Monday, June 28, 2010

Secret Places

I recognize that my memory fails me a lot.  I'm not sure that it's true what "they" say about remembering what you want to remember. I'm always forgetting something and wishing like hell that I hadn't.  I come up with psychotic little mind tricks to help me sharpen my skills, but I phuck around and forget those too!  When it comes to misplacing items, I'm a genius at it.  I should Google Guinness see if someone holds the title for misplacing the most shyt.  If not, I'm fixin' to make history, be a pioneer of sorts.

Though I pride myself on being early or on time, but never late to anything, those rare occasions happen.  It's mostly when I'm rushing to do something not previously planned.  I'll grab and stash something in my purse and jet out.  If I'm really on top of my game, I'll add a little reminder to my calendar, which serves as my mental personal assistant.  But, if I forget, I'm screwed.  I hate when it's too late and I'm reminded of what I was supposed to do or say.

During an extremely stressful time at work, I had been putting in numerous hours at home working on this godawful project.  I'd be up into the wee hours.  When I felt myself dozing, I began toggling between working and computer flirting, ha!  Unfortunately when the mid-night's bright lights and TV woke me, I would find myself scrambling to save some documents on my USB flash-drive.  If the night ended like such, the next was sure to begin like one of the aforementioned rare occasions - equipped with a quick morning bird bath and the dashing and stashing of shyt in a mad hurry.  I remember one particular night when I was rather successful reviewing some documents.  They were saved on my flash-drive and taken to work...or so I thought.  I searched all over the freaking place and I just couldn't find it.  My entire professional well-being was at stake (only in my eyes though, because I didn't want to duplicate the work I'd spent hours doing).  I never found it, but I gave myself time to calm the hell down and look for it when I got back home.

I could barely get in the damn house before I started to tear it apart looking for my USB drive.  No haps.  It was gone and I was devastated - was also disappointed in myself for being negligent.  Refusing to beat it into the ground, I gave up and in to realize I'd be doing the work allll over again.  Fine.  Lesson learned.  And with that, I made dinner for the kids.  Put them to their respective rooms.  Came up to my room and sat on the edge of my bed.  Exhausted.  I kicked off my shoes, lifted my dress and went to brush my teeth in the bathroom. 

'Cause I'm a tad vain at times.  I turned around a bit and gave it a once over and internal thumbs up. You see, there are tons of advantages to being a woman.  In particular, our physiques are phenomenal.  They have the abilities to "bring a man to their knees" or provide nourishment to our babies and many more cliches (no matter  how overused they may be). So I was siced to see some progress in my weight loss efforts.  After my "you go girl" session, I momentarily plopped on my bed, then sat up to continue undressing.  I stood and unfastened my bra, and heard a distinct and unrecognizable thump.  I looked around for a sec, then straight down. goddamn USB drive was right there.  Turns out I'd placed it in my bra for safe keeping.  Lawd I was relieved.  Literally, it never left my side.  I picked it up and gently placed it in my purse.  I finished my bedtime rituals and slept like a baby, with visions of USBs dancing in my head.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Don't Call it a Comeback

(Parental and Christian Advisory)

It's been 2 years and 12 days since I stepped out on faith, claiming my independence and entering single life. It's been a journey, but I feel like I've "made it." My life is so peaceful and full and I have a happiness that I never imagined would stem from the dissolution of my marriage. Shit's good. My anger has subsided and my tears have all but dried. There are those moments when I'm forced down memory lane, like uh the other day.

Imagine you're sitting back watching your favorite talk show and BAM (one of) your ex's mistresses is on your screen...front and phucking center. Yeah, that was me, gagging. I was actually breathless. My fingers went from being numb, to pressing pause, and to pressing keys to text my closest girlfriends. This bitch was on TV talking about family and shit and I'm thinking "Family? Phuck family. You wanna know about family? Family phucked my husband. That's right, Faith phucked my husband!" (Okay, that didn't really apply. I tend to pop in and out of character. That was Vanessa L. Williams' line in Soul Food.) I mean I did feel some kinda way listening to her monkey ass talking about the preservation of her family, while she help to dismantle mine. And don't you dare get it twisted. I know my ex is to blame for letting his snake slither in foreign yards. The shit just pissed me off.

Anyway, I eyed the clock and for a few minutes, I sobbed on the phone to my girl. It was hard and loud and brief. Don't call it a comeback, those feelings. I showered (for my date) and kept it moving. When I got to his house, we talked about a lot of things, one of which, was my talk show debacle. We sat still, because no words could really be spoken. I'm just glad I was able to have that moment of silence, which was quickly filled with giggles. Despite the rocky start, the rest of my evening was smooth sailing. I've got some great lifeboats, but I run my ship. Aye aye Captain!