Dateline 30-Something

Did you know that people are still dating? I honest to God had no idea! I thought that all of us that are not married by now had agreed to give up years ago! I mean, can you believe it. People are still trying. I mean, I am shocked! Do you know how much energy it takes to try? It takes all I have just to roll over and groan into my pillow! 

My friend Ashley said she went on three dates last week. Three. One. Two. Three. Three dates. On three separate occasions, she showered, did her hair, got dressed, left her apartment, drove to a location, met with a man, had banter for two hours, then came home. She did this three times. One. Two. Three. Wooo! I need a nap from just typing that out! 

I mean, I get it I guess. A lot of my friends want marriage and kids, so if ever there was a time to amp up the dating, I guess the time is now. I don't want kids, but I like to think that if I did, I would just cut my losses and go to the sperm bank! The motivation it takes to go on apps and get out and meet people...yikes! I just don't have it, not that I ever really did. But I really don't now. My tolerance for disappointment has decreased over the past ten years. Just the idea of being let down makes me sleepy. 

But I have to admit, I have my fingers crossed for my friends still fighting the good fight. Every friend over 35 that finds love is just indication that all the rom coms were right, and there is love to be found going into middle age! Hey, I hear you laughing at me, but whatever. Believing in fantasies keeps you young. 

30s No Bueno

Is it normal to lose your mind in your 30s? I ask because all the 30-somethings around me are cracking like walnuts. Broken romantic relationships. Loneliness. Lost friendships. Work drama. Finance freakouts. Sick parents. A GLOBAL PANDEMIC. You could fill a swimming pool with the tears from my friends alone. On top of all of this, I am trying to lose weight after being told to lose weight since I was about five. This is happening at a time when I have about as much metabolism as a foam cup, but that is another post entirely. 

You will be happy to know that P has dodged the 30s anxieties that are crippling the rest of us. While we all are doing everything possible to get into virtual therapy, he is self-soothing by holding true to his age-old motto: Toughen Up. Man, if ever there was a guy with a stiff upper lip it is P. Right now, I am about as tough as melting ice cream. 

Oh, and have any of you noticed what I am coining as Social Media Contradiction Disorder? On Instagram, everyone I know is partying on boats or eating brunch at fancy home rentals. Yet, my Facebook reads like a trail of tears. Posts are paragraphs long outlining disappointments and heartaches. Maybe my Facebook friends could brighten up if they took a lesson from my IG friends and spent their spare time taking photographs of their outfits and lunches. 

So what is the solution? I am not sure, this is my first time in my 30s. Hang in there I guess? Hang in there. Please. If ever there was a piece of useless advice, it's hang in there. I imagine us 30 somethings have to continue to be a support to each other. Or maybe we can just keep crying until we eventually dehydrate and our minds, bodies, and spirits go into some type of automatic renewal. Whatever is easier. 

Therapy

Well cool cats and kittens, I am finally in therapy. 

And not in a cute way like athletes or celebrity racists that get caught doing something bad. I mean really in therapy doing work. I always thought that I needed to be in therapy, but when you begin crying multiple times a day and losing it over minor things, you kind of don't have a choice. So my therapist is helping me to get my anxiety under control, anxieties that were on their way to becoming phobias. This is a good thing, because I was only a few days away from going completely nuttybags, yelling obscenities at people from the roof of my neighborhood grocery store.   

The thing is, I thought that anxiety was new for me, but after talking with my therapist, I realize it has always been there like an ex-boyfriend that can't take a hint, waiting to get on my nerves. I remember being at a reggae club in New Orleans with my friends and having to excuse myself to cry in my bestie's Honda while everyone else ponned the replay inside. Thinking back, my anxiety journey has been a literal trail of tears, having private crying fits before, after, and even during events in my life. 

My whole life I have been branded as dramatic and emotional because I am dramatic and emotional. So when I would get so worked up over things in college that I would race back to my dorm room, fall face-first into my twin bed, and cry into my bedspread, even I figured I was just being emotional and dramatic again. Feeling sick when I had to be around folks. Wanting to hurl at the thought of going out. It has been anxiety this whole time. Who knew?

I have to say, talking things out with someone who actually knows what they are talking about has been BEYOND therapeutic, and I would recommend it to anyone. Life has been stressful and we are finally seeing a possible end to a pandemic. If you need to talk to someone, do it. 

Flexed

I have never had a broken bone or really any serious injury because I have spent the bulk of my life being almost totally inactive. The most active I have ever been was a short period of time in kindergarten where I was hooked on double dutch and determined to be a playground champion. Well, guys, I'm a long way from kindergarten, and my body told me as much when I injured my hip flexor doing aerobics in the pool at the gym. 

Talk about a nightmare. I am still not fully recovered, I can just tell when my body is about to go south and sit down somewhere. But in the beginning, there was not a day that I didn't cry. I felt like my leg was about to pop off. Ugh, the waddling and the hopping and the maneuvering it took just to go potty. If I would have had insurance, I probably would have gone to physical therapy or something. But I don't, so all I had was prayer and tears. 

Ironically, this would happen after I took a definitive stance to get healthier. The result was me getting increasingly more unhealthy, lying on my stomach, eating junk, and watching Netflix. How many bags of Doritos do you have to eat to cure the resentment you feel towards the universe for making things worse when you wanted to get better? I won't even tell you. It's disgusting. 

I finally made my way to urgent care after I almost fell face first coming out of the bathroom. That was fun, sitting in an urgent care waiting room to be seen while trying not to breathe in coodies in the heart of COVID, only to be told that my x-rays were inconclusive, but that I do have the beginning of Arthritis. EVERYBODY SING! 

I was referred to an orthopedist who told me that he didn't know much about hip flexors, but that my urgent care x-rays were inconclusive. DUH! He wanted me to go to some imagery place and I would have, but I'd had it with being told nothing by professionals. 

So that brings us to today. I'm okay, but I won't be doing any splits any time soon. The first doc said I'd be better in 6 months. People who have had this injury say it takes over a year, realistically. Needless to say I am over it...and out of Doritos. 

My Red Hot Diflucan Summer

Do you remember that tiny pocket of time before the Delta strain of COVID chased us back in the house where we were actually enjoying a Hot Vax Summer? I use the word "we" as I refer to the culture. I wasn't participating in any of those brunches or birthday parties highlighted on social media. I was at home whimpering over my throbbing, itchy vagina. 

Many of my friends don't understand how I made it to nearly middle age without ever having a yeast infection and neither do I. I mean, when I was 18 I was wearing thongs to class in 700 degree New Orleans heat and was somehow spared. However, my good luck was no match for being put on an antibiotic for a toothache I was having. 

I'm surprised you didn't hear about it before now. I called any friend that would listen, complaining and whining. 

"Stop drinking cranberry juice!" Jamaica screamed into the phone. "That is for a UTI! Drink more water! The sugar is feeding the yeast!" This she tells me as I literally had a straw in a family-sized jug of Ocean Spray! 

"I know that you took a Diflucan Holly, but you can also use a vaginal anti-fungal," my mentor assured me. "Nothing will happen." I didn't believe her. I was fearful that I could die from some sort of vaginal overdose. In my defense, I was being irrational. It was hard to sleep, seeing that my gyn had a thick, heavy, heartbeat that rung in my ears whenever I closed my eyes. 

To add annoyance to injury, I sent my aunt to CVS to get me Monistat 1, a one-and-done treatment, and she came back with Monistat 7, a seven-day treatment! The treatment comes with these plastic pipe-like things. Who wants to be plastic-pipin' it for 7 days? Not I said the cat! 

"Oh shut up pampered pussy and use the damn cream!" Winfrey hollered at me, irritated by my sobbing into the phone. Tortilla was my only friend that showed me any compassion. She didn't make fun of my irrational fear of anti-itch cream. She's very patient with my phobias. 

The fact that women get these, some even chronically, should be front-page news! But just in case you haven't gotten one, let me leave you with some adjectives: itchy, throbbing, swollen. It's way worse than those treatment commercials lead you to believe. They will have you thinking that a yeast infection is just mildly uncomfortable. NOT! It's hellacious! 

Luckily, I lived through it to tell you about it, but it was touch and go for a minute there. Just know you have a sister in me when you inevitably end up yeasty, your cookie smelling like a medicated piece of toast. Aw, to be a woman. 

Scary to be Single

I saw a lot of awesome, life-like, terrifying costumes on Instagram this year for Halloween. However, for me, the scariest thing about Halloween was being single. Single and 36. Single and 36 at a church single's ministry Halloween mixer. Single and 36 at a church single's ministry Halloween mixer where 90% of the guys there were under 30. Everyone was so young there that they didn't understand my costume or lack thereof. I wore my camouflage maxi dress and told people I was a No Limit Soldier. No one got the joke. 

For about an hour I sat in the corner nibbling on a zebra cake, wondering where I went wrong. The music was good. I mean, you haven't lived until you've seen young Christians two-step to Kendrick Lamar. And God knows I love a good Little Debbie cake. But sitting in the corner alone, away from the comfort of my blanket and space heater, was just too much. I wanted to go home so badly that for about five minutes, I sat with my eyes closed, attempting to teleport. Spoiler alert: it didn't work. I quickly and discretely left the party, stood by the church sign and cried while waiting on my Lyft ride. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call a fun Friday night. 

You know what else is scary: I still have hope in finding love. I am nearly 40, I own nothing, I'm overweight, and it has been so long since I washed my hair that I'm afraid that if I take off my bonnet, a long, Rapunzel-esque deadlock will fall to the ground in a midst of dust and caked up Shea butter flakes. Yet I still can not shake this very real desire to share my life with someone who will think that my turbo-dread is cool...before doing me the favor of cutting it off in my sleep. The eternal optimism of the stressed-out mind: it's a real thing. 

When I got home, I took off my dress, slipped into an old tunic that I wear as a nightgown, laid down and stared up at the ceiling while sucking on a jolly rancher that came in the goody bag from the party. At least I had candy to get me through the night which was the best Halloween treat of them all, word to Mia X. 

Life Is A Scratched Cell Phone Screen

Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while know that I have always been a little sensitive to time, especially in regards to aging and missed opportunities. Time has been showing up as a theme for me over the past few weeks. Young women that I mentored when they were in middle school just graduated college in May. My little brother just turned 30, and while I was twiddling my thumbs on whether or not to go to grad school, many of my friends enrolled and are now finishing up Ph.D. programs. And at 36, I have now gotten to a place where people who are WAY older than me feel comfortable reminding me that I am almost 40. It's an awkward place to be- kinda young and sorta old at the same time. But I assumed that no one else my age cared about these things, especially not my college friends. When I go on Instagram, they are all drinking artisanal beers in their $600,000 homes. This is why my meet-up with my old friend Tanya was curious. 

Tanya is that friend that you don't speak to for months, and when you reunite, it is like no time has passed. We knew each other at our most ratchet: as freshmen in college. There was really no one better to twerk and drink the days away with. She is a man-magnet because she is so fun and funny. She is strong and independent and often felt like a butterfly that you just couldn't catch. So you can imagine how weird it was to meet up with my butterfly after not hearing from her for a couple of years, only to find that her wings are sprained and bandaged. 

Why? Well, you guessed it- a man! She is going through a nasty breakup with her boyfriend of eight years. They lived together and now have to vacate their condo because neither of them can afford it on their own. Now she and her son have to uproot their lives and start over with the help of her family, who NEVER liked this guy. I have never met him, but I don't like him either. She told me about how she played nursey for him when he was sick, how she led the household when he lost his job, and even let some relationships die because he required so much attention, only for him to text her all through our girl date about how he didn't approve of her being out. I couldn't believe that my independent friend had hitched her wagon to someone that seemed VERY controlling and immature. She even told me that they keep their GPS on on their phones so they always know where they are when they are apart. WHAT?!

As you can imagine, she was pretty down. And not just because she has gotten to a point where she can't stand someone that she once loved, but because of the time that has been wasted. Eight years. You know, when you are in your 20s, you are taught to never look at time as a waste because you learned something during a situation. By my age, if you are smart, you have learned that that is a lie! You can learn life lessons in a relationship, on a job, or any other situation and still come out knowing and feeling that the whole thing was a huge waste! You cannot get time back. You cannot! It is the one thing we all lose repeatedly that is not coming back to us. Eight Years. She got with this guy when she was 27. Now she is almost 40. 

Before we parted ways, I took out my phone to take a picture of us and noticed that my screen was cracked. 

"Aw man!" I said. "Well, life is like a scratched cell phone screen," I joke. 

"Isn't it?" she asked, flatly. 

Touche Tanya. Yeah it is. Life looks all beautiful in HD until something comes along and scratches our view. Hopefully, our scratch isn't an 8-year all-consuming love drain that is going to be a nightmare to get over. 

The good thing is that Tanya is strong and amazing and will get over this and find love again. It's not like she has a choice. Like me, she is almost 40. She doesn't have the time to do anything else but move on. 

School

So...your girl is in grad school! 

I know that this is a shocker to many of you that remember how horrified I have been about retaking the GRE. The first go 'round I was so stressed out over it that I would punch the wall in my sleep. I pretty much gave up on ever furthering my education which was never a good idea, seeing that I got my undergraduate degree in a dying industry. But I'm in school now baby! I'm 36, working towards my part 2! 

You should see me. I look completely different than I did in undergrad. Not just physically (although I am still a cutie) but in the way that I am taking my education seriously. Guys, I won't even tell you how many times I chose frat parties I chose over studying. I was no slave to homework or tutoring. I was just trying to be cute, eat, sleep, and party in The Creasant City. I wouldn't give those carefree times up for the world, but in this season of my life, just call me a nerd! I am reading, taking notes, kicking butt, and taking names! I don't want to brag...but I am leveling.up. 

One of the things that was stopping me from going back to school was feeling like I was too old, especially when I looked back a few years and realized how much time I wasted. But I am in class with women old enough to be grandmother, and they are amazing! Don't let the excuses stop you sis! You aren't too old or too stupid are too ugly or whatever lie you have told yourself. Get it done! There are probably amazing blessing on the other side. 

Okay kids, I'm done for now. Gotta go study. 

High Anxiety

This morning has already started out in the dumpster. 

I woke up early and watched an episode of The Twilight Zone. It was the episode where the earth is hella hot and everyone is going nuts, only for the main character to wake up to find that the earth is hella cold and freezing over. It is one of my favorite episodes; however, because of the snow nightmare happening in Texas, it began to feel a bit too real and was giving me anxiety. So I turned it off and began to do some deep breathing exercises that my OG Ms. Robyn taught me, only to be snapped out of my second breath by the sound of my aunt running around the house in a COMPLETE frenzy. 

She was running late for work. She has one of those jobs where if you are even a second late for you can be beaten to death in the town square. Watching her run around the house, my heart was beating a mile a minute. It was only 6am. 

Once my aunt got settled, the anxiety fest was just beginning. I had to fill out the tax paperwork for my new job. I screamed in my head the whole way through, trying to figure out what I was doing. I am NO GOOD at numbers. No Good. No. Good. Thinking about filling out that paperwork had been haunting me for days. On Friday, my boss told me that if I didn't fill it out, I wasn't going to get paid. So, as I have done a million times before, I just screamed my way through it. Once I submitted it, I was able to relax for a full 20 seconds before realizing that I should probably call the IRS. 

Let me tell you, I have made a lot of scary calls in my day. I have had to call FAFSA. I have had to call utility companies to set up payment arrangements. I had to call friends and have long, hard, crying conversations- the ones where you apologize over and over again while choking on your own snot. But calling the IRS hits different as the kids say. I would compare it to calling the doctor to see if you are pregnant or have cancer. You really have no expectation that the call is going to be pleasant. 

The last time I called, the agent was a lady who sounded like Rosie Perez. Today I talked to a male agent that sounded like the grim reaper. Even as he gave me optimistic news, I felt like I was going to throw up. There's something about hearing the words paycheck garnishment that does not sit well with you in the morning. The call ended on a high note. All issues were resolved. But the mere fact that I had to call left me sitting with a week's worth of trauma. 

Man, trying to sleep with anxiety is one thing, but nearly waking up to it is a complete other. If you have never experienced this, I hope you don't. Ever. 

It is now 8:27am. There is still time to turn this trash heap of a day around. I hope your day is amazing. Let's talk soon. 

Sleep Fighting

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I love sleeping. I mean, love it. Like most people love their kids or ice cream. Yet lately, my sleep has been spotty at night due to weird dreams. 

Like most people sleeping during the pandemic, I often dream that I go somewhere, like the grocery store or out with friends, and realize that I don't have my mask on and that I am breathing the Rona-infected air. I feel like that dream is pretty self-explanatory. Dreams that I am having more frequently include my ex-friend ______.

I have not talked to _____ in years. ______ and I used to be besties, but now our communication doesn't go any further than picture likes on social media. ______ has made it clear, through their silence, that they no longer want to have a friendship with me. I say that I am okay with it. I have prayed about it. But truth be told, I am still hurt over it while social media pictures show ______ out and about and living life not worried at all about me. 

Over the past few nights, I have been having dreams, taking place in different places and settings, where ______ and I get into blowout arguments and fights. For the most part, I can not remember what ______ and I are fighting about when I wake up, but last night was different. I dreamed that _______ and I were at some party, and ______ got in my face, screaming, saying that there were five reasons that we were no longer friends. The only one I can remember was my being too fat and ugly. This was interesting. Obviously, I don't think these things about myself. But I did often feel that _______ felt this way around me. We went to the mall once together and ______ tried to keep a distance between the two of us so that  no one would think we knew each other. I remember this day clearly because my feelings were low key hurt and I got a really cute pair of earrings from Forever21. 

I have never been good at interpreting dreams. But maybe God is telling me to get ready to fight off negativity in the new year. I don't know. I think I'm going to sleep on it.