shrugged and said… I’m not sure…. I smiled shyly again and he ran his hand down the length of my arms and when he got to my hands he looked at them and said… “you have such small hands – they’re beautiful”… And I was about to protest… because the entire monde entiere KNOWS i hate my hands (and feet) because of how very big they are – inherited from my 6′ 5″ father… But I looked at my hand in the expanse of his… BBALL Player… and yeah. They were small in comparison. I glanced at my bberry and announced that I had to go. I reached up to hug him and left. By the time I got in the car I was chatting with some other girlfriends and I heard a BBM message come through. And it was him. I read the screen clearly (which is nearly impossible in a dream… but I managed to read AND remember his name) “Corey Cleophat: Thank you for giving me the chance to meet you. You’re amazing and beautiful and I can’t wait to chat with you again” And I swooned, because i didn’t give him my BBM name so he had to have tried to figure it out or ask someone, but the chase was beginning… he wasn’t going to let me go that quickly.

Then woke up.

So this is a very different kind of swooning in comparison to the swooning I had with my chocolate doctor dream. That dream was creepy moreso because I knew and felt it in my being that I belonged with that doctor man. He was THE PERFECT one… And beyond all sensations I really knew that we were beyond kindred or star crossed… just … destined. With this guy… it was just… so good to be pursued and genuinely wanted. And I’ve been wondering lately – when does that go away? The desire to still be found attractive and worthy of chase. I would think that after marriage beyond it being unnecessary – It can be misconstrued as displeasure or discontent in the current decision. I’m not displeased or discontent in my marriage — however, I wonder if anyone else in the world finds me attractive at all because at this point in life it feels like just the hubby. And that SHOULD be enough. I just wonder how powerful those little bands I put on in the morning are. Like a cloak of invisibility to the opposite sex. They can’t even SEE me to comment on me. It feels a little like disappearing.

But it was good to feel like a genuine article of desire even though it was all in my mind.

*

I started today’s post with the intention of documenting this CRAZY dream I had last night. The longer I’m awake though – the less of it I remember – but it was along the lines of this. I was supposed to drive somewhere. But I really was in NO condition to drive. I was either DUMB tired or really drunk. I obviously fell asleep at some point but had the wherewithall to pull the car over to sleep. It took me a second to regain focus in the dream upon waking up but when I did, the light inside the car was on and the dashboard was on but the lights outside my car were off. I tried to start the engine and got nothing. I must’ve drained the battery – but how long could I have been asleep. I finally tried looking around to see where I was and it look like the more suburban parts of Queens — over by Springfield Gardens / Rosedale and the like. But I wasn’t familiar with the particular block I was on. While looking around, I saw that I left my passenger side door open all night. At this point it was dawn so I could see a little better and there were all sorts of suburban bugs just … lined up on my car door. I realize now that my younger brother is in the car with me, but he’s a cross between David and my cousin-in-law, Sammy. So he’s actually YOUNG – like sitting in a booster seat style young. He helps me beat the bugs off the door and I pull the door shut – of course, even in my dream, casting a watchful eye over the door in case we missed any. Now… I think to myself… about this battery… I’d turned off everything in the hopes of allowing the battery some time to relax and “recharge” and I put the key in the ignition and it revved. Awesome – let’s get the eff outta here. I was about to put my car in drive when this motorcycle / smartcar thing rolls up next to my driverside and their passenger gets out slamming her door into mine and denting it. She emerged from the car – white woman, older, about 45 or so. trying to be in shape but there are some pockets that aren’t getting attention and decidedly Goth. She has piercings in her eyebrow, nose and lip. I open my door and shout “are you serious???” and she shoves my car door closed and tells me to deal with it. So in my mind I say, I’m about to. I get out of the car and catch up to her as she’s quickly walking to her house and shove her on the ground. She lands on her lawn and starts to whine, “why’d you push me???” And I told her, “Cause I don’t fux with disrespectful bitches.” She looked like she was gonna stay down (so much for the people in her ride having her back) – so I walked back over to my car and got in. Put the ignition key in and…… Nothing. At that point, I began the waking up process, in real life.

Today’s going to be a tough one. We’re all descending upon 4111 Elbertson St. perhaps for the last time. Get the last few things out now while we can and hopefully get Dominic out before the legal proceedings begin again. 40 years we’d been in that apartment building. A solid 30 in that particular apartment. It’s a lot of history. And every time Earl mentions “throwing”_______”away” I think about all the history _______ had. History I’d forgotten. But it has to be let go. My parent’s couldn’t take it with them. They both had NO plan to speak of regarding what was to be done with their worldly possessions. So… No need for me to add to my children’s burden. When mommy was alive, I used to beg with her to PLEASE not let me have to go through her papers AND Grandma’s papers… she couldn’t bring herself to go through her mother’s papers. 5 years had passed and still nothing. Today is it – go through the dregs of grandma, mommy and daddy’s final “remains” decide what stays and what goes and discard the rest. Never to return to it again. Never see the inside of the place where I grew up again. Although the memories are bittersweet, I hang on to the really good times tighter than I do the traumatic, bad times. I guess now? I can never go home. Not to THAT one. And it’s time for me to forge forward and make a new one – for myself and my progeny. One that they’ll potentially be able to pass down. Not rent or borrow from anyone else. Now there’s a dream

Wish me luck

*

Everytime I find the meaning of Life, they change it
- Unknown

Luckily for us, Humans are designed to change. It’s through change that we grow and evolve and become better (and sometimes worse). But to expect that we’ll always stay the same is a fallacy. Even the most stubborn, non-changinist person in the world is changing every day (and I am calling ONE person into my mind that I know…) and how does he change? By becoming more stubborn and more entrenched in his old ways than ever. That’s still change though.

Last year about this time… I had received a bunch of baby shower invites that I summarily ignored. Just having lost the first love of my life (mommy) and not knowing what the hell was going on in my body made me bitter and angry. I couldn’t find any enjoyment in other people’s successes and happiness. And although it’s not Christian to be that way… it IS human. And it felt like these announcements were coming out of the wood work. EVERYONE was having a baby. EVERYONE except for me. And I’d forgotten the lessons I’d learned in the past. There was a time when EVERYONE was getting married. EVERYONE except for me… but I’m married today. You’d think that would give me comfort. But it didn’t.

Around this time last year a dear chapter Soror of ours passed away. Soror Delores. And I’d sworn off of going to funerals because I felt I’d had my fill of them for a life time. But Soror Delores deserved me being there to pay my respects to her. So I trudged out there in the snow to partake in her Ivy Beyond the Wall. But her service was so packed with people.. there was NO parking ANYWHERE. And circling around in Queens is never an easy task. By the time I found parking and jimmied my way into it past the ice and snow and made it to the funeral home, I’d missed the IBTW. But Sorors were still there, chatting and milling about.

One Soror came up to me. My dear Soror Alex (for whom my love and respect grows daily!) walked up to me and came right out and asked what some folks may have not wanted to. “I sent you an invite to Georgie’s baby shower and you haven’t responded – that’s not like you – what’s going on?” I had a choice. I could lie and say I didn’t get it. Or that I’m much too busy to attend. But before I could make a real decision about what I WOULD say… the truth came spilling out to her uncensored. “I can’t,” I exhaled….”I just can’t take it, Alex. EVERYONE is pregnant but me. I don’t know what to do and I’m not sure how I can continue along celebrating for everyone else and never for the making of MY family. It’s destroying me inside and I can’t even muster up enough real joy to put a smile on my face for everyone…” I caught myself right then. Oh LORD… did I just SAY all of that??? That’s the stuff of inner dialogue if anything!!! I thought she may have been like… “Oh… I see,” not knowing what to make of it… and maybe walked away. I forget sometimes that she’s a trained psychologist… and a GREAT one – one who actually cares. She sat me down and asked me what I’ve done to try to find out what’s going on — have I been to doctors etc? And at that point, all I’d really gotten were run arounds. Doctors who would diagnose then disappear or who would recommend watchful waiting. But I was feeling worse and worse. She listened attentively and then said she’d heard of a doctor that was in Brooklyn who was really good. She told me a few stories of Sorors she knew who had gone to this Doctor and now not only had they been pregnant but some were waiting on their next child. I suppressed the over excitement in my heart and said “let’s see before we get our hopes up”. She jotted down the name of the Doctor and phone number and the name of one of the success story Sorors and her number. She said, “Just try… you have nothing to lose. And feel free to call me if you need to talk.”

It’s no mystery that the number she gave me was Dr. Kofinas’ number. And we’re all mostly familiar with how this is turning out.

I bumped into her LS Georgie at chapter meeting yesterday who told me how excited she was to hear my status updates about the Post Op appointments and began giving praises to God. And looking at this lovely woman – the same one whose baby shower I’d hidden from going to, more inner dialogue creeped out, but i didn’t mind it. I said… “Last year at this time, I’d given up, Georgie…” and she quickly responded, “Oh… I’d NEVER given up hope for you!” And her assurance filled me with emotion. It was all I could do not to cry. Happy tears though…

One year can make so much of a difference. I’m a completely different person now than I ever was then and I’m so happy for it. I have renewed hopes and dreams that I thought were dashed to the ground because I had a lapse in faith – which is human. But THANK GOD for change and the ability to rise up from those hiccups and fear.

And thank you Alex and Georgie from the bottom of my heart. I’m not sure there will ever be a way for me to truly express how your presence in my life has made such an amazing difference. But PLEASE know that it has!!

*

So… I’m kind of on the outskirts of all of this getting random reports every now and again about the latest. Here’s what I know in short:

There was a *makes fingers do the quotations move* “Car Crash” involving Tiger Woods a week ago where he hit a tree head on, air bags didn’t deploy and there didn’t seem to be any damage to his door. In a valiant attempt to *quotes move, again* “save him”, his wife Elin busted both back windows *cue up Jazmine Sullivan quietly in the background* to his Cadillac Escalade (quick RCA dog head tilt here on why a billionaire is driving an Escalade…) to *quotes move a third time* “pull him to safety” then a day or two later it starts to come out that there were “transgressions” with someone who he left a voicemail for asking her for things she’d have to do for him Huge. Quickly. Bye. Because his wife had been going through his phone (right before the “crash”?) A day later there was another name… cause the first girl we heard about had a J – Jenna or Joanna or something… now there was this Uchitel chick and today a third… a Kalika someone (who I SWORE would be a sistah with a name like that – and maybe would have actually made this whole thing jucier – but Tiger gets points for being consistent with his Jungle Fever or… um… Cablinasian Fever… because Kalika was just another skinny white girl – but brunette this time). And over all of this fuckery he laid the sauce of “I’m only human, stop pestering me and my family – by the way my wife is so gracious and wonderful, stop accusing her of being violent and barbaric – but wait – NOT gracious and wonderful enough for me to try and keep my 9 iron in the bag” right along the top with a flourish.

In. A. Nutshell.

What’s my take?

This was a public service reminder to all and everyone who is in a committed relationship or married to go through their phones and delete questionable shit. And questionable means just that. If it can be construed a million ways. Or if your mama read it and you think she’d raise an eyebrow… If it’s a photo you have to turn on an angle and preface with “wait… you gotta know the story behind it…” DE? Lete. And then make a little resolution to try not to anymore with the creating of new messages like that, mmmkay? Especially if you KNOW someone’s going to be looking at your phone when you aren’t.

Do I think he’s wrong? Sure. I also think that society has inflated our expectations of what we should and should not be doing. But that’s a blog for another time… or maybe – I wrote it last blog, actually LOL. I think I might have been able to forgive him on one… but three? I mean… damn, Tiger… How many women are you “wearing out?” Fer shizzle.

*

Hi, FB Fam…. we need to talk.

Without getting too technical… we need some space…
But here’s the technical of it, because I know you just said “Why???”

I’ve been journaling since I was about 10 years old. Writing poems. Putting down my personal thoughts. Writing out the going ons of my life since then has always been a freeing experience. Literally. It frees up space in my head for new thoughts to form or for old torturous thoughts to be expelled. It got harder to journal growing older because having all the thoughts in one place, in one notebook… and god forbid I left it somewhere when something amazing would happen. I might forget to write it down at all. LOL

Along came blogging.

I logged my first blog in 2000 via Blogger.com (i’ve since moved to WordPress) which was all the rage back then. And the freedom to blog from any computer at anytime… even from my phone… was intoxicating! I sometimes would blog 3 and 4 times a day. Just to put my thoughts down. I became a “Blogger”. Telling the universe my thoughts and recounting the wild tales of my then youth. I had followers for my blog of similar places in their lives and we exchanged commentary on our crazy stories. Then something crazy happened. I started to grow up. I got engaged. I got married. I lost my parents. I started planning a family. And through all of that, the expectations of what I “should” write, changed.

I found myself censoring and rewriting and blog editing and finding the process of blogging LESS cathartic than it had always been. I was editing out because of who was looking. So I started blogging less. And folks started following less and that was fine too because I wasn’t saying anything amazing or profound or even interesting.

Then came Facebook and it’s “Notes” functionality which I used primarily to post my crazy FB questionnaires “21 Truths” “Fill in the Answer” type quizzes and what not. And I discovered a functionality to pull my blog into the Notes section through RSS. (technical) But basically when I post to my regular blog at thoughtsdaughter, a mirror of it will appear in my Facebook Notes. I thought, this might be a way to start blogging again and more regularly. Killing 2 birds with one stone – writing in my life journal and keeping my friends updated on FB.

Although it’s had a great effect of reaching people I’d not spoken to in ages and brought them up to speed in life and garnered an amazing amount of support from people during my rough spots and trial times, there were the subtle murmurs from folks who felt I was “living too publicly” or wishing I’d choose my subjects “more carefully” or generally censor myself. MORE.

The fact of the matter is, despite what any preconceived notions of me are that are or might be floating around – I’m human. I’m my very own kind of human. I have really bad days where I don’t WANT to be positive. I have arguments with my husband and there are days I wish I was single. I have long stretches of time where I feel getting married was the very best thing I could have done in my life and the man I chose was exactly right. I have days where I feel that none of my dreams can come true and days where I’m invincible. I curse profoundly. I watch risque programming and find things very interesting (funny, mostly) and like to comment on it. I’m very much a Lady in the street and will be an excellent role model for my children one day. But sometimes I write about things that might color that Lady in a very Pleasantville kind of way. And that’s okay. I have to allow myself to be myself and be okay with who I am. And NOT censor. Or over edit. Or tailor the story of my life to the likings of others. I am no saint. And my marriage / relationship with Earl is no bastion of black love outside of the fact that we’ll always fight to stay together – not because we never have a hiccup or a problem and live in some flawless bubble.

I won’t take the RSS feed off of FB. That’s too harsh. However, I have created a category called TooHotforFB (*chuckle*) that will NOT be posted on the RSS. You’ll only be able to read it from my web page. But I think it’s a good compromise. A compromise for me to remain in touch with you. And better yet… to remain in touch with myself.

So, we’re not breaking up FB… We’re just giving each other the space we need to make sure we can stay together You have the option of reading me uncensored at my blog… or stay and read here, as I’m not in the business of disillusionment. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss – who am I to shake that up?

*

For giving me light. For giving me strength. For giving me hope and teaching me lessons. For guiding my hand and assuring my step. For loving me tough when that needed to happen. For inspiring my heart and enlightening my mind. For showing beauty where I though it was lacking. For soothing me with peace and animating me with joy. For standing by quietly and giving me backing. Forgiving me. For holding me close or walking away. Even the hurts have helped me to grow. This life I live; this intenseness I feel; the skip in my step; the glow in my smile….

I feel because every day you allow me to be me and love me deeply… ANYWAY!!!

I feel AMAZING today and increasingly everyday! I’m super happy and excited this morning… I couldn’t even stay asleep. My mommy visited me in a dream last night. She let me know that it’s alright to let go… but I can ALWAYS come and visit to reminisce in a good way… and that’s what I’ll do. Best birthday gift she could have given. My heart feels light and the world is flawless in my eyes today. It’s my BIRTHDAY… and y’all who know… know I LOVE this day. And I celebrate it fiercely whether I have just 5 people or 500 (I’m opting for the latter this year so stay tuned for the details) But I ALWAYS have felt extra special about the day I was born. How else would I be subject to such WONDERS??? This world… despite it’s obvious horrors and disappointments is full of amazing miracles… tangible and unseen. I’m deeply humbled and honored to be a part of it every day that I am.

So the song I woke up in my head is playing the soundtrack to everything I do today and it’s an ode to everyone in my life!! So turn up the volume and get your Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers on!!! (Facebook friends – click on the link to come to my blog and dance with the rest of us)

“… But she treats you like Glass
Yet you beg her to love you…
But me, you don’t ask.”
– Gladys Knight and the Pips

Jealousy is a disease...

So this morning’s song(s) are courtesy of my co-worker / sister Drenna. Her FB status updated and firmly planted this song in my head. And her comment on her own status after posting similar lyrics was “I just sang that song HARD in my pillow like I was Gladys,” and I felt her. I remember hearing and singing that song and having it touch me in a special place.

In all honesty, I think most women have probably shared a view from this same vista. Watching someone that you could love with all your might and make him as happy as you know he could be but he pines away for someone who isn’t worth his time and effort. And you sit there at times from afar (or maybe not so far) trying to gently convince him w/o breaking boundaries that maybe… maybe being with HER isn’t such a great idea for his life. Gently. And it can spin off in a million directions from there. He could completely ignore you. He could take you up on that suggestion and start dating someone else. He could decide to stay with her AND somehow be with you. All roads, with your rose colored glasses of what your particular future with him could be like, lead to fuckery. But it’s so impossible to see situations as they should be when you’re the one afflicted with “love” or “infatuation” as it were. You just know you could do better for him – appreciate him the way he “deserves” to be. There have been a MILLION songs written to express the same sentiments shared by women looking on as they “spend the rest of their lives knowing that someone else is married to their husband” (copyright When Harry Met Sally). A more recent version of the same sentiment was expressed over heavy beats and staccato piano by Mary J. Blige and Li’l Kim in “I Can Love You”. In the 90′s there wasn’t a girls head that wasn’t bopping to this jam. So I included it in the playlist.

Truth be told, I’ve been in that situation more times that I care to count. To say that my marriage sprouted from such a situation would be an exaggeration. Yes, he was in love with some silly girl who had NO idea what she had in her possession. But at the time that I found Earl romantically — HE had already made the decision that he could do better. I mean… it was after learning that she’d slept with… well… everyone. And when Earl is done? He’s effin’ DONE. So I didn’t have to compete with her in that regard. I did, however, have to fight her off a few times as she (of course) came to the realization of what Earl could have been to her later and she tried to *ahem* reclaim what was hers. Y’all that know me? Knows that was NEVER. HAPPENING. But the essential is that the lynch pin in the decision is HIM feeling like he can be loved better by someone else. Till that happens? You’ll just be in the corner pining and wasting your precious lifetime when you can find someone else who can belong all to you and appreciate all this love you have to give.

I’ve also been on the flip side… where some girl convinced my then man that she could do better for him – and he believed her enough to see her behind my back. And upon finding out, I’ll let him be with her instead, cause I didn’t want to have anything to do with that anymore. Well… those relationships never lasted long… but I ALWAYS found myself in at least one situation where he was there with his new girl… and she was giving me the side eye like I wanted anything more to do with them. And the last song on my list would have been PERFECT as a soundtrack.

It’s always better to put that lamenting energy in to finding someone just for you instead of making yourself crazy for someone who could give a shit.

(friends reading this off of my facebook feed who can’t see the playlist, click on “View Original Post” before the comment box to go to my blog and listen to the songs )

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I dreamt that my hubby and I were getting married… but it was our first time getting married. NOTHING like our actual wedding. There were far less people involved and I want to say that I was pregnant in the dream, but not apparently to the world… just he and I knew. And we were both overwhelmed with happiness and excitement. So all of this seems pretty normal — except that I didn’t normally dream about the man laying next to me… cause you know… he’s right there, and why dream if i can just turn over and tahdaaah? But lately, when I close my eyes… there he is. Wooing me and loving me even in my dream world. So when I do wake up and roll over, I’m just doting on him. And he doesn’t mind that one bit. In my dream world he’s a much more verbally expressive person. Everyone who knows my husband knows that he does use few words unless you know him extremely well. He lets his actions speak for him mostly and he is true to both. But the dream hubby version of him has mastered the art of self expression and does it regularly. What I love most, though, is that my dreams are a manifestation of my reality.

The man I married is evolving right before my eyes and it’s a wonder to witness.

Who says a man can’t change? You certainly can’t FORCE him to… but when he’s ready? Look out!

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