The Homecoming Crumble

I asked Bells yesterday if she had ordered any new dresses for our college homecoming. She said that she hadn't because she wouldn't feel comfortable in a dress. She hasn't been going to the gym as much, and she is not 100% on her body right now. I was surprised to hear this because Sheena has a great physique, and she eats right. I think that she is simply experiencing what I call "The Homecoming Crumble". That is when you are about to go to homecoming and then all of a sudden you are too ugly and too fat to exist, forget about ordering an outfit for the day party. Other girlfriends have confided in me about this, but I have not heard any men mention having any anxieties around their appearance before homecoming. 

"You never hear a guy say that he isn't going to come to the tailgate because he put on ten pounds and won't look good from the back in his cargo shorts," I pointed out to Bells. 

"That's because they either are not talking about it or not talking about it or just not talking about it," she replied. Man, if my college brothers are suffering from The Homecoming Crumble, I wish they would talk about it. Then all us girls wouldn't feel like we were losing our minds!

I do feel that I have gone into my Hillary Clinton era early when it comes to my appearance. I love my college family, but they will be lucky to catch me with earrings on. No big money was spent on new clothes. I will be wearing my hair the same boring way I have worn it for ages. I am excited to see everyone, but the desire to do myself up just isn't there. I am finding that when you begin to give up hope on ever finding a man, you no longer waste time thinking about if you have on the proper bra or if your shoes match your handbag. That may be a post for another time.

Crumble or no crumble, I plan to enjoy myself at homecoming amongst the sexy ladies that decided to give a d*mn. Maybe I will be able to grudge up a pair of new underwear for my 20-year reunion. 

Forget Me Not

Do you all know who Michael Irvin is? You probably do. I didn't until I saw the recent documentary on the Dallas Cowboys on Netflix. He's a pretty famous football player from the 90s. He has been doing interviews about his wife, who was diagnosed with Early-Onset Alzheimer's. The disease originally went unchecked because everyone assumed she was suffering from memory loss due to menopause. Yes, memory loss due to menopause, which is a real thing, as if women don't have enough to worry about. He has discussed caregiving for her, which I can only imagine is devastating for him because it was devastating for my family when we were taking care of my grandma who had Alzheimer's. However, my grandma was in her 80s. His wife is nowhere near that old, and hearing about her story made me nervous. I am younger than her by almost 20 years, but how early can you get Early-Onset Alzheimer's? I have no idea. But what I do know is that if you know someone who has had Alzheimer's, you are afraid you are going to get it. 

My grandma was a huge part of my life. She helped to raise me, and I spent a large part of my life with her. I loved her so much and relied on her. She was so active that I never thought that she would get something like Alzheimer's. However, by the time I graduated from college, it was clear that something was not right, and for the next few years, I got to watch her forget our names while bringing up stories from her childhood that we could not confirm were true. After she died, my mom told me that she thought she was getting it whenever she forgot something. My aunty has expressed fears of having it if she forgets a minor detail, and now I am starting to be fearful, especially now that I know that this thing can creep up on you when you aren't even old. 

I cannot imagine forgetting my life. It hasn't been the best life in the world, but it has been mine, with memories of laughter and friends and jokes and experiences. When my grandma got really bad, she had forgotten who I was and referred to me as her daughter. I can't imagine forgetting who my niece and nephew are. Sometimes I can't remember the names of people I knew in college which scares me, even though I have not seen or spoken to them in almost 20 years. It's a constant silent state of panic. It's now yet another anxiety to add to the list that I wish I could forget. 

Death

I have been thinking a lot about death lately. I have been thinking about death, about how I am going to die, about when I am going to die, about where I am going to die, etc. I have found myself thinking about my family members who have died and my memories with them; my great-grandma, my grandma, my mom, etc. I have also been thinking about my friends who have died. Just this morning, I found myself crying (again) over a man I went to elementary school with. I had such a crush on him in the 1st grade. He was a sweet boy. A year or two ago, he died of a heart attack. A man who ran road races died of a heart attack, can you believe it? I am taking note of these feelings just in case preoccupation with death is a sign that you are about to die. I do believe that there are signs that people experience, but they do not document them because they do not consider them signs or did, but never got around to chronicling them. 

Have you been keeping up with 3i Atlas, the "comet" that is making its way through the solar system from a different star system? Some people believe it is an alien mothership from somewhere deep inside the cosmos. Something about it has caused me to ponder where we go when we die. Didn't Einstein or someone say that our energies never die? Is that energy what we would consider our souls? Do they go to heaven, or do they just float around or end up in space or something? I have seen videos on Instagram of Teslas at graveyards. Apparently, their GPS systems are so sensitive that they pick up ghosts on their cameras as if they are people to make sure that you don't hit. Are those the energies of the people six feet under? I think about these things. 

Perhaps these are just the thoughts that begin to creep into your mind more frequently when you are in your 40s. A boy I went to college with just had a baby with his wife, and I found myself wondering if they were scared that they were going to die. I mean, it's kind of late to be having your first child, isn't it? They will be in their 60s when their daughter graduates college, you know...if they don't die first. I guess they aren't worried about it. They seem pretty happy. 

I am wise enough to know that your death is much like the end of the world; no man knows that time nor the hour. I guess the best we can do is prepare for it is by living a life that is to die for. 

Embracing the Mental

I have a friend who lost their mind. When it happened in my 20s, I was so sad and confused and shocked. What could happen that young to cause one to lose it? Everyone around me was so optimistic about their futures. When I heard what had happened to my friend, it really felt like there was a fallen soldier that both me and our mutual friends were leaving behind. Today, I see the situation and mental illness a whole lot differently. Honey, we are all one missed crazy pill dose or therapy session away from dropping our baskets. 

Throughout my life, there have been commonalities amongst my peers. There were points where everyone was in a bad relationship, or trying to lose weight, or looking for a new job, or moving. At some point, the commonality became that everyone was depressed. I can not pinpoint when this exact time was because no one was talking about it. Everyone was just getting put on meds and getting a shrink in secret. I didn't get let in on what was going on until I myself got depressed and started talking to people about it. I couldn't believe that the people I love the most, the people that I talk to regularly, were secretly navigating their mental health. If I had not told them how I was doing, I am pretty sure the secret would have stayed under their hats. 

It can also go in the opposite direction. The downside about being friends with a lot of scholars is that they tend to academicize (I thought I was making a new word, but it's a real word already) everything they are going through. For some reason, turning everything into a potential Ted Talk makes it easier for them to digest. Your hard time may be worth it if it gets turned into an Oprah's Book Club selection. My brain doesn't work that way. It's much easier for me to acknowledge that my life is in the sh*tter and try to make moves from there, minus the panel discussion. Sometimes I think of how much less pressure it would be for those in my ecosystem to just say, "Yeah, I got down. Maybe even beyond down, and now I am getting back up" without all the extra fluff. 

With this in mind, I see my "fallen" friend differently. They were not a mess or a disappointment; they were brave and a trailblazer. It must have been so hard for them to admit that something was up when life was coming up roses for everyone around them. They had to be afraid that people wouldn't understand. I didn't, but I totally do now. If I could talk to the youngins coming up behind me, I would greet them with open arms at the gates to Crazy Town. I'd let them know they were amongst friends. No more leaving friends behind. 

The 60 Singles

This influencer on Instagram was doing an interview and said that he read a study that said that by 2050, there will be the largest number of single 60-year-olds ever on the books. Single 60-year-olds? Listen, if the world thinks that I am going to be on an app somewhere asking men what their hobbies are at 60, it has another thing coming! At what point do you tap out and decide to dedicate your life to reading The Bible and trying different types of teas? Whenever I go to the doctor, she makes it a point to tell me I'm not old. Aren't I? Somehow, age has become relative, but I tell you what, I feel too old now to be trying to find someone to settle down with. I know that 60 has become the new 25, but I am telling you now, if I hit the double 30 and I am still fishing for coffee dates out here, I want someone who loves me to very politely push me off the top of something that is very high. 

Okay, so do you all watch reality TV? You are lying! I know you do, and since you do, I insist that you watch Bravo's The Love Hotel. A whole bunch of single dudes try their hands at hooking up with four real housewives, one of which being my White aunty Shannon Storms Beador from The Real Housewives of Orange County. Let me tell you, Shannon went through it in her marriage and in her relationship after her marriage. So, at 60, she decided to try her hand at finding love by going on the show. And she met a guy her age and hit it off with him...at first. Child, he was 60 and refused to eat vegetables! He wore weird shoes and had very poor communication skills. Like, very poor. But Shannon tried to make it work because she always gives 110 percent. Sadly, it crashed and burned. I walked away from watching this show in shock. When you have a partner, you have to take the good with the bad and be prepared to argue your points and listen to your partner argue theirs. But can you imagine being 60 having to explain to your man why broccoli is important? Again, push me off of something high. 

As bad as being single at 60 sounds, I am good and on my way there. Every conversation I engage in on the dating app leaves me rolling my eyes. I asked this one guy what he was doing and he said he was watching Hentai. I Googled it and found out that it's some kind of weird anime cartoon porn! Can you believe he would tell me that? These are the interactions that are littering the ground on the yellow sh*t road to 60 singleness. Happy travels! 

Diaries of a No-Lose Loser

As I sit here eating Popeye's Chicken for lunch, I find myself feeling a little sad and defeated. My college homecoming is coming up, and I am super excited to go. I can not wait to reconnect with some people that I have not seen in almost 20 years. Everyone is talking about how fun it is going to be, and I just know it is going to be amazing! But I am disappointed, thinking the same thing that I think before every homecoming: Aw man, I was supposed to be skinny by now!

I gotta tell you kids, I was pretty dilulu when it came to this homecoming. It is the 100-year anniversary of my alma mater, and I had fantasies of literally showing up on campus in rainboots and a thong. I would spend the whole weekend flirting with boys and twerking on car hoods. I have lost a little weight, but nowhere near enough to attend the day party topless as originally planned. I just knew that this homecoming was going to be high energy. It won't be. I can already tell. The other day, while I was planning the events I am going to attend, I had possibly the strongest urge I've ever had to take a nap. Maybe if I try really hard, like sleep through breakfast and skip lunch, I can lose 200lbs in 30 days. I will get started after I finish my Popeye's. 

UF-No

So, there is this thing in space that NASA is saying is a comet, but there is this guy at Harvard that says that it could possibly be an alien mothership, and if this is the case, we should be preparing, seeing that it should be coming our way by October. I don't know what preparing for alien guests would look like. I guess that depends on whether they are coming to shake our hands or to suck the blood out of our heads. Either way, I feel like if the aliens are coming, we should all stop paying our bills. What's the point? The aliens could be peace-bringers or human-hurters. Either way, I think that they would find the concept of paying one's bills to be dumb and restrictive. I don't know this for sure, but my spirit is telling me that they would have a huge issue with rents, mortgages, and student loans. On day one, I could see them globally moving to forgive these payments, right before they zapped us in our chests. Just something to think about as you budget for the next month. 

Sailing Love's Seas

It may be too early to say that the love boat that my friends and I are on is not sinking. I will say that it looks as if we have our life vests on. Whether we make it is yet to be seen. At least for now, it looks like there is smooth sailing ahead for the first time in a long time, but we know how quickly sugar can go to s&*t when it comes to these matters of the heart. 

Tiesh has a boyfriend now. It is crazy, because we have been trying to pray us up some boyfriends for at least the past five years. I remember mentioning it in my Christmas cards. I would say something like, "I pray that we find love this year." Well, "this year" has arrived for Tiesh, and she is so happy. She actually worked with him when she was a teenager. I guess there is some truth to the old idea that by middle age, you have already met or even dated the love of your life. I have gotten to talk to him on the phone, and he is super sweet. They have met each other's families, and he has visited her in New Orleans. I predict good things for them, and I am hopeful that their story leads to a chapel. Not yet, though! I need to lose about 900 lbs first and get on a better skincare regimen before I attend another wedding. 

Tortilla has a new boyfriend. They have only been together for two months, but they already have a bunch of trips planned. She says that he is very kind to her and even offers her some of his food when they go out to eat. To me, this is a good sign. If he will share his food, he will share your heart. 

Even old Nick seems to be on the right track. For the past 20 years, I have watched him carelessly and almost comedically fumble the ball when it comes to the women in his life. For all of his friends to be women, I just couldn't grasp how he seemed to show up as clueless about them in his relationships. However, at 40, he is getting his act together. He met a girl and said that he is going to ask her to be his girlfriend when they have their next date. It is around this time that things usually go south for Nick, but I am optimistic. He said that she is nice. He sent me a picture. She is pretty and looks like she has good sense. Good sense is a necessary quality for anyone Nick is going to be with, whether he realizes it or not. 

So if we all have on our life vests, Bells has on a vest, a parachute, and scuba gear. Bells is very cautious and frugal, interesting traits to have in today's dating climate. However, she is stepping out on faith and has purchased a month on a dating app. This is a big deal for Bells! She doesn't just spend money on anything. She can squeeze a penny until it turns white! But she has to see what is out there and both fortunately and unfortunately (depending on who you ask), dating apps are the best way to go. She has not had luck so far. That first round of guys is usually a dud. I am optimistic that she will get a few dates out of this. 

I, on the other hand, am simply messaging with men that I am meeting on the fatty app. This may seem pretty benign, but it is something I would not have had the guts to do even two years ago. There are no wedding bells going off, but it is nice getting to know people. 

For now, me and the homies seem to be on love's good foot and it's a nice change of pace. Hopefully, there are no icebergs ahead. 

Fearing Fear Itself

Everyone is disappointed about something in their life, I don't care who you are. I like to believe that even the rich snobs that I went to college with have a disappointment or two. I have the general ones. I wish I were a famous writer by now, and I am sad that I do not own a home. The biggest disappointment is how much my life is controlled by fear at this stage of things. 

I used to watch Oprah with my grandma when I was a kid. And I remember she did an episode with Tina Turner, and I think Patti LaBelle. You know, all of her baddie besties. I think it was her birthday episode. Anyway, they went on and on about how being old was cool because you were so sure of yourself and free. They had no desire to be 20 because being 50 or 60 was where it was at! Worrying and fear were things of the past! I guess everyone has their own experiences, because the experiences they described laughing it up with Ms. Winfrey have not been mine! 

This probably comes as no surprise, but I was a scary, fearful kid. I didn't want to get in trouble. I followed the rules. My mom gave me a long leash as a teen to do pretty much anything because she knew how scared I was of everything. Even as a kid, I was fearful of death. I was scared my grandma was going to die or my mom or even my friends. I was scared of what would happen if I got really bad grades, and then in middle school,  when my grades fell, I was scared I wasn't going to get into college. In my young adult life, the fears just got more intense. Fear of being alone. Fear of losing my apartment. Fear of being a failure. Fear of losing my job! Those of us who suffer severely from the superiority complex that is having faith will say that you can't believe in God and be fearful at the same time. That kids is a lie! I have spent many a night praying while being overwhelmed with fear! I honestly don't know any other way to pray. 

Today, I got my test results from a procedure that I had earlier in the week. I called the doctor to see if someone could go over them with me, and the doctor who answered had a bit of an attitude with me. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe my anxiety is so high that everything anyone says sounds like it has some extra heat on it. No one has called me back, and I am so overwhelmed with fear that literally all I can do to address it is write about it. I have no idea when my Patti LaBelle moment is supposed to happen; when I am supposed to kick off my designer heels and scream on the stage of my life. Knee-deep in yet another hair-raising situation, I have to say, I am fearful that the day will never come. 

God and Control

I had yet another jay-jay peek-a-boo procedure today. I showed up ready with Buddy, my emotional support stuffed sloth, in toe. I was in panic tears about 30 minutes later. You see, when plans change I flip out. I take the changes to be a sign that something bad is about to happen. The floor of my procedure was changed. I was told my doctor wasn't coming when she told me she was. I was freaking out. One more change and I was going to run out of the hospital room screaming. I just sat on the medical bed and cried. 

I will say right now, thank God for nurses. They checked on me even through they were clearly busy. I think it was clear that they had a lose canon on their hands. I was seconds away from flying out of there in my hospital gown with the rump exposed. 

"Something is not right," I said to Nurse Ethiopia, this gorgeous older Ethiopian woman who had the bad luck of being assigned to me. I explained to her my philosophy on unexpected changes. 

"Are you a Christian?" she asked, leaning on that machine that beeps. I told her I was. "Well, God is in control of everything. He changed the floor of your surgery. He change your doctor. He's in control." 

I took a deep breath and looked out the window. I could see all of Downtown Atlanta. Yes, God was in control. So when they couldn't find a vein on me anywhere to set up an IV, I sat back, held Nurse Ethiopia's hand, and sang Erykah Badu as the other lady probed my arm with the world's longest needles. This would have been the third "sign" to send me running. 

In the operating room, they let me listen to Sir Mix-A-Lot as I was being put to sleep. My doctor showed up after all, even after having a long night with other patients. Before I went to sleep, I remember telling her to twerk somethin', and when I woke up, it felt like someone had taken a power drill to my lady parts. 

Yes. God is in control. 

The Gay Divorcee pt 1: The Sex Quest

Rudith is divorcing her wife Maria and currently dating and having sex with men that she has met on Bumble. Seeing that she's been married to a woman for years, I thought she was a lesbian. Turns out she's queer. I'm going to be honest, I'm not sure what queer means. As I've said over the years, queer sounds like something bad that happens to cheese.

I had no idea that she and her wife were having issues. I couldn't tell from their annual Christmas cards. However, according to Rudith, Maria's inconsistency brings nothing but chaos, confusion, and despair to everything she touches. Couples therapy didn't work, so Rudith has kicked Maria out of the bedroom and banished her to the basement. Rudith has also created an ancestral altar to combat Maria's negative vibes. 

"I suggested an open marriage, but she said no because she never wants to do anything that makes sense!" Rudith exclaimed over the phone. She was headed back home after a quick getaway she treated herself to since her wife is out of town. 

So Rudith did what we all do when we don't know what to do: she turned to app dating. She matched with a guy the day she created her profile, went on a date, went to the guy's house and hooked up with him which officially started her campaign to have the best sex of her life. 

"I'm just playing with these women's sons for a minute," she explained. And it's working. She is very honest with the men about her situation, and as we all know, men love nothing more than lesbians and a challenge. She is clear with them about wanting strong masculine energy which has brought men who have award-winning penis and no desire to go dutch into her life. She's even being invited to exclusive members-only clubs and taken on exciting dates. It all sounds great, but I was confused on how she could be intimate with anyone else when she is still married? 

"A divorce could take two or three years and I already haven't had sex with my wife for two! Do you want me to go without sex for like five years?!"

I sometimes forget how I am the only one dedicated to a dry, sexless existence. I also forget how most people don't identify with a black and white definition of relationships, not even in a marriage. I don't believe anything is over until it's over, so you should behave accordingly or risk BAD karma. However, Rudith swears that dating and hetero- sexing is just what the doctor ordered. Literally! Her therapist is on board with her technical cheating. Even her kids have noticed the pep in her step! 

If we are going to be adults, I guess we also have to be honest about what cheating is. Are you really physically cheating if you have emotionally separated from a person? My grandma would have said yes. Rudith's shrink and Rudith say otherwise.

Also, if we are going to continue being honest adults, we also have to admit that happiness can often be the theoretical butterfly that we can not catch. Is it really wrong to run towards it even if we are technically involved in something else? Hearing about Rudith's cool makeout sessions with military men in her car makes me want to say no but I don't know. Keep in mind that I have been told often that I'm a prude. I don't know if I'd go that far, but I will say that I'm relationship conservative which I'm realizing is quickly going out of style. Things often are not cut and dry. I guess the question is as simple as it was for Sheryl Crow in her old hit song: If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad. 

Warning Signs

When I was coming home from my doctor's appointment yesterday, I noticed that the streets were literally lined with tents where homeless people were living. Atlanta has always had a large homeless population, but this was beyond anything I'd seen in my decades living here. It was interesting because the big news from the beginning of the week was that the president wanted to move the homeless out of DC. When I was fresh out of college, the mayor at the time attempted to do the same thing here in Atlanta. He went as far as to close the city's biggest shelter, build the streetcar hub in a parking lot where a lot of the homeless slept, and allow the police to harass the homeless when they weren't even doing anything. Surprise, surprise, the operation didn't work. Apparently, you have nowhere to go when you have nowhere to go. P follows all the financial news. I don't know why, it is never good news. He says that we are entering a cycle where people are not going to be hiring or firing. He says that the sign of a healthy economy is the creation of new jobs and that little to no job creation is not a good sign. 

I say all that to say that this all reminds me of the way things were right before and during the recession when I first graduated from college. What a nightmare! No one I knew was working in their field unless they were in some kind of way working in medicine. A lot of my friends got advanced degrees to live off the loan money and have something to do. I was working at the mall part-time at a clothing store while studying for my GRE, which I took twice and did INCREDIBLY poorly on. My aunty had a great job, but I still recall money being very, very tight. We were eating cheap junk and had very little cash to spare. On top of this, I remember it being really hard to find legit work, and a lot of the posts for jobs were fake. I recall a co-worker getting a gig as an assistant for a day. She did all this work just to be sent a fake money order in the mail as payment. I had rummaged up change to take the bus to interviews for serious jobs, only to get there and be told that the jobs were really sales jobs, you know, the kind where you work like a dog, sell nothing, and make no money. It mean, it was horrible! 

I feel like something is coming down the pipes in this country, and I am concerned. I am too old and have no energy. There is no way I could make it through another recession. The unsettling part is that I don't think whatever is on the way is going to be a traditional recession. I think that it is also going to be accompanied by civil and social unrest. I can smell it in the milk. There are immigration protests everywhere, and officials are openly discussing women not having the right to vote. Prices are rising like you wouldn't believe. Now add homelessness, the fear of being homeless, and a decline in available work to that, and I sense a recipe for disaster. Oh, and don't forget to throw in a teaspoon of really aggressive climate change. 

I hate to be a Negative Nancy, but when I discuss this, it is more to discuss how I am fully aware that I don't have the grit to go through 2008 again. When you a younger, hardships feel like an uncomfortable cold that will soon pass. At this age, I fully know what is up. I watch the news every day, and I predict that whatever is on the way will be solved at some point, but the answer will not be as easy as blowing your nose. Either way, we should all probably stock up on Kleenex. 

The Cray-Cray of Today

Pix told me that a woman at his job walked up to him and called him a bi&%h right to his face over a pretty benign disagreement. He had to get management involved, not just because that was crazy, but I think to also prevent him from saying or doing something that would have gotten him canned. Believe it or not, she is not going to be reprimanded for this. Her job is secure because she witnessed the manager choke the assistant manager!  

The other day, my brother came home from work and told me that while he was waiting on the train that morning, a woman got off the elevator, dropped her shorts, had no undies on, and began to run up and down the train platform while occasionally stopping to open her behind to the crowd. It was so gross that two men chased her and attempted to tackle her, but she evaded their capture until she eventually ran onto a train, pantless. 

Yesterday, I went to the doctor, and I swear to you, the waiting room was the Wild West! There was a family in the waiting room (a mom, dad, and teenage son who was the patient to be seen). The mom had some smart remark to make when anyone was called to be seen before her. Apparently, her son had been overlooked for hours. I felt annoyed with her until she went to the front desk to get an unnecessary attitude with the receptionist. It was then revealed that her son was a walk-in patient. Everyone knows that walk-ins have to wait to be seen until the doctor can see them! You always have to wait to be seen when you are a walk-in, even at the hair salon! I swear, every time Mom opened her mouth to complain, it felt like she was adding 30 minutes to everyone's wait time. On top of that, Mom continuously coughed without covering her mouth! Then there was a woman we will call TooTight. She had on the most ill-fitting, tight short set I had ever seen in my life! She had to be told twice to listen to the Spanish sitcom she was watching on her phone at full volume with her earphones in. She had this huge Stanley tumbler and went to the wall fountain to fill it up. Before doing so, she dumped some old strawberries out of the tumbler. I guess she'd had some infused water. However, after filling her cup, she left her old strawberries in the drain of the fountain instead of throwing them in the trash. 

I say all these seemingly unrelated things to ask this: have we all just given up? Have even the most minute standards of decorum and decency just gone out the window? Are we collectively not caring or going crazy? Is being out of order the new order? Is rude the new polite? How long before we are all running around our theoretical train stations with no pants on? Is it just me, or does it feel like everyone is becoming more aggressively and openly unglued? You remember how they used to say that everything you need to know you learned in kindergarten? If this is true, then the people of today must have gone to a kindergarten run by wolves! Leaving trash in the water fountain. Gross! 

Parental Persecution

I am currently getting to know a man who is divorced, and sadly, his children did not take the divorce well. Particularly his oldest son. According to him, he and his son were super close until the divorce. Now, seven years later, he and his son have gotten into a number of spats. In the recent one, his son told him that he "wasn't s*%t" and that he was never there for him. He shared with me how much this devastated him and that he feels like all he can do is pray about it because every time he tries to fix things with him, he accidentally ends up making things worse. 

Sunday was my mom's birthday and this conversation made me think about how as kids, and even as young adults (which are kids that can drink), we do not think that it is possible to hurt our parents' feelings. We do not think that it is possible, even when we are out of order, and say things to our parents that would have us in tears if someone said those very things to us. Our parents are like statues: they cannot be moved, they cannot be broken. And because of the inherent selfishness of children, the viewpoint is that parents are always trying to hurt us, regardless of the things that we have done and said. 

This is a wisdom that comes with age, when you grow past a time when you think that it is impactful in an argument to just say mean things that you don't mean. By the time I was a senior in high school, I had had it with my mother. I found her to be super critical, and I hated her boyfriend. This was the root of most of our arguments. I said an unreal amount of hurtful things to my mom, trying to get her to see that she could do better and that her man was a jerk who was ruining our lives. We also fussed over how I wanted to stay in Atlanta to go to college, and she wanted me to leave the state. I felt like she wanted me to leave so she could love her loser in peace, and the fact that she was poor and willing to take out an exhorbandent amount of loans for me to go to school was a testiment to me of how badly she wanted me gone, not how badly she wanted me to get a good education. In my eyes, my mom was a rock, but I am positive that I hurt her feelings because I know that she hurt mine. If I could go back in time, I would encourage young me to go along to get along (which is what my grandma was advising me to do the whole time) so that I wouldn't have memories of me saying cruel things to my now deceased mom. Again, wisdom that comes with age. 

This morning, Savannah posted a video of her daughter, (who puts me in mind of Strawberry Shortcake), getting on the school bus with the other kids in the neighborhood. There was a lot of smiling and waving. They seem to have a very good relationship. But as sure as that little girl's edges are laid, one day she is going to do something to hurt my friend's feelings. Maybe she will not answer her cell phone on purpose, leaving Savannah to assume she has been kidnapped, or maybe she will be super brutal and give Savannah the silent treatment. It's inevitable. But Cupcake will one day find out the same thing that my friend's son will find out and what I already know: doing so will also be very regretable. 

The Co-Sign Theory

As I try to get to know men romantically late in life, I'm learning things about them that I didn't know earlier on. Although men are universally associated with strength, I am learning that, emotionally at least, they can't handle too much. I almost want to go as far as to say that they can't handle anything at all. Pix called me negative as I told him about my day in a good mood with a happy voice. Apparently, if something is not overtly positive and sunny, it is negative, and he can't bear to hear it. This sucks, because I was hoping he would be someone I could tell anything to. I thirst to have more male friends like this, but it doesn't look like it is in the cards. 

I told P about this, and, of course, he took Pix's side. P will take any side but mine, even if the other side is covered in spiders and quicksand. I told him about how, when discussing negativity allegations with my tight-knit circle of college Instagram sisters, they told me that men can not handle anything and to reserve difficult/political/thought-provoking conversation for my female friends. 

"I wouldn't take too much stock in that," P said. "Women just co-sign on whatever other women say, even if it's wrong or they feel differently."

The example that he used was actually the one I was thinking of when he said it. Big Homie Sans had listened to me complain about being lonely for nearly 20 years. And she was always pretty supportive and encouraging. Then one day, in response to a text I had sent her  (I was texting her to tell her to call me so I could let her know that I was official with the guy I had told her about), she sent me a text that had A LOT of hurtful things in it. The main thing that she said that hurt me terribly was that she didn't understand why a guy, particularly one that was fit, would want to date me because I am so fat. Why would he want to date a girl who could die? She called me and tried to walk it back, but it was already in the air. I began to wonder if she had always felt this way, even when she was assuring me that I would find someone at some point. 

God, I hope this is an isolated example. I would hate to learn that the women in my life that I love are just being co-signers and not real, honest friends. As someone who has been the victim of a surprise intervention (by people who had no professional authority to hold one), I can tell you that honesty from friends hurts. Three of my dearest friends basically told me that they were tired of me. It was a nightmare. But I would prefer that to people just co-signing my thoughts to avoid heavy conversations. You can't have a real friendship that way, and as with the example of Big Homie Sans, the truth always comes out eventually, and it is usually always negative. 

Capricorn-ish

Meanwhile, in App-land, I matched with a guy that I am now messaging. He's divorced, has two kids, and just moved here from another state. He likes art. He seems like a cool guy. He also seems to have a foot in reality, which is why I was surprised when he said that he would love it if his partner were a water sign. Sigh. Here we go. Another one of these zodiac people. Honestly, I had to Google to see if I am a water sign or not. Of course, I am not. He said that isn't a deal breaker, just a preference. When did men start buying into this witchcraft? I hate to down anyone's beliefs, but don't they know that the zodiac is complete hogwash? Like any superstition, it has the power that you give it. This is just something else to add to the list. First, my weight was seen as a negative by men. Okay, fine. I can see that. But now I am being judged based on my own birthday? Something I have no control over at all? I mean, why get to know me at all? Shouldn't the zodiac tell you all you need to know? I just Googled the characteristics of a Capricorn, and it says that we are focused. That should tell you that the astrology doesn't astrologize with this thing. Anyone will tell you that I am panickingly all over the place! Anywho, like I said, he seems like a cool guy. I will keep you posted. 

App'ed

A few months ago, I thought that I was done with the dating apps because I had found such a great guy. A few weeks ago, I vowed to never go back on the app because I was so disappointed things didn't work out with the "great guy". Now I'm back out of sheer, old-fashioned desperation. This is the third time. Let's pray that three times really is a charm. 

Admittedly, things aren't going so well two days back. The first day I matched with a guy. We were having a good chat through the app before he asked, "What do I need to do to see what's under your dress?" I let him know I wasn't really looking for that. He apologized. I wished him well. Convo ended. Yesterday, I matched with this highly sexy man. We too had a great conversation until he started talking about sex. Oddly, he said he hadn't had sex in nine months. He was on some type of sex fast to clear his head that he's ready to break. This time I was sad. I didn't want our conversation to end, but I could feel the end coming. I let him know I wasn't sexually active. He then proceeded to tell me he didn't consider anal or oral sex "actual sex". I was dumbfounded!! How could he believe something so ridiculous at his big age?? Conversation ended. 

Sadly, I expect more of the same today. Each time I go back on the app, the men get more sexually assertive. I mean, does anyone want a relationship anymore or is that over? Maybe past a certain age, people have become so jaded by their horrible relationship experiences that they jump backward into some type of sexual default setting. My not being on board with this is proving to be a pretty large barrier for me. I wish it weren't this way, but I don't think I'm ready for a dating world where anal sex is considered as casual as a kiss. Perhaps I'm old-fashioned, but that just feels like too much for me. 

Maybe the app gods will smile on me and send me an old-fashioned man who likes hand holding and Lifetime movies. Here's hoping! 

The Dress

Long ago, I discovered that it is a bad idea to ever, ever share music that you love with a guy that you like. When it inevitably goes south, you will never be able to listen to the music again, at least not without crying. I can't tell you how much 90s R&B I've had to let go of because I attached it to a loser that sucked all the beauty out of it. I am wondering if a similar thing has happened with this dress that I bought earlier this summer. 

It is hard to believe that just a few months ago, I thought that me and my friendboy were going places. We had great conversations, and I just enjoyed talking to him. Now, we have sunk like the Titanic. But before we hit the iceberg, I bought this gorgeous maxi dress online that I was hoping to wear when I met him in person. We planned to meet when he finished this big work project. Promises, promises. Now, I am pretty sure that the meeting that was never scheduled is canceled, and I am not sure what this means for the dress. Does it have bad man juju all over it like my old Jodeci playlist?

When Big stood Carry up at the altar, she kept the Vivian Westwood dress she was supposed to get married in in a box in her closet. My dress is not that grand, but it is adorable. It is a pink maxi dress that fades into fuchsia and purple tie-dye towards the bottom. Cute, right?! I have never worn it, waiting for the never-happening meet and greet. Now I don't know where I should wear it or even if I should wear it. What if it holding bad relationship bad luck?

This may sound silly to you, but I know there is something to it. Clothing, like houses and cemeteries, holds spirits and the disappointment of failed intentions. However, I am thinking that I may be able to salvage this adorable frock based on the fact that I stocked this dress before I even met friendboy. For two years, I would visit this dress frequently online. It was way too expensive for me to buy, and never went on sale. Shortly after I started talking to friendboy, I went online, and it was finally marked down to something I could swing. Does having a prior relationship with the dress cancel out the juju?

Honestly, I am not made of money. I really need to wear everything I buy, even if the big, bad wolf pooped on it or something. I just don't want to think about the disappointment of friendboy while I have it on. I also don't want the energy of the dress to repel the man of my dreams while I have it on. Regardless, I plan on wearing it at some point, even if it's just to listen to "Forever My Lady" on repeat in my room. 

Starved 2: The Thirsty Games

I had another weird dream that I feel illustrates how starved I am for affection. Apparently, I was part of some type of sexual relay race. The dream kind of played out like an episode of The Amazing Race. Couples would do freaky stuff (my memory is hazy, but I remember one couple doing a naked yoga class), then they would run and pass the baton on to the next person. I felt super excited in my dream, eager to see what my thing was going to be. But when the baton got to me, of course, I had to do all this really hard stuff to get moving. I recall having to take a car off a tow truck. Then I had to go to a department store to find something sexy to wear. Even in my dream department store, there was a very limited plus-size section. Then I had to run across town, all while still being excited for what was to come, but what was to come never came. By the time I showed up winded and overworked to my little situation, I breathlessly opened the door, then woke up! I even get screwed in my dreams while trying to get screwed! Plies wasn't around this time, but the naked yoga couple was a married couple I went to college with. Either my subconscious is begging me to find a partner, or this is all a side effect of watching nude scenes in Tubi movies. 

Midlife

Is there any test I can take to confirm I'm in a midlife crisis? Of late, I have woken up in the middle of the night to cry, listen to jazz, and write emo poetry. I have not been this emotional since middle school. There was always something to be emotional about in middle school, but that's only because every day was a fresh hell. Plus, I had just started getting periods, and the sound of someone breathing made me want to body slam them. I'm one poem away from taking this sad act on the road. Help! 

Accountability/Smountability

I can really get on my high horse when it comes to my friendships. I consider myself a good friend, and pride myself on always being available for a friend in need. I try to be the friend that I would want someone to be to me. That's why it pains me to say that there have been some friendships where I really, really dropped the ball. My friendship with Bri is one of these friendships, and I dropped the ball so badly that the part of me that HATES taking accountability wants to leave the ball where it is and run. However, my dedication to therapy will not allow this to stand, so I have to apologize for my badfriendness, even if the friendship does not regenerate. 

Today, I was on Facebook looking at my friend Wanda's page and saw that she is friends with Bri. That little icon was in the corner of Bri's picture, indicating that we are not friends on the site. This made me sad. When we were freshmen in college, we were inseparable. When you saw her, you saw me. Now we don't talk and we don't even have a surface, social media friendship. Unfortunately, this is all my fault. 

I have been thinking of Bri a lot lately because she is still really good friends with one of our mutual friends. Mutual keeps me posted on the things going on in Bri's life, which I appreciate. She is doing so well, and I am so proud of her. But I can not say that it does not sting that the things that she tells me I do not know firsthand. Years ago, when I should have originally addressed this, I had to come to terms with the fact that I had been a bad friend to Bri which sucks, because I truly love her, even today. I put other friendships before ours, and I recently told Mutual I was finally ready to address that with Bri.

"Well, apologizing for what you said about Rosie would be a good start," Mutual said. I was confused. I hadn't thought about Rosie in years! 

"Rosie? What?" I asked.

"You remember when you said Rosie BLLLLLLLEEEEEEPPPPP?"

Hearing those cruel words I said about Rosie 20 years ago literally made my eyes cross. I nearly threw the phone across the room! Have you ever had a moment so bad, I mean BAD, that your body and mind go into some weird protection mode and acts like it never happened? That's how I feel about the THE INCIDENT with Rosie. Well, it really wasn't an incident. I said some inexcusable, unprovoked, jealousy -fueled f*&ked up s/+t about Rosie that was so horrible that there was no walking it back. Once I said it, out friendship was toast, and she was one of Bri's best friends. Oddly enough, they are not friends anymore, but she is still mad at me about it. That's how bad it was. 

It never dawned on me that the fall of me and Bri's friendship had anything to do with Rosie. I was prepared to own how bad of a friend I was to Bri, not address the Rosie stuff. Addressing Rosie would make me have to address some very dark parts of my character that I would like to believe I've outgrown. Rosie represents a me I don't want to think about and like to play like never existed. 

When I talk about being on a high horse, I'm not joking. I've called people who don't want to have hard conversations cowards, and here I am being as cowardly as they come. I shall keep you posted on any progress with this. Whether I want to or not, a conversation has to be had. 

Starved

I think I am starving for male attention and affection. The other day, I took a power nap and dreamed that I went to the apartment of my grandma's best friend so that I could make out with Plies. The rapper, Plies. Plies. In reality, this guy has to be a full foot shorter than me and 100lbs, but in my dream, we were eye-to-eye, and I giggled while he kissed all over my neck. It was nuts! I don't see Plies in this way; however, I like to follow his political content. Anyway, in the dream, we were pretty hot and heavy until I looked around the apartment and noticed that we were surrounded by pictures of my family and my grandma's antiques. And while he continued to kiss all over me, I was thinking, How did he get these things? Is that a picture of my grandpa? Is that the little statue she brought back from Africa? All I can make of this is that I desperately need a kiss...and to figure out what happened to a lot of my grandma's things. 

Brotherly Love - The Great Pen Pal Disaster

I want to be friends with one of my Xavier brothers. Nothing gross or romantic. I honestly would like to be his friend because he seems to have a really cool life, and, as a lover of stories, I would love to know more about it. Sadly, befriending men has always been tricky for me. Tricky and awkward. In college, I would often fall in love with guys that I befriended, which would cause some of these friendships to crash and burn. However, that won't be an issue now because I have no more love left to give. It went out the window with my dreams of ever having abs. 

If I am telling the truth, the biggest thing keeping me from reaching out to this guy is because of what happened a few years back. At the time, I was pen pals with two of my Xavier sisters. This was awesome for me, because I love to write and love getting mail. There is something about the written word that is different and way more exciting than verbal conversation. It is for me anyway. I enjoyed being pen pals with them so much that I decided that I wanted to have a boy pen pal too, and I knew just who I wanted it to be: 🍺. 🍺, much like my other Xavier brother, seemed to live a very charmed life. He traveled the world, hung out all the time with his friends and family who seemed to just be in love with him, even though he was hyper and extra, and he had a fulfilling job. This, as you already know, is the opposite of my life. I never go anywhere and can't get my "friends" to call me back. 

So, I decided to ask him to be my pen pal, and I was nervous about it. He and I were not friends in school, and I was afraid that he might think that the request was weird. Yet, against my nervous stomach, I asked him to be my pen pal in an Instagram message, and he wrote me an elegant, beautifully written letter telling me no because he didn't know how to write. I read the message twice and for some reason, perhaps out of hysterical embarrassment, it made me laugh. 

Fast forward a couple of weeks later, I ran into one of my Xavier sisters, Mona, at the grocery store. It is always good to see a college friend! She told me how she lost all this weight working out and eating better, and she filled me in on her new job. And just by chance, I told her about how I asked 🍺to be my pen pal and how he said no. I laughed but stopped laughing when I saw her mortified face. 

"Girl, of course he said no! You know what he thought you meant!"

I was confused. "What do you think he thought I meant?"

"Come on now, Holly. Pen pal. Pen. Penis. He thought you wanted to have sex with him!"

A ringing went off in my ears, and the whole grocery store stood still. Oh my God! There was no way that he thought that was what I meant, was it?

"You know he is friends with THE CREW. He probably told all of them how you slid in his DMs trying to f*&k!" she exclaimed. 

I raced home and read the message over a million times until I began to see all types of hidden meanings in it. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, not blinking, envisioning him reading my message to the THE CREW and them laughing at me. I wanted to message him to let him know that that was not what I meant, but just in case he didn't think that was what I meant, I decided not to. Plus, sending messages is what got me in that mess. You know, I saw him at homecoming. I spoke to him and he spoke back, but only after his attempt to walk past me failed. Brutal. 

This I think about when I consider reaching out to another Xavier brother about being friends. The last thing I need is another guy I went to school with thinking I want his "pen". 

Special

Can women have a midlife crisis? I know that I had a quarter-life crisis. Maybe I am just consistently in crisis. It's hard for me to tell. I have always been overly reflective and a little moody. But I do find that I have had a lot of questions about life as of late. One question that I find myself constantly nibbling on is when it is a good idea to give up on your dreams. At what point do you accept that you are never going to be a runway model or an NBA player and go get a job at Wal-Mart? Today I wondered if I have been asking myself the wrong question. For me, I think that the real question is, when do you accept that you are not special?

Throughout my life, I have felt that I am special, which is ironic, considering I didn't grow up with any money or any type of privilege. However, I always thought that I was a good writer without anyone co-signing this fact. I felt that I was funny and cool, even if no one else agreed. I have also always felt that I am a little psychic and very intuitive. People generally like me, and I am even a good whistler. As you can see, for a long time, I have been getting high on the supply that is me. 

Because of this, I had very high expectations for myself. I had this amazing life mapped out in my head without really having a plan to achieve it. But that was okay, because I was special, and as long as I stayed true to my dreams, a yellow brick road would appear out of nowhere and lead me to the promised land that was my achingly bright future. 

NOT! 

At my big age, I can tell you I am not special. On the low end, I am someone who does okay at stringing a sentence together, and on the high end, I have an undeserved high opinion of myself that has led me astray. I think that it is beyond time that I come to terms with the fact that I am not special. At most, I am a nice lady stringing together an existence. Sadly, I am under not special. Below average. Unremarkably underwhelming. In about a year, any talent I thought I had will be replaced by AI. I'm humorous, but not really. I just know how to word things in an interesting manner. I'd say that I am useless, but that is not true. There has to be someone around to stand as a proud example of what not to be. And with this in mind, I take a bow. 

It is with a heavy heart that I report that I have most likely wasted half of my life thinking that I am special, and it has gotten me nowhere fast. Where did I get off thinking that I was special in any way? I should have never believed Barney when he said that I was. Jerk. 

Showers and the Blue Juice

My friend's sister had a baby shower and put the photos on Instagram. Balloons, a cute color scheme, games, and food were all present. However, some things were there that clearly did not belong: men.

First, they started using red fluid instead of blue fluid in the maxi pad commercials, now this! Call me old- fashioned, but I love a themed, all- girl affair. Men at a baby shower just doesn't make sense to me, or at least makes as much sense as me sitting in on a stripper-filled bachelor party. I guess the difference is that I would be crashing the bachelor party. The men at the baby shower were actually invited. 

Our grandmothers would have never allowed this. But I feel like today's mamas invite the baby's father and his guy friends to show that the father is on board with the pregnancy. Whether he is on board or not is no one's business! But, because of this need, all the women have to sit in their color coordinated Sunday best while the guys over eat the refreshments and make dumb jokes! 

Good people of the internet: when is enough going to be enough? How much more of the blue maxi pad juice are men going to snatch out of our lives and private spaces? It's enough already, and I demand reform! Who's with me??

13 Pounds

Last week, I had a gyno appointment at the hospital. Like most women, I wasn't jumping for joy for the appointment, but when you are a woman, you can not avoid these things. One of the reasons I was not excited was because I was going to ride into the city with my aunt to save money, and she would drop me off at the hospital on the way to work. I miscalculated how long I would be waiting for my appointment. It was a whopping three hours! When it was finally time for my appointment, I could hardly keep my eyes open! Another reason I was not excited for my appointment was because I was not looking forward to getting weighed. 

Let me tell you, nothing can ruin my day like getting weighed. However, I decided to force myself to get weighed so I could see how much weight I had gained. Even with changes in diet, I was feeling more sluggish and even heavier than usual. I was not excited. When the moment of truth came, I stood on the scale and cleared my head completely, a trick I found keeps me from screaming when I see the usually tragic number. When my weight came up on the digital screen, I was shocked. I had lost 13 pounds! 

This may not sound like a lot to you, but it is beyond a lot for me. I was beginning to think that I literally could not lose weight, seeing that I never do. I have consistently gotten bigger my whole life. I didn't even lose weight in New Orleans, walking to my classes in 120-degree heat! Yet somehow, I had lost 13 pounds. For the first time ever, I was feeling hopeful about my weight. I felt like I was going to burst!

Of course, I had to tell a few of my girlfriends. I mean, this was really momentous! Out of the seven friends that I told, only about half of them seemed genuinely excited for me. The other half had very low energy, disappointing responses. However, I was not surprised. 

For years, my friends (particularly the ones from college) have been hammering me to lose weight. To diet. To exercise. A few years ago, I got serious and tried to diet on my own and was excited to talk about it with my friends. The excitement results were about the same, and this made me sad. I figured that my friends didn't really think I could make any positive changes in my life in this area, or maybe even thought I was lying. 

But after talking to my friends, I realized that the reasoning was more maniacal: they didn't want me to lose weight. Not really. 

This was a sour pill to swallow, but follow me here. Life deals you a lot of punches and a lot of change. Moves. Deaths. Promotions. Layoffs. Loves. Breakups. However, in all of this, there is one constant: Holly is and probably will always be fat. Not just fat, but really fat. No matter how bad or tough their lives were, mine would always be worse because of my weight and all that entails. Even if the worst thing ever happened to them, that would be okay, because at least, at the end of the day, they weren't me. Many of them couldn't even imagine my pathetic existence. No boyfriend. No cute mini dresses. No travel on an airplane. I really do believe that this gives them comfort. A lot of comfort. 

This all sounds horrible, right? Who wants to believe that the people who "love" them would bask in the glory of their bad health? Believe you me, it happens. 

If I lose anything else, I'm keeping it to myself. You won't be able to tell I've lost anything until I hit big numbers anyway. Plus, the lackluster reaction kind of hurts my feelings. Who wants to feel like they aren't supported by their support system?

The Question

What am I doing?

I know what I should have done. I know what I need to do. Yet, I have no idea what I'm doing. At 40, I should know what I'm doing. 

I have friends that are literally running the world. Starting businesses. Making BIG money. And none of them seem quite as lost as me. They seem to be adults. I am not an adult. Not fully. I'd say I'm about 12. Which is crazy, because my body is about 114. 

This has been a question for me for a long time which means I have never answered it to my own satisfaction. This is because I honestly don't know. 

Oh well. Maybe the answer will come to me today. Most likely not though. That I know. 

Doesn't It Feel Good To Pay Less?

I had an amazing, silly dream the other night. 

I had a dream that I was walking through an outdoor mall and came across a Payless shoe store. I couldn't believe it! I walked through the door to find a huge, clean, fully-stocked Payless that looked a lot like the Payless that used to be near my house. 

"Hello, ma'am! Are you okay?" the clerk asked from behind the counter. I was literally standing in the middle of the floor with my mouth open wide and my arms extended. 

"I can't believe it," I said, elated. "All the Payless stores closed where I am from!" I cried. 

The clerk smiled. "Oh wow! Well, we are still open."

I was overwhelmed by joy! Immediately, I ran over to the aisle that had my shoe size. I literally grabbed as many pairs of shoes that I could carry, then dumped them at the checkout counter. At this point, there were other people in the store staring at me. Once I was done finding shoes for myself, I went to the children's section and tried to remember what sizes my niece and nephew wore. Then I grabbed all of those shoes and dumped them at the register. Just as I was about to pay, a deliveryman walked in and began to hang purses around the store. The moment he was done, I grabbed as many of those as I could and dumped them on the counter. The other customers in the store were growing visibly impatient. 

"I want all of this!" I exclaimed. 

I woke up, heart pounding, looking around my bed for my new Payless purchases which, of course, were not there. 

Then, just today, I had a dream during a nap that I was at a Disney park with my family. We were all hanging out in our hotel room when I got a call from Kinfolk. He wanted to let me know that he was at the same Disney park and wanted to meet me. He gave me his address, which I don't remember which sucks, because I heard that when you see numbers in your dreams, you should play them as lottery numbers. 

Anywho, my nephew and I got on a trolley to go meet Kinfolk in the town square. Everyone was so happy around us. We went and ordered food, and Kinfolk and my nephew went to a buffet line. I got annoyed with my nephew because he brought back a literal basket of shrimp pasta. After we ate, we walked around and window shopped for a while when I saw it to the left of me: a brand new Payless. There were huge glass windows and it was way more fancy than any Payless I ever saw. I ran towards it, but woke up before I could go inside. 

I am not sure what all of this means. I am hoping that it means that Payless is coming back with flagship stores. I would be the first one in line! 

Eyelift

When I was a teenager, I had a habit of being very, VERY, convicted about issues that I was not educated enough or old enough to understand. One of the issues was plastic surgery. If we are made in God's image, getting plastic surgery (unless you underwent a severe facial trauma) was like telling God that he is ugly! I decided long ago I would never have any type of plastic surgery done. Fast forward to today. If my looks fall off, I want every plastic surgeon in Atlanta to tap dance on my face! Plastic surgery would not be ideal, but I have been thinking about it a lot since I think that I need an eyelift. 

I have always had straight, poofy eyelids. This is something called monolid (which I just found out now as I am writing this post). Essentially, I do not have the crease that separates my eyelid into two parts. For those of you who can't envision this, I do not have that part of my eyelid where women usually put on eye shadow. I guess I do, but it is very, very thin. Many Asian people have this type of eyelid, hence why people have asked me if I am partially Asian my whole life! 

The other day, I looked in the mirror and felt like my lids were looking a little more poof than usual. I had spent the weekend babysitting and did not have restful sleep. However, when they were still poofy the next day, I became fearful. Since I don't have a substantial eye crease, what if my eyes eventually poof shut and I have to keep my lids open with my hands?

As silly as this sounded, I became obsessed with my eyes. Is it possible to become a super poof and not be able to see? I really began to panic! And then a word came to mind that calmed my nerves: eyelift. Yes, an eyelift! A simple, medical miracle! And I don't mean putting some lotion on my lids that should lift them in a year or two, I mean good old-fashioned scalpel magic! And if I don't have the money for it, I will use invisible tape to lift my lids as close to my hairline as possible. 

Wheeeeew! Crisis averted. 

Equally Backed

You know, the new term for a fat person is a "big-back". How offensive is that? Recently, I saw an Instagram reel where a plus-size influencer was talking about how dating is much harder for big-backed women because being a big-back shows that you don't care about yourself, so men don't have to really care about you in a relationship. Disrespect is to be expected. This theory has been run across me by friends and foes alike over the years, and after my experiences trying to date by using a dating app for plus-size people ( I will share more about that later), I can say that this theory is true. Life has also shown me as much. 

However, as I am now officially middle-aged, as are many of my single friends, many of the tiny-backed women in my life are sharing their experiences with men that sound like they are of the big-backed variety. I mean, one can say that a man is going to treat you however he is going to treat you, regardless of your "back", but as a young woman, I saw the noticeable difference. I remember this one incident in high school where I got off the bus with my tiny-backed buddy Teri. Our mutual friend Bryan held the door open for her to walk into the school and then let it slam in my face. Of course, there was my friend 💋in college who was tiny-backed and gorgeous. I personally witnessed men cross both crowded rooms and oncoming traffic to get to her, while guys actively worked hard to ignore me. This was no easy task, seeing that I am almost six feet and weigh A LOT. 

Like I said, I have seen men treat thinner women better. That it what it is. Yet, at 40, it seems like having a tiny back is no longer shielding women, many of whom would be considered "high value women" from the big-back treatment. Now they are on podcasts and writing thought pieces like this is some new thing. It's enough to wonder where this shift is coming from. Could it be that being single past a certain age, especially after your 30s, is making thin women and plus-size women "equally- backed"? If so, I feel sorry for thin, middle-aged women. It can't be easy going from diamonds to doo-doo. 

I hate to admit this, but I have been listening to some of those brotard podcasters. Not their whole shows, just the clips that come across my social media feeds. They are just oozing with anger and sexism, and I seriously wonder of many of these men actually like women. During their tirades, I notice that they put this huge value on being single and young and make single older women sound like scum-of-the-earth sad sacks. I'm sure you are familiar with the cat lady comments that were prevalent earlier this year. To them, the only place for an older woman with any kind of baggage is next to the garbage bins. 

Yes, I think ageism has finally made thin and plus-size women equally-backed. This sucks, because while many older women see wisdom in age, many men just see an okay body with a tombstone as a head. It also sucks because at a time when women should be relaxing and enjoying life, they are put in yet another situation where they have to compete against each other. But we aren't in our 20s anymore. Many of us are choosing to forgo the dating Olympics, especially since the trophy is a gross guy that thinks you should think he is the prize because you are older. So many women are opting out of that game, and I couldn't be prouder of them. Yet, slim, trim, or otherwise, women of all sizes yearn for someone to love no matter what the climate is. So, I also stand with those love-lookers who are willing to stay in the race. You go girl! Go full in, I've got your back. 

The New Cat Lady

Me and my friend guy had an ugly text exchange recently, which left me with a strong desire to get a cat. I found a lovely 17-year-old beauty on a cat rescue site, but my aunty doesn't want a cat in the house. So now I'm not sure what to do since finding a romantic partner that doesn't make me cry seems to be out of the question for my life. According to Pix, cats are out of style anyway. 

"Cat ladies are not cat ladies anymore," he explained. "Those women who only watch true crime shows are the new cat ladies. If you meet a girl who only talks about that show Snapped or the stuff she has seen on I.D. Discovery, you are in trouble."

P thought that this was hilarious. Apparently, all the bitter women at his job gang up together and talk about the latest serial killer slasher show they are binge-watching. 

Now that this new definition of a cat lady is in play, I am realizing I have been one for at least the last 5 years. There isn't one streamed missing persons/ the boyfriend did it/ the husband is suspicious docuseries that I haven't watched. For some reason, there is something so addictive about these shows! The only thing that would make watching them better would be watching them with my new cat in my lap. 

Stages

Long ago, I was invited to Colorado to review a winter resort. A family was staying there that I became friendly with, particularly the mother. She asked me how old I was, and at the time, I was 25. She was in her 50s. She said, "You are in that stage of life where you go on Facebook and see that all your friends are getting married. I am at that stage of life where I go on Facebook and see that everyone's parents are dying."

I have thought about that statement over the years, primarily because these stages seemed so extreme. I figured that there has to be a middle stage, and there is. At 40, I am at that stage of life where messed-up, scary stuff begins to happen to you to show you that you are no longer young, and it's not fun. 

Recently, a college friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer. Over the years, breast cancer has been diagnosed younger and younger in women. I had a mentor in her 70s that told me that when she started out as a nurse, it was rare to treat a woman under 60 with breast cancer. Now my friend, whom I remember partying with and watching her cross her sorority, is now posting about her doctor's visits and their mental toll. 

I have friends who are navigating separations and divorces. Friends that are dealing with high-risk pregnancies because they are now considered "geriatric". Friends who have seriously injured themselves doing something basic, like bending over or turning their head. It's also supplement time. Don't be surprised if you go to hang out with your girls and the conversation goes rogue, and you all start talking about what vitamins you are taking for heart health and to strengthen your pelvic floor. 

A woman recently went viral for pretty much having a live panic attack because she just turned 40 and felt like she had done nothing with her life and time is running out. This comes with it to, this feeling of feeling like you have not accomplished enough. Even accomplished folks can feel this way, and it's a very haunting and panicked feeling. You start to get antsy, searching for a way to at least have some small success. It's a lot of pressure. 

Earlier this weekend, I had a Clearly Canadian water. Do you remember those flavored waters from the 90s? They are back, and it was amazingly refreshing. The last time I'd had one of these drinks, I was at the stage in my life where my biggest concern was getting my homework done so that I could watch music videos for the rest of the day. Now, when I hear songs on the radio, I don't know who half of the artists are! 

I can be negative and anxious, so for my own mental health, I am trying to brainwash myself into believing that this is the stage that great, beautiful things are going to happen to everyone I know...just a little later than expected. This stage of life can be scary, but I just know that there is some sunshine coming around that bend, and I put that on my fish oil and glucosamine. 

Falling During The Fallout

A long time ago, I read this article about a doctoral student who had the opportunity to provide therapy to migrant women from another country who were granted entry into the United States after living for God knows how long in a refugee camp. She was stoked and eager to provide the women with tools to deal with what she was sure would be intense feelings of loss, hopelessness, fear, and even outright anger and exhaustion. To her surprise, all a lot of the women wanted to talk about were their boyfriends in the camp and the dramas they were dealing with. These women had been forced from their homes and saw incredible violence and hunger, but they wanted to know what she thought about their guys breaking up with them or moving to another country outside of the US. What did she think about long-distance relationships? In her opinion, did they have a chance of working? Needless to say, she was not prepared for the women needing this type of support. 

I thought about this the other day when I was talking to my new friend Pix. I met him online, we aren't compatible, and we are becoming friends. He called me excited to let me know that he has essentially met his dream girl. Their values align, she is super nice, and their conversation is smooth like butter. They are going out on a date, and he is super ecstatic. 

One of my college homeboys is stuck between two women. They are both cool and pretty, but they both speak to different sides of his personality. In all honesty, he does like one a little more than the other, but the one he likes the most isn't the best candidate for marriage which, in middle age, he has finally decided to get serious about. 

Then there is me. I had a guy that I was interested in for a second there, but after a hurtful text message exchange, I'm pretty sure we are through. P has warned me that when things like this happen, guys vanish for a while and come back later when they figure you have forgotten about what happened. So, he may circle the block, but I don't think that I can forget some of the stuff he said in those messages, especially since they are still in my phone and seared on my brain. I find myself thinking a lot about him and the general probability that I will ever find anyone. 

All this is happening while the sky is falling outside. So much is going on that it is hard to keep up with the news. One minute, people are talking about what to do if their healthcare is cut. Another minute, people are posting on Instagram about what to pack in your nuclear fallout backpack. There is an old saying that love conquers all. When we should be trying to figure out what to do as the world ends, we are editing our dating profiles and trying to figure out the quickest less painful way to become partnered. So yeah, love may conquer all, but what I am learning is what that doctoral student learned when helping the refugee women: love supercedes all when it comes to importance. Right now, I should be doing countless things to ensure me and my family's survival, but I am sitting here thinking about going back on a dating app. Maybe I will refresh my profile; make myself sound funner 😒, and post some new pictures where it doesn't look like I have six chins. It seems like love and its pursuit are the default setting, even in extremes. Because, as you hustle through the theoretical refugee camp that is life or prepare for global annihilation, you want someone who thinks you are cute next to you holding your hand.

Baby Talk

They say that birth rates are on the decline. I find this hard to believe, seeing that every time I go to the gynecologist, me and the menopausal receptionists working the front desk seem to be the only women in the whole place not knocked up. My social media timelines are literally packed full of newborns. But apparently, the receding birth stats are real, so much so that the government is willing to pay families $5000 to have a kid. I'm not sure if that is going to get America's families to baby makin'. Anyone who has children in their lives knows how expensive they are. I am pretty sure that I spend about five stacks a month on my nephew's Chick-fil-A orders. 

Today, I was informed that a young woman I mentored when she was a tween is pregnant. She is now in her late 20s, is in a relationship, and has a good job. Yet, when I heard the news of her being with child, I was not happy. I actually felt a very sharp wave of depression and doom in the pit of my stomach. You would have to be living under a rock not to know that the world is on fire. And I mean literally. It was not that long ago that Los Angeles went up in flames! There are wars and rumors of wars. People are losing their jobs left and right. The cost of living is through the roof, and there are global protests about one thing or another daily. There seems to be a united sense of dread and hopelessness when it comes to the state of affairs of the planet. I don't quite understand why someone would choose to bring a child into the world when everything is so, for lack of a better term, coocoo bananas!

However, a 20-something slipping up and having an oopsie baby with her boyfriend is almost to be expected. What really has me perplexed is the aware and educated people that see the distress of their surroundings and still decide to have a child. A guy I went to school with and his wife just brought a lovely little baby girl into the world. If I were closer to him, I would ask him how he and his wife decided to start their family when there are so many question marks and red flags all around us. 

My friend Amanda's sister is planning to get pregnant with her fourth child with her husband. I could not believe my ears when she told me this. I asked her why her sister would want to have a child now, with everything going on. She told me that I am not the only one who has asked that question. She said, "Why would she let things that are going on in the world prevent her from having her family?" Extreme social uncertainty seems like a huge reason not to have a kid, but I think I am in the minority on this thinking. 

I guess an argument can be made that there is no great time to have a kid. My great-grandma was born just 40 years after the abolishment of slavery. I just know that my great-great grandma's head had to have been spinning! Then my grandma was born right before The Great Depression. Yikes. My grandma had my mom in 1963, when things truly did not look too optimistic for Black folks, and my mom had me in the mid-'80s just as the country merged into the crack crisis and the AIDS epidemic. Again, yikes. 

I don't know what the story for this period of time is going to be. I guess the show has to go on whether or not the glass is half empty, half full, or completely full of caca. One thing is for sure: babies will come screaming into this world whether the world is deserving of their presence or not, and I'm willing to put $5000 on that. 

The Blues

It's very early, but I'm wide awake. I could be using this time to wash or paint my nails, but instead I feel like going outside on the porch to play a harmonica. I'm not sad or depressed, but I do have a bit of the Where is my life going?- I'm tired- I hope I didn't mess things up with a new guy I'm talking to- I'm tired of my vagina- I hope I'm not in perimenopause- Should I give up on my dreams? Blues. I'm trying to remain optimistic, but I am a little exhausted with life. I don't know what is to become of me sometimes. I wasted the first half of my life being a dreamer. Now I'm disappointed and don't know which end is up. I don't feel that my future is bright, and I'm very concerned about where this may leave me as a senior citizen. I hate even the idea of garbage. I'd do a very poor job dumpster diving or collecting cans. I don't see me winning the lottery anytime soon so I need to hustle. But until I figure out a game plan, it's just me and my metaphorical harmonica. 

Ozemp- Not

Like every other fat person with so much as two nickels to rub together, I have started taking Ozempic. You have probably heard of it by now. Ozempic, and other drugs like it, have been coined as weight loss wonder drugs. They first became famous when celebs started taking them, losing A LOT of weight in what seemed like overnight. Then the common folks like myself got a hold of it and reported similar results. I have been taking it for two months. Still fat. 

I can't even quantify how horrified I'm going to be if I go down in history as the only person that didn't lose weight on this drug! Admittedly, I have not realistically managed my expectations. By November, I wanted to be able to show up at my homecoming in rain boots and a thong. It looks like I'll be arriving in a "slimming" and modest trapeze top and mom leggings. 

"Do you know what those celebrities did to get such crazy results from this drug?" my doctor exclaimed during our virtual visit. "They have trainers that work them out three hours a day. A nutritionist. A personal chef. They dont eat sugar or carbs. Not even a sweet potato!" She assured me that I was on track and would see results as my dose goes up. 🫤. We'll see. 

My therapist swears my face looks thinner. I just think she's saying that to encourage me so I don't quit. I also think she may have been thrown off by the shiny, silky new bonnet I wore to our last session. 

Fat has been on me like white on rice since I was a baby, literally. Many people in my life think I've never tried to lose weight but I have, I'm just not excited about admitting my failures. The summer I became a vegetarian I actually gained weight! Water aerobics classes. Sleeping a lot so I'm not awake to eat. Weight loss shakes. Skipping meals. I feel like if this doesn't work I'm doomed! Plus I'm scared that new health guy in office is coming for the fatsos next. I could spend the rest of my life in a chub work camp in the mountains, making flip flops in a room with no air conditioning. Lets hope it doesn't go that far. Lets hope this works. 

Post Traumatic Nephew Syndrome

I have been having weird dreams lately that take place at my high school. In them I am being taunted and jeered, just like the bad old days. In one dream, I am walking down one of the hallways alone singing: "I am Holly. It is just me. I am so far behind, I should just be." I figured that these dreams were a result of my general anxiety and damage from high school. Now I think that my nephew is causing them.

Lately, he has been getting bullied on the school bus. Some little girl calls him names, hits him, and most recently ripped his report card that he was so excited to show us. Then some other boy just straight up hit him in the face! As a result, the bus driver gave my nephew an assigned seat near her, as if he was the issue. I think that this has triggered me and is causing my subconscious to go spiraling back to when I was in school. 

One reason why I never wanted kids is because I didn't want to relive how hard being one was. My weight was a constant source of ridicule, all the way up to my young adult years, but being in school was the worst! My whole existence seemed to be a joke for everyone, and no adult ever stepped up to help me. Being a kid was a very lonely experience. 

So when I see my nephew pouting over someone hurting him, it pisses me off and sends me free falling back to adolescence. My brother said he is going to teach my nephew to fight, but why does that even have to be the solution? Wouldn't it be easier for parents to teach their kids not to be a$$holes? 

When I was a kid, I used to fantasize about a world where I could be my binge-reading, fat self without other kids having something to say. That was over 30 years ago and it seems that things have only gotten worse. I guess that warm, accepting world only exists in my dreams. 

The Big 'Don't Care'

With the help of my therapist, I am coming to a huge, epic, life-changing conclusion: people don't care. Many don't care about themselves so how could they and why would they care about me? Since I'm empathetic (gross, I hate that word) this reality hurts me more than it would others. Me and my therapist are navigating understanding this without allowing it to break my heart more than it already has.

As we've discussed, I've been holding space for people in my life that don't want to be in it, making excuses for people's absences. The married people in my life can't call me because they are busy with their kids. Nope! They just don't care. One of my dearest friends that hasn't reached out must really be struggling for me not to hear from her. Nope! She just doesn't care. People may be adjusting to a new job, unpacking after a move, going back to school, healing from a break up, etc., but people care about what they care about despite what they have going on. So sadly, these people don't care! 

I feel like someone has given me a sh$t cake without a fork to eat it with. How do I not allow the cloud of dontcareism that has been thrown at me cause me to lose my ability to care? Because let me tell you, when you find out no one else does,  it's hard to hold on! The first step is to invest in those beautiful people who invest in me. Done! The second part is addressing the emo part of it all and that's going to take some time. To be continued...

Mammogram Part 2

The day of my mammogram, I prayed that God decrease my anxiety so I could go, get it done, and not reschedule. I was feeling antsy seeing that I'd had a weird dream that I was afraid could be a foreshadowing. I dreamed that me and my grandma were at the park and I was telling her how I was afraid of my mammogram results. She then reached over, squeezed my left breast, and a thick, red, waxy material came out of it. I woke up, not believing that could be a good sign. 

As the time rolled around to go to my appointment, I felt oddly calm. I credit this to my aunty and nephew coming with me, even though they stayed in the car. The doctor's office was oddly quiet. It was towards the end of the day. I was apprehensive, but my anxiety was at bay. 

Let me just say thank you to the sweet Jamaican woman who performed my mammogram. She was patient and kind to me as my anxiety eventually showed up and took over the show. With my left breast awkwardly compressed in the mammogram machine, I started crying and had the urge to rip my boob out of the machine (which would have been painful and possibly would have left me maimed) and run. 

Once it was over, I was told my results would be available in a week. So I was shocked to get an email the next day saying my results were available online. I immediately rolled over and called my gyno office. 

"I can interpret your results, but moving forward,  we probably aren't the appropriate place to call to get your mammogram results," a doctor who wasn't my doctor said before putting me on hold. Uh, okay. After about 30 seconds she popped back on the line and told me everything was fine and to get a mammogram again in a year. That's when I started crying. 

You want to talk about literal tears of joy?! I was so grateful to God. I truly didn't have the bandwidth to deal with more bad news or another health issue. I'm already overwhelmed trying to lose weight and keep my marbles.

A few moments later,  I dried my eyes and took a deep breath. Another fine crisis avoided to be readdressed next year. 

Mammogram

I'm scheduled to get my first mammogram today. Am I scared? Well, I'm up in the wee hours of the morning blogging about it. You tell me. 

I don't want to go. I may cancel depending on high my anxiety is. I'm told it's going to really hurt. I'm beyond nervous and petrified something may be wrong. Listen, my who-ha has already put me through the ringer. I just found out I need gum surgery. I'm not losing any weight, and my grandma had dementia so when I forget something, I panic. Now I have to worry about my boobs? Being a grownup is ghetto. 

Not long ago it felt like this milestone was a way down the road, now it's at my doorstep. And having watched all those breast cancer horror movies on Lifetime growing up didn't help. Man, I thought I had worries as a kid because other kids made fun of me. I didn't know what worries were! I just want to read my Babysitter's Club books and watch Nickelodeon, not live in fear of my own breasts! 

I don't want to talk about this anymore. Wish me luck. 

The Dentist

My mouth hurts. I need to go to the dentist. 

GEEZ! Just for one day I'd like to have a task on my to-do list that doesn't involve me spiraling into a frenzied panic attack. 

I don't like going to the dentist. In elementary school, most of my life was spent at the orthodontist dealing with my braces. After they were removed, I foolishly thought my dealings with my dental hygiene were over. Please. 

My wisdom teeth came in very slowly and I felt every micro movement. From college to quite recently I nursed my dental whoas with warm water and salt or oil pulling. I'm beyond that now. I'm scared the dentist is going to tell me I need my whole jaw removed. And that wouldn't be surprising. Growing up, my grandma had dentures and by her mid 50s, after years of smoking, my mom's teeth were falling out nearly daily and she kept them in a Ziploc baggie. Needless to say, I'm not expecting good news from my dental visit. Just more b$lls&t to be worried about🫤

Cowardly Custard

People talk a lot about traits they don't like in other people. Mostly everyone would agree that they don't like liars, people who steal, mean people, etc. I am finding that I don't like cowards. 

Believe it or not, I had not had much experience with cowards in my life. Growing up in the city going to public schools, kids seemed to be in your face and never afraid of anything. Honestly, the most cowardly person I knew was me. I was afraid to get in fights and afraid to speak up. I was a true scaredy cat. But what got me to thinking about cowards of late in my tanked relationship with Big Bae. 

Big Bae was a man I met on a dating app that I was with for 8 months before he ghosted me in the New Year. I, like a simp, was scared he was dead, seeing that he has heart disease. I sent texts, inquiring about his well-being which went unanswered. I feared the worse, only to notice him changing his profile pic on his socials. I guess he was just over me and didn't care enough to at least tell me so. I see this as cowardly. P disagrees. 

"He's not a coward. This is just the way people operate," he informed me. Well, I find this mode of operation to be cowardly. 

Then there was my friend of 20 years that didn't want to be my friend anymore. She didn't feel like telling me and used our mutual friend as a middle man to deliver the message. Now if that's not cowardly, I don't know what is! 

I find that cowardly behavior has become an encouraged way of life. Social media life coaches across the board agree that everyone should avoid the hard conversations and uncomfortable words to preserve their peace, turning us into a happy-go-lucky race of yellow bellies, oblivious to the pain our cowardice rains on others. 

I was a mentor to teen girls for 15 years, and the slogan for mentoring is "First, do no harm". This was why if a mentoring relationship needed to end for any reason, we encouraged closure meetings where the mentor would tell the mentee why the relationship had to end. You wouldn't believe how many folks skipped out on those meetings, leaving the mentee to carry the load. Again, cowardly. 

What seems so bad about this unique brand of cowardice is that it's not based in fear. Child Holly who hid from confrontation would understand that. It seems to be based in this I-don't-give-a-f$ckness that is devoid of any empathy or respect. It just rubs me as low, but what else would you expect from a coward? 

Ladylike

When I was a kid, even during my tomboy years, I would see older women who weren't all dolled up and wonder what happened to them. It wasn't that they presented as masculine, but more like gender neutral beings that gave up on makeup and any type of form-fitting frocks. They would tend to have on varying combinations of clothing that gave them the potato sack look. Many had even traded in stylish sneakers for colorless, drab foot coverings with no laces. I realize now that at some point these women had just given up. For some reason, keeping up appearances can register as just too much for some women as they age. 

All the way up until my grandma was diagnosed with dementia, she pressed her hair daily and wore pressed powder. She was in her '80s. I find it difficult to find the strength to paint my nails, which I always loved doing, and I just turned 40. Before Beyonce made it popular, my grandma used to tell me that being pretty hurt, referring to the figurative and literal pain of keeping yourself up as a woman. Now that I get the full scope, I have to applaud women who put in the effort because it is a lot. 

My closet is full of dresses. Pretty ones I used to love to put on and literally spin around in. Making sure I had a nice collection of summer dresses used to be my thang. Now I have to stop myself from Googling where I can get some potato sack gear. I don't want to lose my desire to be feminine, but I've been hearing the sound of men's sweat pants calling my name. I see married women with kids and jobs on social media who still put forth the effort. Amazing! I'd be rocking back and forth in a corner wearing a bedsheet. 

In an effort to keep it sexy I have decided that today I will put on chapstick. Maybe staying connected to my feminine self starts off with a series of baby steps. 

The Compliment Collector

I have to say, being on a plus size dating app is fun. It's nice to chat with men who are into me for a change. Plus, I am a sucker for a good story. So I love to hear the men talk about their jobs and past relationships. And, ashamedly, I love when they pay me compliments. When these guys message me sweet words about my smile, eyes, and figure, I light up like a Christmas tree! 

You see, in high school I could not have paid a guy to say I was pretty. Then, in college, I was overlooked for BEAUTIFUL thin girls that literally looked like models. I was also ignored. I could have done the banana dance in the middle of the cafe, and no man would have noticed. As a young adult, men who said nice things to me wanted sex or gas money. Finally, in middle aged, men are waking up to see what a dish I am. 

I wish I was one of these women who didn't need male validation and could solely exist off of my self esteem alone. But I'm not, so give me more compliments for 200 Alex! There are things I am admitting out loud at my big age. I like when men make me feel beautiful as pathetic as it is. I am hopeful that one day my confidence will be enough to get me through. It just won't be one day soon, lol. 

Empathic

This weekend, my therapist diagnosed me with being an empath. I frowned. I do believe that being empathic is a a real thing, but I also believe it's a diagnosis that has become overused. It seems like everyone with a sad face is calling themselves empathetic. However, my therapist says this is why I feel things so deeply and can't move on from life's hurts and cruelties. A part of me wishes my grandmother and elementary school teachers were here to hear this. They long ago diagnosed me with "being too sensitive". But that's only because I spent kindergarten through 5th grade in tears. Now look at me! I am emotionally o-fficial! Empath out. 

The Big Mourn

For the past few years, I have felt stuck on repeat in my life; having the same issues and not making any progress. So many of my friends have started businesses, traveled, and just done big things, whereas I have felt frozen in time. Of late, I have been forcing myself to really meditate on why and try to make myself accountable. The long and short of it is I'm hurt, sad, and don't know how to move past these emotions. 

I'd say that the biggest issues that I deal with are grief and abandonment. I feel that these things go hand-in-hand because they both are behind this baseline feeling of loss and needing to mourn. 

Yikes! No wonder no one wants to do self-work! It sucks and it's draining. I'm telling you now that it's more fun to get a tooth pulled than it is to really have to grieve your mom's death almost ten years later. But it has to be done. 

I also have to change my mindset when it comes to the abandonments. I have to get real and just acknowledge that I don't feel like I was abandoned, I was. Once I can put the period at the end of some of these friendships, I think I can go from missing people to mourning them so I can move on. I know what you are thinking: But Holly, your old friends aren't dead!" Believe me, the way some of them have vanished, it feels like they are.

Yesterday, I attempted to start the work on Friend X. I was crying five minutes in. It was like trying to slowly pull duct tape off a wound, which was taking off skin as you did it. I considered this person a sister. But she is a huge emotional owie that has to go. I think my psyche agrees. I had a dream that I grabbed her hand and we were running with her trailing behind me. This feels like my mind's way of trying to dispose of these emotions. 

I do believe that it was the great H-Town that told us that emotions make you cry sometimes. Hopefully, on the other side of this mountain of Kleenex, I'm unstuck and ready to make moves. Friend X is in active mourn mode. My mom is a bit too heavy but I will get to her, which would leave a trillion more owies to address. Here's to progress!