Coffee Rhetoric: Truth
Showing posts with label Truth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Truth. Show all posts

February 14, 2011

These and Those: Onward March

I haven't abandoned Coffee Rhetoric in the least.  My new gig blogging for a local professional theater group, as well as trying to juggle and acclimate myself to newly elected PR and marketing responsibilities has kept me busy. Not complaining as these are things I've been steadily working towards! I'm enjoying interacting with this band of professional actors and definitely feel like I'm in my element, although trying to break myself of "day job" type protocol has been a bit challenging, so I still tread with caution and make sure to ask... but I do dig these fellow creative minds. It has also allowed me to meet and network with even more people as I try to follow-through with being a fabulously broke socialite, as the theater posts have been well received. Speaking of which, the more I navigate the trials and tribulations of socializing on my own, the more I realize that I'm simply getting too old to entertain specific personalities and people. I'm becoming more solitary... more... leery... more... observant... because it amazes me how people will sit back and expect someone to expend energy trying to placate their egos, yet won't put forth any effort trying to nurture any type of rapport or camaraderie and will go on a tirade about what someone did to slight or inconvenience them.
Over the course of the past two years or so, I've gotten to know and develop friendships with some pretty genuine and amazing people... but I've also come across a few recently who unfortunately proved to be high maintenance, self-entitled, and self-important. I'm just not willing to yield to someone particularly if it's not a mutual or beneficial effort. My derring-do allows me to dance a tango around someone who doesn't seem certain about how they want to present themselves to me. I went through a trying summer this past year and this current one... I deserve to exhale for once and relax my sphincter ... even if for a moment in this particular space and time. 
I'm just too old(er) and far too exasperated for theatrics...and am only interested in the stage work I'm currently being paid to cover. This whole culture of people who can't seem to move forward unless prompted by pretend so-called "haters" just doesn't bode well for me or my sanity, because I don't need a band of merry hecklers to catapult me to where I need to be. The whole concept of "hateration" is just distracting  and it's easy for one to feed into their own hype as they get swept up in the rapture of addressing the people they perceive to be jealous booers and hissers. I simply practice the art known as IGNORING. If maintaining a relatively as low-key as possible cipher is not for you... then I'm not ... for you, because I loathe grown-up bullies and people who do and say cruel things for no reason other than to try to conquer their own insecurities and issues. Otherwise, at this point and time...always and seemingly forever... I'm still fumbling towards ecstasy, wishing my bestest friend was closer, building up my battered resilience as well as even more character, and am in somewhat of a decent place right now and hope to see it through to fruition. 
This pretty much sums up where I am... 

May 03, 2010

Here I Go... Again...

Anyone who knows me... personally or via this virtual insanity... know that I am a Womanist and a staunch defender of Black women; and that I advocate us taking back control of our image and schooling the masses about what we are and what we aren't.
This year alone, there have been numerous "studies" ... articles and TV specials that obsessively try to get to the bottom of why I'm single. And having the resilient and tenacious personalities we do, many of us fought back... Sister Toldja's and Fungke Blak Chik's rebuttals being amongst those, rallying against the noise that undermines our femininity, our desirability, and our right to express our sexuality however we see fit. Their arguments were powerfully eloquent and spot-on. Everyone from White men to Black comedians; Russians to White women, seem obsessed with the mating habits of Black women. And Yemaya be damned if when we rear up and defend ourselves, for then we're labeled as bitter, angry, and hateful... with taunts of, "See?? See what we mean? See why Black women are single??!"
So why am I holding this seance, resurrecting this dead corpse again?  A little perspective on my frame of mind; I just finished reading Chester Himes' 'The End of a Primitive', then followed it up with a revisit of Charlotte Carter's 'Walking Bones,' and now have the nerve to be reading 'Wench' by Dolen Perkins-Valdez, so I don't mind going toe-to-toe right now. Observe...
While catching up with the goings-on of a favorite blogger's life, I was somewhat surprised, dismayed, and then pissed when I read about a conversation she had with her significant other- (they're both White with white collar careers).  The author of the blog didn't say anything offensive and usually logs very insightful, politically aware, and evolved posts... but her paramour... a captain of industry type who seems used to getting his way... didn't seem so progressive when he ranted against the (mostly) Black nursing staff (she's in the hospital) working the night-shift wherever she was recovering. It appears the nurses weren't keen on him staying overnight on a mostly female floor and reminded him that visiting hours were over. Annoyed, he opined that their sudden or perceived resentment toward his presence was due to them being angry, Black, and essentially bitter because they aren't the blondest or the fairest ones of all. And so they were jealous of said sick blogger... because she's white, blond, pretty, and well... because she has him to wrap her in his big masculine arms while she convalesces. And they'll never have that type of male sustenance in their lifetime. I won't offer a link to the post in question because I actually like her. She seems like a highly intelligent, honest, and nice woman. I enjoy her writing voice and I'd hate to be the catalyst who incites angry readers to chorus on her comments section. She seemed reluctant about feeding into her paramour's hype but, was equally as reluctant to question his rhetoric and obvious bigotry against and stereotyping about Black women... almost doing so halfheartedly so as not to upset him any further... which probably would've exacerbated the situation. She seemed - (an impression I got based on what she wrote) - willing to buy the rancid meat he was selling. I am not surprised nor did I expect her to jump to the defense of Black women or jump down his throat (since it is a relatively fresh relationship) and so am not disappointed in her hesitancy; particularly when you consider that her White female femininity was being elevated on a pedestal, which isn't uncommon- especially when being juxtaposed with that of a Black woman's. Here are some of the gems she shared when relaying the details of his angry rant- “Listen. I was married to a black woman for years.  I’ve spent a lot of time in many different communities. I’ve coached for years as well.  I lived and worked in and around D.C. for 10 of those years.  Outside the inner city it’s not so bad, but the black people in downtown D.C. are not fond white people. “
and --
"... I used to be come on to all the time when I was working in Northern Virginia you wouldn’t not believe it, sometimes I’d run across the street to get away from them.” 
and my personal favorite-- 
“I wasn’t going to say anything but a few of the nurses tried to catch my eye this afternoon. Two of them, at least. One of them even came on to me, and I mean she was BLATANT about it.  I just blew her off and kept walking. I couldn’t believe it”  ... 
"They all HAVE to know I’m with you, because I’ve been in bed with you since morning! I’m obviously devoted to you but they don’t care. They’ll just steal each other’s men, they won’t even hesitate. They.Just.Don’t.Care. Blows my mind.”
worst even-- “Trust me on this: With black women it’s all about the hair.  Believe me I know.”  <--(Um no son, you don't). 
So forth and so on. The entry left me speechless and angry. White (male) supremacy and propaganda at its arrogant worst. So now not only are Black women hopelessly single... but we're Jezebels without any scruples, who relentlessly chase men who're spoken for - (notwithstanding the high-profile mistresses who've been in the news lately) - have lost all hope in all Black men, and secretly lust for White men and all the riches they could shower us with, and apparently all of our self-worth is tied up in our hair. Such strong words from someone who was obviously upset because the head nurse opted to enforce hospital policy... much to his chagrin. 
As those two move forward in their relationship, it is my hope that my blogger buddy will encourage her lover to change some of his antiquated ideas about Black women. Stereotyping is a detrimental and hurtful process and it robs people of the right to share their truth.  It would be wrong of me to surmise, solely based on my own personal experiences, that all White men are pushy, psychotic, self-entitled, and racist. 
What his behavior within the context of that situation demonstrates is how the American White Male Privilege paradigm (which operates  to suit its own needs) is so easily projected when someone of his stature can't get his way and particularly when that privilege is challenged by a Black woman. I can't count how many times I've gotten grief from this type of White male, because I've either turned him down by refusing to play the Jezebel role he's accustomed to seeing in rap videos and reality shows or because I dared to challenge some ignoramus statement he made and that I didn't agree with. 
I like this blogger, but since she relayed the story on a public forum, with all due respect I, felt compelled just as publicly to challenge what I read in hopes that she can help her man get his mind right and hope she doesn't take this as a personal and malicious affront. Sans dialogue there can be no progress.
That is all. 

March 18, 2010

Coffee Rhetoric, The Interview

Recently, I received an email from a Mike Thomas of Blog Interviewer. Apparently someone had "recommended" that he contact me with a few questions about my blog. A slight bit of research dictated that his site was, in fact, legitimate and he wasn't a spammer looking to inundate my inbox or comments section with foreign spam, riddled with indecipherable text. 
In any event, I answered a few questions to give a little insight into my head and why I care so much about this here blog. ... as if you all don't have enough insight into what makes me tick.
I've (not) come up in the world. If you like what you read, and dig "my petition" please feel free to vote on my blog, and give it a thumbs up! Thanks again to Blog Interview for finding my answers interesting enough to print and promote.
 http://bloginterviewer.com/web-development/coffee-rhetoric-coffey
Enjoy.


August 11, 2009

Getting On

Coffee, tea, wine, friends, me. Me, wine, coffee, he. He, she, a little poetry, family, books, and cultural activities... These things among other interests are helping me keep my sanity. These. things. are. helping. me. keep. my. SANITY.
I haven't inhaled any toxic or noxious fumes. My mind is still crystal clear. I have intermittent moments of frustration, but I'm still here. I can still hear. I'm can steal here. I have STEEL back there.
I'm rambling. But it's all incoherently connected. Thursday will find me spilling open in front of strangers, Saturday will find me a year older and ever the more wiser. Next week will find me still ducking, bobbing, and weaving as I shadow box. The week after next, I'll still be standing and tanner... my resolve stronger.
Needless to say, I've stumbled, but I'm none to worse for wear, despite those frustrating interludes. In SPITE of those frustrating interludes.
That is all.

May 17, 2008

Hotness

This afternoon, I checked my email and got a notice that a post I logged: Hair Raising Tale, has been deemed Post of the Day, by a website called The Rising Blogger. How flattering! I consider Hair Raising Tale one of my more important posts, because it's an issue that hits close to home and affects many other Black women who constantly feel ignored, not considered beautiful or pretty enough or are criticized for having features conducive to their (our) ethnicity. I take pride in carrying myself a certain way and I'm even prouder to be who I am and HOW I am. I don't really give credence to the media or society attempting to dictate and determine my womanhood and beauty. Thanks again Rising Blogger for recognizing and being open-minded enough to respect my views! Pop by there (if you feel so inclined to do so) and see what they had to say about moi.

November 13, 2007

Rat Race

I can openly say (now) that I've been pounding the pavement for the past several months, job interviewing, hunting, fielding phone calls, mailing out resumes, receiving notices confirming receipt of my resume, wash, rinse and then repeat. Needless to say, the whole process is frustrating. It's the pits! Particularly when you're so close. Sooooo very close to being hired only to be told "Ohhh.... well you're too overqualified" or "We can't move forward with an offer for another two months. Sorry for putting you through SEVERAL INTERVIEWS AND PHONING EVERY LAST ONE OF REFERENCES, AND DOING THAT BACKGROUND CHECK ON YOU!! Please bear with us..." Notwithstanding the fact that you've answered all of their redundant (and sometimes condescending and ridiculous) questions, and have been more than accommodating in providing them with everything they need to move forward with an offer, including making yourself available at a moment's notice for another interview. I feel like a salesperson, going door to door selling your wares. One or two people invite you in. Let you sit down and go through your whole spiel. They nod. They ask several questions. They seem interested. They breathe in as if they're about to say, "I'm sold! I'll take two!" Only to change their minds and say, "Ohhh. I'm sorry. I'm not interested." Argh! Frustrating. Sometimes I wonder if those doing the interviewing, remember what it was like when they were practically groveling for their jobs... I need a drink.
The movie clip is from the film, Fear and Trembling, based on Amelie Nothomb's novel Stupeur et Tremblement.

November 06, 2007

Résurrection

Picture a moment in space and time where you've become trapped in a stifling box. You suddenly become stagnant and lose your place in the rat race, because you've dropped out. Not willingly. Not without lack of trying to reach the finish line, but from fatigue. You veer off to the side, lungs exhausted, holding your sore sides trying to catch your second wind. You've made your way over to a nearby bench to settle. You settle out of mere necessity and survival and no other reason. Your discontentment breeds resentment, because while you've settled in order to survive, you still find yourself hanging on by the tips of your fingers. You're hanging from a cement ledge, decorated with pigeon droppings (some old and crusted over, some freshly dropped), your feet wildly kicking... a desperate attempt to gain leverage and hoist yourself up. But alas to no avail. You basically just give up and decide to meet the asphalt's acquaintance. Just before you decide to let go, someone stomps on your fingers with a lethal pair of oxfords, forcing your throbbing fingers to slip. You fall. arms flailing wildly in the wind. On your way down you glimpse a blur of faces, watching you fall to your death. You hit the ground. Lying flat on your back. You're stunned. You can't move. First your eyes focus on hulking human forms staring at you from where you've fallen. Smug in the grandeur of their positions. At first you can't move. You lay there... looking up at a sea of genuinely concerned faces staring o'er your crumpled body. Sore and possibly broken, you somehow manage to hoist yourself up. Testing your right arm first. You slowly lift it in the air, grimacing from the pain and effort. Stiff, straight you make a fist with your hand. Slowly but surely, you're able to lift your middle finger in a grand gesture of triumph. You aren't defeated nor are you paralyzed. Your joints seem to work fine. More importantly you've managed to survive the fall. Finger in the air, you watch the hulking silhouettes retreat back inside and away from your moxie. Chagrined. It make take brief period to recover from your fall, but you're still triumphant... because you survived it.
Just saying. Imagine that scenario. That's it.

September 26, 2007

Slip into Something More Comfortable

*sigh* Ladeeeeeez.
I am well aware of the fact that many of us prefer to wear skirts and pretty figure flattering dresses, but nothing makes a dress more figure flattering then wearing a slip underneath. Oh yes. The concept of wearing a slip seems to be lost on many women these days. It should be as natural as slipping on a pair of panties or a bra-- but unfortunately it's not. Women of various ages will wear thin dresses and flimsy skirts sans lining and stand directly in the sunlight, putting their delicates, curds, and whey on display for all to see. Wearing a pair of red undies under your light colored broom skirt? Guess what? I can see that you are, and so can the rest of the general populace within eye-shot. I don't care what a woman's shape is or how fit (or unfit) she may be... watching ample amounts of fabric gather in the crack of some lady's butt-crack is not couth. Slips are pretty undergarments. They're delicate, they flatter every figure, and come in a wide variety of fabrics... You have sexy stretch slips that shape the body, and would mold your body to look killer under a wrap dress. You have the chemise, you have lacy slips, vintage slips, satin slips-- they span a wide spectrum. Not to mention they provide the female form with a nice silhouette and more importantly, allows the skirt to fall and move freely with the body without clinging and gathering in every nook and cranny. A slip is a novel concept. Plus they're dead sexy. Imagine sitting at home with a glass of red, lounging to some Thelonious Monk... luxuriating in a black number... the sex, no? Anyway, try one. Give the crack of your ass a break.

September 08, 2007

Re-birth of a Nation

"the greatest americans have not been born yet they are waiting patiently for the past to die. please give blood" -Saul Williams
During the summer of August 9, 2006 in Sound Beach on Long Island, a heated confrontation at a party- (where he was accused of threatening to rape a young white girl some months prior to the summer celebration)- prompted Aaron White, a 19 year old Black teenager to leave sans argument, after it was demanded that he do so. On his way home (nearby Miller Place, a predominantly white community), Aaron exchanged a series of angry cell phone calls with 17 year old Daniel Cicciaro, who alerted Aaron White that he was coming to his home. Drunk, Mr. Cicciaro with four of his friends in tow (all white), proceeded on with the threat of their presence. All five angry teenagers pulled up in front of the Whites' residence in two cars shortly after 11pm and were greeted by Aaron White and his father, John White via the garage. Father and son felt threatened enough to arm themselves for the impending showdown. Yelling ensued, in which Cicciaro and friends allegedly hurled racial epithets and refused to leave. At some point during the melee, Mr. White (father) shoots Daniel Cicciaro in the face with an antique handgun he inherited from his own grandfather. Daniel Cicciaro is felled by the gunshot, and is announced dead upon arrival to the emergency room. John White- who moved his family to their dream home on the North Shore in 2004- is described as a harding working "upstanding citizen" with no prior police record and who has never committed a crime in his life. He expressed deep regret and sorrow toward the Cicciaro family, claiming the incident was an "accident' and that he never meant to shoot the young man. That his only intent was to protect his family and scare his son's pursuers away from his home. John White was charged with manslaughter and criminal weapon possession. Internet users would then blow online news forums up with hateful racial epithets upon hearing the father's fate. Including cries for John White to be hung from a tree. While the outcome of the altercation is tragic, indeed. Can one blame John White for protecting his family and his son? The teens were unarmed, yes. But alcohol, bravado, hate speech, anger... Perhaps Daniel would be alive today, if he and his friends hadn't tried to recreate some vigilante style style of revenge. It's purported that during the 911 call and the race to get young Daniel to the hospital, his friends were overheard (through the phone) spouting off even more contemptuous race rhetoric. ...
Miles away, in Jena, Louisiana racial tensions are also brewing. Reaching their peak on August 31, 2006 after a black male freshman asks the Jena High School principal if he could sit under the shade of the "white tree" (where most of the white students usually convened amongst themselves). The principal suggested that students could sit wherever they wanted to. Three white students disagreed however, because the next morning three nooses were found hanging from that very same tree. The three students were later found to be guilty of the infraction and were up for expulsion... which the school board and superintendent promptly overruled. The superintendent would later trivialize the threat as a joke, as opposed to a threat against Black students' sensibilities. The school administration would later fail to report the incident to the police or the FBI (such brazen incidents can and should be reported as a Hate Crime). The decision and subsequent indifference would cause racial animus to reach a fever pitch. A series of disagreements, racially charged fights, and arson would soon occur over the course of three months. Black students would continue to grow disenchanted and slighted by the school's administration and local law officials. These disagreements would eventually culminate in the assault of a 17 year old white student named Justin Barker, perpetrated by 6 Black Jena High School students: Robert Bailey, Mychal Bell, Carwin Jones, Bryant Purvis, Theo Shaw, and an unidentified minor. Barker allegedly hurled racial epithets, a charge his family denies. Barker was taken to the hospital and treated for a concussion, bruising, and various other injuries and released two hours later, in time for a ring ceremony. The Jena Six, however were arrested and charged with aggravated assault. The overzealous District Attorney would then decide to increase the charge to attempted second degree murder which could result in the defendants being imprisoned past age 50. This blow prompted outrage from the Black residents of Jena, because the charges were disproportionate to the crime. On June 26, Bell's sentence would be reduced to aggravated second-degree battery and conspiracy to commit aggravated second-degree battery. According to my research, a deadly weapon would've needed to be used, to warrant being charged with such. The DA argued that Mychal Bell's tennis shoes he wore during the day of the assault and kicked Barker with, were deadly weapons. The all white jury agreed. The other defendants' charges would eventually be reduced, leaving Mychal Bell to remain in jail, facing 22 years in prison. All are waiting for their day in court, which will happen later this month. So many conflicting accounts and mishandling of this case. The public outcry and online groups supporting the Jena Six are warranted. The case has garnered national attention and has drawn the ire and support of black leaders and organizations. Jena's Black community are skeptical that the boys will receive a fair trial. I mean after all, their wariness is justified considering the glaring segregation and aloof attitudes toward the "noose" incident. The Jena Six should indeed pay if they assaulted Justin Barker. But they should pay with a sentence that matches the crime. Most murderers and repeat sexual molesters get off with with less time. How much responsibility do Jena High School administrators bear, by deciding not to address the root cause of the issue to begin with? They, in essence, instigated a terrible situation by choosing not acknowledge it. A prank is stealing the school mascot or T.P.ing the halls. Hanging nooses, racially charged graffiti, and the like are not mere pranks. It's hateful propaganda that has no place in the school system or anyplace else... not in this day and age. It's frustrating that in 2007, issues of race still abound. Technology, the current cult of personalities, media, and celebrity help exacerbate hateful language and inane rhetoric. The structure of most institutions and a dubious this White House administration continue to disadvantage many ethnic groups by fanning the flames of xenophobia, racial profiling, and not accepting that we're in the midst of the 21st century! A multicultural era, where we should be evolved by now. Instead, we're slowly regressing. Most of us are still scratching our heads over the outcome of Hurricane Katrina. As much as I'd like to think we'll reach some sort of resolution on race matters, the fact is, I don't think there will ever be a workable medium. Period. That would require cooperation from the powers that be. That would require those same powers that be, to relinquish some semblance of control by distributing justice and equality fairly and accordingly. Fat chance of that ever happening. Divide and then conquer. The most antiquated (and seemingly effective) method in the book. ... Why do hate and growing racial disparities still continue thrive and fester? The Jena Six deserve a fair trial plain and simple, and are being railroaded. P.S. I'm dying to hear Ann Coulter and Bill O'Reilly weigh-in on the Jena Six situation, if they haven't already.

August 07, 2007

Please Pardon Me...

... I'm brooding. My energy is scattered, the planets and the stars are dispersed all willy nilly. My patience, my intestinal fortitude has been tried and tested and so I'm taking deep inhalations of breath, breathing out slowly, and counting. Because I truly believe certain people were put on this planet to piss off and antagonize others. There are those of us who can shrug off the funk and then there are those of us whose fingers flex after a certain moment in space and time. Our hands open and close from the rage boiling in the bit of our stomach because we want to strike. We want to slap. We want to choke. To injure. But instead we breathe in and out, tell ourselves to get a grip, that'll it'll be okay. And then we count.
One... Two... Three...

June 08, 2007

This Much I KNOW is True...

  • Star(mega)bucks in downtown Hartford, is a yuppie magnet and it puts me off. Hearing them utter the Starbucks lingo is irritating and prompts me to defiantly ask for a COFFEE OF THE DAY, MEDIUM SIZE PLEASE, as opposed to repeating the toolish,
    "I'd like a venti soy orange frappacinno mochachokalottayaya thingimastuff with extra foam and skim milk."
  • I also know that spilling scalding hot coffee down my gauchos, on a particularly hot day isn't soothing to my soul or my thighs.
  • I know that Paris Hilton's release from prison after having served a paltry 3-5 days (of her 23 day sentence), for undisclosed medical reasons (idiocy?) is indicative of there being TWO different realities in this country. One for the rich, blonde, & famous and one for US
  • I know that Cat's new whip is hot and that I had fun joyriding around town with her, this past weekend. I also know that having to use my feminine wiles and my voluptuosity to get her a decent parking spot, from the parking attendants across the street from my building, should NOT have had to happen. They needn't have asked us if we wanted some of their chicken afterward, because they were "African." The offer didn't do anything to placate either of us, so we declined. Apparently assholism spans a wide spectrum, I KNOW this to be true. I keep hearing the James Brown "It's a Man's World" tune playing in my head, when I think of this incident.
  • I also know that I don't like being called "dear" by women close to my own age. It's condescending.
That's it.

September 23, 2006

I Know This Much is True...

Over the course of 48 hours, I was approached by two strangers, respectively, and told "Wow, you must really like wearing black. Everytime I see you walking around, you have on black." Which makes me feel even more daft, because now I truly know that I'm being watched. No more tugging and picking at my undergarments, because no matter how inconspicuous I think I'm being, someone is watching and taking note.
Also, the other day, I tried in vain to peel the wrapper away from a piece of hard candy. The candy was too sticky, and I just couldn’t seem to get that inner wrapping away from the sweetness, so that I could enjoy it. While I was successful in removing most of the inedible layer, there were still random and stubborn pieces of paper that clung to that candy… how frustrating… and what a fitting metaphor to my life.

I realize that, I haven’t really been blogging anything substantive or personal, as of late. A lot of my entries have been little more than YouTube video clips and “My Favorite Things” lists. I’ve written to appease the reading masses, which I said I’d never do… just for the sake of staying current with posts, which is wrong, wrong, wrong and so against why I do this.

I'm still tortured and broody. I'm on an endless quest to explore my core, so as to understand these little demons as they frolic and play, at my expense! At times, my truth intimidates me and I withdraw and find myself at square one.

So much has unfolded and I’ve been wallowing in lassitude… grappling with many of life’s annoyances… still… Most of which is exacerbated by the politics related to my livelihood. It is becoming increasingly more difficult to trust people and their motives. I blogged about this paranoia before and the leeriness has not subsided. My neurosis knows no bounds, apparently.

There is so much I’m dying to purge here… I am torn because some of it begs to be laid out in resplendent detail. I almost decided to dismantle this blog completely, because the motivation just wasn’t there anymore. It probably would’ve made more sense to take an extended break, rather than compose the insipid tripe I’ve shared here.

I haven’t truly journaled in the literal sense, in a long time. I forgot how cathartic it is. It is so important for me to not lose sight of that outlet, because it influences a lot of my writing, as well as what I relay here.

After hitting an amazing creative flow, it had all but dried up and the block defiantly planted itself right in my path. I just ceased to emote… becoming stoic, reclusive, and self-contained. I allowed other people’s dark clouds to rain buckets on me, becoming meaner, fatigued, and combative as a result.

I’ve always had an Id… an alter-ego that I used to channel my frustrations and anger through, to maintain my center. That personality has been lying dormant for months… growing weary and exasperated. That mean-streak has found its way into my regular life, creating a sullen young woman. It disappears however, during random moments of silliness and gratification, which ‘pear out from the abyss… waving and beckoning to me feverishly.

I’m holding a séance, and I’m resurrecting that id of mine. I need my usual self back. I want to give in (completely) to those moments of happiness I enjoy so much. My id is hanging on by the tips of her fingers in a void, suspended somewhere between space and time, desperate to relieve me of the duress… I’m holding a séance and exorcising the anger… the fatigue… I put in a call to Hathor, and I’ve dusted off those books that throb with the chronicles of my life.

I’ve truly realized just how resilient and tough as nails- (despite the rust around the edges)- I am.