I enjoy what I do in thi atmosphere in which I do it. I like design in the air of music. That’s the #1 reason I was at Emmis for so long. It excites me to feel the new nusic and be amongst the minds that create it. Then, to take that feeling and translate it into visual art. I definitely love being “needed” again. Sitting across from my former boss upon their first opportunity to give us (the interactve dept) a raise and title change, he explained that we would diverge the three sites between the two of us and this would maximize on our individual strengths. So he gestured to Jeff and said “So, that means, Jeff you’ll head up design and Victoria, you… (insert stumbling here)… Well (gesturing back at Jeff) Jeff, you’ll handle design and you two can work out the rest.”. It was really that moment that made me see that they couldn’t put a finger on what value I brought to them as an individual. Maybe they had become creatures of habit too… They were just used to having me around that they never questionned it. And in the process, I stopped growing. Just kind of stuck in that wheel with no real promise of breaking the mold. Unless I left. Which is what I ultimately had to do. Someone said to me – after a while at a company, you’ll never make what you think your worth. You have to leave in order to do that. May not be a formula for everyone, but it was true in my case and I’m glad I still had the courage to leap. It was REALLY scary and I didn’t know what would become of the 9 years I gave in loyal service. But the transition has been almost instantaneous. I haven’t accidentally gotten on the 1 train and taken it to Houston. I don’t sit at my desk and pine away for anything but the comraderie I shared with the team. I do admit that I’ve answered the phone once saying “Emmis Digital”. But luckily it was someone internal who was forgiving.

I’m really really happy – with my feet on the ground and knowing that this is a honeymoon phase and there’s plenty work ahead. But somehow, realizing that makes it even sweeter.

*

What I’ve realized of late is that I don’t just hold my breath at times. I hold my life. For the same basic reason. In anticipation. It’s a bad thing to do, I know, but it’s almost involuntary. Since May 12th, I have consistently held my life… as I introduced my body to all sorts of new things: Mitochondrial Energy Support pills, Co-Enzyme Q10, DHA, Folic Acid, Birth Control, Lupron, Lovenox, Progesterone in Oil, Progesterone Suppositories, Medrol, Estradiol, Gonal-F, Colace, Human Chorionic Gonadotrophin, Amoxycillin, Metronidazole, Ofloaxin, Terconazole, Phenazopyradine. *takes a breath*

Just to name a few.

Some pills. Some shots. Some salves. All more than this little girl takes in “medication” any given day. I rarely take aspirin for a headache (it’s got to be a REALLY REALLY bad headache). And the more meds I took… and the more I held my life in stasis… waiting to see what would happen next. All the side effects they told me would happen: moodiness, hot flashes, soreness, constipation, diarrhea, nausea, numbness, weight loss, weight gain, bloating, dehydradtion… you name it… I was suppose to feel it. So I held my life… held my breath and waited… because all of that was in anticipation of maybe becoming pregnant at the end of the cycle. So… smaller things in life took a back seat where they could – AKA in large part took a hit. Larger things became more magnified and took precedence and went under scrutiny… work, home life.

And here I am – on the other side of it all. Childless still – but with hope of trying several times again. In a new job that needs me and compensates accordingly. And refocusing on the things I put on hold. Detoxing for a little while and only keeping up with my vitamins and the diet on which I dropped 15 lbs… and finally

*exhaling*

*

As I slept, I dreamt about an island in the night. A small island, covered in palm and plants and the camera of my mind circled over the island. There was activity in the center the land… firelight… drums… an ancestral ritual and dance. Getting in closer, we find those natives dancing about the fire in ceremonial dress chanting and pounding the earth with their feet causing a unified noise through out the island. And the closer I got the more intense it became until one of the natives let out a blood curdling cry that announced the event’s commencement. I suddenly found myself in the center of this event in a bamboo contraption that perched me so that i was 4 feed off the ground, but it had no SEAT per se. My belly was HUGE with child and I had on a white linen garment with shells and beads – although dusty from the moving terra and dancers. In front of me…. my mother on my left side. my grand mother at my right. my right foot planted on my grandmothers left shoulder and she held me tight by my knee and my left leg on my mother’s right shoulder while she did the same. They both moved towards me which placed me in a squat position and told me to push. And although I was scared to push, their presence assured me that I didn’t have anything to fear. I pushed… but didn’t give it my all. I didn’t really feel anything. The drums beat louder and my heart was pounding in tandem. “POUSSER!!” my mother implored (which means push in french) and I felt her grip on my knee tighten and her move closer and this time i PUSHED and something came out… a red bloody mass attached to me with a long bloody cord… not like what I’ve seen on the stories or in books… My mother took the main mass (which normally would have been a baby) and carried it away which only gave my grandmother mere seconds to cut the bloody cord, which she did swiftly. No sooner did she cut the cord than was my mouth FILLED with blood… Cheeks puffed out trying to hold all the blood that was suddenly in my mouth. Not spitting it out because I sense that it was important to keep it there until the proper vessel was presented, I wanted to ask my grandmother who was still there – “where is my baby?” and she looked at me almost sympathetically, but didn’t respond. I looked at the bloody trail that was left behind by my mother carting away the bloody mass but couldn’t see any trace of my mother. I started to break down. The blood leaked out of my mouth onto my white, dusted garment and I fell to the floor where more blood began to pour out of me from all orifices. And the dancing became more intense with the chanting and the final scream of my grandmother with white shaman face makeup…..

And i woke up.

I’m shaken because my GRANDMOTHER normally comes to give me good news….

I have NO idea what this is supposed to mean…….

*

The ride home – surprisingly similar thus far. AC in the car works – not to freeze me, but to soothe me down from the heat of elevated voices all day. Not crowded – if u stand, it’s by choice…. And I chose to stand (of course). Not cramped or crowded – got my position by the door (just in case I gotta run – (C) the Fugees) – just waiting for the conductor to call “Utica Ave”. So I can stumble home to my awaiting mini paradise

*

Look, I’m not your friend. I’m your Mother.

I am the only Mother you will ever have.

My job is very different from, and way beyond, the job of being your friend.

Also, this is not a democracy.

I didn’t campaign for you to elect me. You certainly didn’t vote for me.

But, God did choose me for this job.

If you could realize how much I love you, (I hope that deep down you know I do)

Then it would be easier for you to take my discipline because it is an extension of my love.

I, as your parent, have a tremendous responsibility.

I am the one who God trusted to introduce you to this world.

It is my job to guide you to the road that will take you to a good life.

You may question my intelligence, my logic, or even my sanity, but you cannot question my intent.

This is not an easy job! (One that you won’t truly understand until you have kids of your own!)

The one thing I want you to get from all this is… I love you so much that I am willing to sacrifice your love for me in order to put you on the right road.

If you still love me, that’s wonderful.

But that’s not as important as the fact that I love you!

Baby Making

Seems to be the first thing folks ask me about these days so it’ll be the first thing I get out of the way. It seems that we are on-ramping for cycle 1 of the IVF treatments. They (the fertility clinic) currently has me taking 2 different types of heavy duty antibiotics to clear my system out from any harmful crap that might delay od derail the baby making; a horrid iron pill that repeats on me throughout the day with the most unpleasantness but is necessary because I’m anemic and my hemoglobin is way low; and finally birth control. Right – because they want my ovaries to rest. Remember when they taught us how birth control worked and what it’s purpose was ORIGINALLY? It prevented pregnancy because it tricked your body into believing that it already released an egg… Therefore, you didn’t actually release one. In the next few weeks they are going to pump me full of untold amounts of chemicals to get my ovaries to OVER produce eggs so they can extract a bunch of good ones for fertilization. So, the ovaries are being given a little 2 week vacay before that. So this cocktail of chems is swirling about my system, disturbing my natural systems – sleepless nights, no appetite , exhaustion and making me particularly moody. Those of you who know me know I barely take an aspirin for a headache. So this all is a touch unusual. All for the greater good I hope.

Earl and I were struck with an untoldl amt of giddy euphoria after the Dr.’s appointment last Saturday. He, because he read the beginning of us taking the meds and scheduling future appointments as the beginning of us making my family. Me, because when the Dr. looked at my ovaries on the sonogram he said “they look good”. A year ago when Dr. K looked at the same ovaries, he said “you’re a lucky woman that your right ovary is still functioning. Because the left on is almost completely destroyed.”. What a difference a year makes. He promised me he’d reconstruct my ovaries and do “plastic surgery” on my uterus. He’s definitely kept both promises. So we go for the apt to begin the Lupron (which I haven’t figured out what that does in the grand scheme of IVF yet – i know what it was for when I was researching options to shrink my fibroids) in 2 full weeks from today. I am speaking and breathing positivity and possibility into my dreams despite my overwhelming desire to be “realistic” (read: brace for the worst).

Work and the Pursuit of Progress

Work. Yep. Necessary evil. I regularly wish that in my next life I’ll emerge independently wealthy. A few bright lights have gone on in the long tunnel of recession. There are rumblings of our company going private (again). But it may actually happen this time. The company has begun matching our 401K contributions again and – oh yeah – I got a promotion . I am now a Director in the digital space over all three properties and they gave me a pinch more money. It’s not enough for me to be like – ooh, let’s buy a house, but it replenishes a touch of what’s been taken from us over the years. So I guess good things. I’m still looking to expand and improve the Victoria brand, so more me-controlled progress soon to come.

Sorority Life (not the fb game)

I’m the Secretary of my chapter now – it means big things – I’ve moved up in the ranks and I think I feel myself becoming a better leader. On a regional level, there are some things afoot, but I’m not entirely sure I can announce them yet. I am going to Boule this year – first time since Florida (as a registered participant) and also, I’ll be a delegate! That served the dual purpose of being a responsible team player in the chapter as well as a cost cutting measure *smile*. I’m in a good place with my sorority… I’m having fun, I feel like I’m making a difference and I enjoy my many interactions with my sisters.

Well, that’s a good hefty update. More regular ones to come

*

*

http://www.nj.com/hudson/index.ssf/2010/04/3_charged_in_murder_of_jersey.html

At the time that I’m posting this… it’s the most recent and updated story about the killings and the captures.

My heart breaks every time I think about Michael and Nia. Even though I did not know them personally… I know people who knew them. I know people who were at the engagement party the night that they were murdered. I feel their pain. And I feel the NATURAL HUMAN EMPATHY. How can you think of the story and not??? 25 and 27. Just starting out their lives. Deciding they wanted to spend that life together. Meet with all their closest friends to celebrate that event. Just to be offed by some MINDLESS FUCKING KIDS.

*taking a deep breath*

That same human empathy leads me to think of those kids. I finally saw their pictures today. Something about looking in the face of a criminal accused of doing something heinous… I need to see if there is any connection between their countenance and their thought process. I’m usually let down. I looked into the faces of these kids… because… they’re kids. 19 years old. When I was 19… I was just getting settled into year 2 of college. Deciding my major. Actively pursuing pleding AKA. Beginning a brand new love relationship that looked promising. THE FURTHEST THING from my mind? Was stealing / killing / carjacking. But then I had parents at home who had migrated here away from their homeland… just to TRY to give me a better chance. And I had to do something with that. Even if it was only up to a point (and that point was my Bachelor’s… after that, I told Mom & Dad that I would do my own thing). I had to do something positive with that…. make that… MEAN something to them… if not me.

So I thought about the support system for those kids. When Darmelia’s mom gave birth to her… when she named her and looked into her face… did she wish greatness upon her? “I hold in my arms the next great Speaker of the House…” or “I’ve just given birth to a future President of the Unites States.” Hell… was her mom even AROUND??? Or was she too busy chasing behind her youth that Darmelia and her brother might have robbed of her to actually RAISE her? I’d have to say no as her brother Ronald “Diddy” Lawrence was also in the family business of taking lives as he did for 2 people in February in Jersey City. I did a search for Latonia Bellamy on Facebook… just to see. But my co-worker told me something about how as soon as your arrested it seems that they take down all your social networking pages. Doubtful? Because I can’t see the government working that fast to do ANYTHING sometimes. A Latonia Bellamy did come up. But it wasn’t one of the assailants. It was a woman my age… who’s Wall was replete with status messages of upliftment and encouragement for the next person. Under her description where folks would normally put their little life’s mission statement, she proudly exclaims that she is all about “helping people in the community facing hardships with Rent, Security, furniture, Food, Clothing, Employment, Resume, Etc.” Maybe the 19-year old Latonia’s alternate reality doppelganger… Who she could have been if steered in the right direction. Maybe? But no. And then there was Shiquan. The boy in the crew. Shares the same last name as Latonia… but they’re both 19… so unless their twins… or Irish twins… maybe different families. They don’t seem to live in the same place according to the reports so I have to imagine they got to know each other the few days they were in school together because they sat one behind the other. I told my coworker that if you put a suit on the boy, gave him a fresh cut and imagined him in an auditorium full of young, eager minds talking about the future and higher education…. IT’S NOT THAT FAR from the imagination. It’s not even far to imagine him having made SOME mistakes in life… maybe having a misdemeanor but wanting to do right… maybe a baby to take care of… and interning somewhere to get his foot in the door to make a better future. Look at his face. Can’t you see that too???

But, no. They’re all just criminals. MURDERERS. THIEVES. The LOWEST of the low.

There HAS to be something said for environment in this. About their upbringing and discipline. The institution of structure where there no longer exists a standard one in society. Parenting isn’t something you can do for a few years and then hope it rides out into the child’s future. My parents were PARENTING ME up until their very last. I was still getting invaluable advice AND structure. (aside… I really? had amazing parents… i am truly blessed and i miss them terribly). It’s also not something that you can slack on for x amount of years and then miraculously show up when the kid is 17 and expect for it to take effect. I’m assuming the worst about their environment. It was the environment of the unreal. Where taking a life is just as significant as it is on the tv shows they watch. It’s easy… look… just pull the trigger. *cut scene* And that stuff they own? They’re too good for that stuff… so take it too. *roll the credits* And if we get caught… “SO. WHAT.” Jail is jail is jail. They’ve likely been in a cell in their minds all their lives. So this is a manifestation of their thoughts. And they’re ready for them.

Look at their picture again. Don’t you SEE the lack of connection between what they’ve done and how they feel?

That’s not Human.

My deepest sympathies go out to the families of Michael Muchioki and Nia Haqq. I have no words to offer that would ever comfort and as far as I am from the situation, I’m hurting deeply.

I hope these people are brought to justice. I hope that maybe one day… perhaps the light of TRUE realization will go off in their minds about what they’ve done… Because it’s probably as surreal to them as it is to the families that have to reconcile the light of bright stars in their lives being mindlessly dimmed.

*

How do you know that what you’ve experienced is real? Versus another dream in your head that is so… “real”istic? I read past memories through this blog and some of the actual memories feel like a distant dream. What makes those real? How do I know for certain I went through them? Unless I have someone who can verify… and then… could it be the stuff of mass delusion? Occasionally I struggle… with this question. I suppose it’s an offshoot of the more common “What is the Meaning of Life” question that folks like to ask. My mission is to discern what is real from what is feigned and the line blurs way more often than I care to imagine. I touch my hunny’s skin and it feel real to me… soft and chocolatey and wonderful. And he reacts to my touch… with a smile or some goosebumps. And in that instant I think he’s real. Not a figment of my imagination. Not a cast member placed here to help play out the whims of my life story. Some one truly real in my life and here. But that fleeting assuredness is chased away by the thought – “one day he won’t be real anymore…” Just like Grandma and mom and dad aren’t anymore. They were a bastion in reality for me. And now all I have is the concept of them. The remembrance of how real they WERE. But are no longer. Then I try to soak up all the “realness” of each moment. So I don’t forget. Collect all my “pretty pictures” so I have them to go with me when all is said and done.

I watched “A Beautiful Mind” last night. I’d seen it before and was always intrigued that someone with something as severe as Paranoid Schizophrenia could overcome it or at least cord it off so he could live somewhat of a normal existence and still benefit from his genius. What I noted last night is that the schitzophrenia had him in such a way that those characters that followed him around were all as real to him as the regular people roaming the earth (according to the movie). He would engage in conversation with them. He could interact with them. Touch them. Feel them. They never actually “went away” he just stopped interacting with them because it would lend to too much of a fantasy world that was not actually a part of our reality. But for all intents and purposes, until someone told him “no – these are not real people – we don’t see them. This is all in your head,” they were a very real and regular part of his life. The mind is Beautiful in its constructs. What it makes you know to be true versus anyone else’s interpretation.

I thought about it a lot last night. And this morning. I thought I’d write it down. Maybe that makes it real.

On another note, I got my hands on the new Erykah Badu album. It’s called “The New Amerykah Part II – Return of the Ankh”. I’ll say honestly that I’d not loved “Worldwide Underground” or “The New Amerykah Part I – 4th World War” with the passion that I loved Baduism, the Live Album or Mama’s Gun (the latter being my absolute FAVORITE Erykah album). But I DO love this new album. It immediately surpassed the last two in my mind to take up position as the 4th Erykah Album that I truly enjoyed. With that, I’ve already identified a song that I can relate to in a very surreal way. Although it’s done in the same three movement style as “Green Eyes” (for which I adored ALL THREE movements), “Out My Mind Just in Time’s” first movement hits me right *here* (pointing to my head and my heart). Music. Sentiment. Emotion and execution all join forces for it to sound like Erykah has watched my past relationships and took a little while to quantify what she read. But finally found the very simplest words to express my addiction. My compulsion. I expressed to MJ yesterday that the main issue with me is that I remember vividly and sometimes still feel in my heart how very deeply I loved… EVERYONE. It’s still incredibly real to me. But as a side effect… I also remember how hurt I felt.

I’m a recovering undercover over-lover
Recovering from a love I can’t get over
Recovering undercover over-lover
And now my common law lover thinks he wants another

And I’d lie for you… I’d cry for you
‘n pop for you and break for you
And hate for you and hate you too
If you want me to… ahhh ooooh
I’d pray for you… Crochet for you
Make it from scratch for you
Leave off the latch for you
Go to the Store for you
Do it some more for you
Do what you want me to
Guess I’m a fool for you

I’m a recovering undercover over-lover
Recovering from a love I can’t get over oooh I
Recovering undercover over-lover
And now my common law lover thinks he wants another

And I’d lie for you… and cry for you
‘n pop for you… break for you
‘n hate for you and I’ll hate you too
If you want me to… I gotta do
My Love for you
Chop and Screw for you
Paint it Red for you
It’s true it’s true
Poor Badu…
Ooooh oooh ooh
Thought I was through with you
Guess I’m a fool for you….

*

Good night.
*