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 me) 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? Bring 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 muly 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 its 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 progressive! 

Dirty 2: The Dumb and The Fearless

Early this morning, as I was texting with phone-mance man, let's call him HaiBae, some rando texted me a full-frontal naked photo that was apparently intended for someone named Jessica. Wow! Not only had he sent out an intimate photo of himself, but he'd sent it to the wrong number! I couldn't decide if he was fearless or dumb. 

I would be asking myself this same question as I transitioned to speaking to HaiBae on the phone. Let's just say that when it comes to being physical with someone, he's a speed racer type of guy and I'm a hay-covered wagon type of woman. For him, this equates to me refusing to be spontaneous or live life. And I get that. This is a man that told me early on that one of his favorite things is exercising on the nude beach where he's from. In response, I'd told him I like to read. 

Early this morning, our naughty talk crashed into me learning more about his personal doctrine. To say that he goes with the flow is an understatement. According to him, we are put here to enjoy lives. They are already mapped out for us. He believes in a higher power but not really an afterlife, because energy never dies. For me, if you don't believe in an afterlife, life gets easy and fun quickly, because there are no postmortem consequences. If you are never going to have to pay for things you've done that are against a doctrine you don't recognize, everyday is a party! Have another shot of vodka while you ride another wiener. Who's going to check you boo?! 

As I listened to him talk about his whimsical life, one centered on exploring, living, and satisfying desires, I could not decide if he was fearless for living out loud or dumb. I was hearing him say a lot of stuff, but nothing about guard rails. I'm assuming those come from God. But if God is a homie riding shotgun in your so-called life and not a heavenly disciplinarian, who needs rules? You'd just do what you want using your own ideals as a compass, which is what I think is happening with HaiBae. I just can't decide if that's low-end crazy or high-end genius. 

He knew without me even saying that I am someone who operates out of fear. I was a goody two-shoes kid which has translated into an overly cautious adult who secretly craves the freedom of being reckless. But is that really freedom? Since God is my judging father and not my high-fiveing roommate, I'm going to have to say the answer is no. 

HaiBae wants to "f*ck me" as he so eloquently put it. Nastily, he has a way with words that I like. However, we've reached the point where I have put up or shut up. He's over our spicy convos. HaiBae has made it crystal clear that we either need to do something or not because just talking about it "bores him". For some reason I thought of James 2:17, "Faith without works is dead." As hot as he is, I just can't let go enough to engage in a hookup. As fearless as hooking up with a man I don't know well would be, putting out my thirst for danger, I just couldn't. That would be dumb. 

Dirty

I have tasked myself with finding joy wherever I can get it. Recently, I found it in having inappropriate conversations with a man I met on a dating app. I'm ashamed to say that I was hypnotized by his dirty, nasty, sexual talk. I was also intrigued by the fact that he was out here living much of what he was saying while I was sitting at home moping. 

By choosing abstinence (I'm not sure how choose-ish it is at this point) I am realizing that I have missed out on a huge part of the human experience which has isolated me from the rest of the world. How messed up is that? 

This phone-mance didn't last long.  Long story short,  I made him upset. Now all his texts have an aire of irritation in them. What are you going to do? Apparently, I irritate people. 

The fact that I so easily slipped into this hotline bling of naughtiness is just proof of how desperately I need to get back into church and my Bible, but that's a post for another time. 

Abandoned

Turning 40 has brought with it hours of reflection which is exhausting, seeing that I'm already a reflective person. Mostly, I've been trying to do some self work on being abandoned. Oddly enough, my last shrink diagnosed me with being abandoned before abandoning me herself. Oh, what is life without these painful, cosmic jokes? 

I feel abandoned by the brightness, will to live, and optimism of my younger self. I feel abandoned by family I miss that has died. I feel abandoned by my most intimate goals and dreams. And these things I am trying to carefully unpack. Yet most of all, I feel abandoned by my friends and people that have claimed to love me. I feel like my full name should be Holly "Out of sight, Out of mind" Clay. 

Facing the fact that I have been abandoned in some of my friendships, some I'd even considered life-long, has been excruciating. Addressing this abandonment also comes with this severe, overwhelming sense of loss, sadness, and even betrayal. It's a wound that I can't fully tend to, because just looking at the band-aid sends me into a spiral. 

"You are going to have to save yourself Holly. No one is coming to save you," my gyno told me during our last visit. She was speaking in regards to me losing weight, but she had no idea how much the comment hit home. 

Save me? I thought. I can't even get people I love to call me! 

I guess the hardest part is creating closure from folks that don't give a sh$t. I'm trying to map out how to do this without everyday being overwhelmingly emotional. I will keep you posted. 

Malfunctioning

The other day I attempted to watch The Barbie Movie. I didn't finish it because I got annoyed when Ken tried to boss up. Hopefully you have seen it, because this may be a spoiler alert. 

There is a part in the movie where Barbie loses her Barbieness. She isn't so happy and loses her foot arches. And she tells her friends about this and one of them says, "You're malfunctioning." BINGO! There is a word for it!!

Depression. Anxiety. Exhaustion. Negative self talk. Deep sadness. Endless loneliness. Torrential crying. I'm malfunctioning! Surely if it can happen to Barbie it can happen to me!

I guess I have to finish the rest of the movie to figure out what to do next. Until I get the energy to roll over and turn on my computer, I think I will take a 7 hour nap. It's just good to finally have a diagnosis. 

Snow Job

Child. 

It's that magical time in Atlanta where there is a threat of snow. And by threat of snow, I need you to know, that there only needs to be the threat of one snow flake for the city to lose it. You have probably seen the coverage of our grocery stores wherever you live. Shelves are BARE as if we live in Colorado and are expecting an avalanche. My Doordash delivery lady had to make some hard decisions yesterday. There was hardly anything left at the store, especially when it came to the off brand stuff. However, I am excited to try the that $8 bread I've been wanting to try for so long. There was no other bread on the available!!

It's in the winter when I am most grateful to live in the South. I saw some downright outrageous videos of Northerns literally snowed into their homes and cars sliding and crashing on expressways. There were women, WOMEN, wearing pounds of coats and scarves, attempting to shovel their driveways with snow coming up to their knees! No ma'am! 

There is a 90% chance of snow today. Don't get too excited. Our snow rarely sticks. The most determined kid can hardly make a suitable snowman. That doesn't stop the city from shutting down like some type of NYC apocalyptic ice storm is upon us. School is cancelled. People are buying gasoline like they need enough to drive to the moon. We've discussed the over shopping. You would think the world is ending. 

And it's not. Not today anyway. Like every other ATAlien, I will be locked in the house watching Netflix, nibbling on snacks. If you are here, I suggest you do the same. There will be inevitable drama outside. Y'all be safe! 

Hopes and Dreams

I'm a few days into being 40 and I have to say that I am adjusting into it like a pair of church shoes three sizes too small. Some women hit 40 and it's just another year, but it really is a milestone for me. I am now in the perfect position to look back and see clearly all the mistakes I have made and all the things I didn't get done. And in doing so I now find myself wondering if I should continue to try to make my dreams come true or just give up, cut my losses, and try to make some real money before I end up retiring with nothing. I could become one of those unfortunate seniors who has to get a roommate and move into an extended stay motel. At some point, is it just best to let your hopes and dreams go?

I want to say yes, but I'm not so sure. My dreams of becoming a world famous author have kept the lights on in my heart since I was 6! How do I now transition into trying to figure something else out? The thought is exhausting and pressing now that I'm old enough to be a victim of age discrimination. I look forward to the day where I'm told I'm too old to file papers or pick up trash on the side of the expressway. Devoid of the teaspoon of energy and optimism I had as a younger woman, I can't imagine the mental fortitude it's going to take to make it now. 

On top of this, writing is dying. Pretty soon, everything written that we read, down to the subtitles on a commercial, will be written by AI. I will be the first to say I can't compete with a computer! 

As I need to find a way to make bigger money, I can't imagine my life without trying to fulfill my hopes and dreams. It's a get published or die trying type of deal. How fun it's going to be trying to make it with the ticking of a grandfather clock in my ear. The Arthur theme song says, "Believe in yourself! That's the place to start!" We'll see. 

Happy New Year!!

2025 is here y'all, and I am proud to announce that I did not go out. Nope! Once upon a time, a 20-something year old Holly would have weighed paying a bill on time with buying a ticket to some stuffy Atlanta hotel party with no guaranteed seating. You know the type. A standing room only affair with no food and a DJ no one has heard of. Tonight, you could not have paid me to go out. I had a sparkling grape juice toast with my family, watched The Peach Drop on TV, talked to Haynes, then went to bed. Funny, the last time I went Downtown to see The Peach Drop, gunshots rang out before the concert started, and everyone ran. This was after a man dressed like Jesus with a homemade cross on his back told my gay homegirls they were going to hell. Ah, memories. Anywho, Happy New Year!!