Dead-End

7:00pm. I want to take my black ass home. Being paid to do nothing while i'm tortured by the presence of these whack ass people who do not matter in my life as I do not matter in theirs...is just wrong. The pay should be more with this fucking torture. Hell, this job sucks with or without something to do. Power trippers and power hunters breathing down my neck only shows me you clearly have nothing better do...and you didn't brush your teeth. The next time someone, anyone says something to me.....i'm going to silently grumble under my breath how much they pissed me off because I still recognize that I have bills to pay. But i'll be really mad nonetheless...It's sad. How I protect my money over my sanity. I sit in fear with other employees waiting to see my freedom papers....or pink slip. No one quits before they're fired, thats not smart in this recession era. I rather make a paper collage out of the write ups I was given during my tenure here until I reach the invisible limit. Or whenever they stop caring to see my face here anymore. How can an entire office know of my demise without me knowing anything...until the day of my demise. This is probably why co-workers would accuse you of lying to all your managers without you knowing about the accusation. That makes sense....or does it? It's too easy to ask why she can't mind her business...even if we have had minimal conversation throughout my time here. It's fine, Karma will kick her ass before mine...but when dammit???


Whatever, it's 7:30pm...damn!!

Memorial Day weekend....South Beach Style

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Hello Beautiful

She was the first black person to ever greet me without judgement in her face. She simply asked me my name, and confirmed her identity as the girl my mother told me to look out for so I could have a 'friend on campus.' She didn't seem mean, nice, or nonchalant, she was just there. Not knowing what to take from her personality, I held back from her, expecting the nasty 'ghetto girl' to arise at any moment criticizing my speech pattern. For the past four years, she never did, she only celebrated my love of life and randomivity. Gave me confidence that I was actually pretty. So, why wouldn't I tell her story? I already knew going in to this friendship that she was ill. I never knew someone with Cancer, never knew what it looked like, acted like, or sounded like. She was nothing like the Cancer patients on TV. She wasn't athletic; Olympic dreams in her midst. Wasn't talented, couldn't sing even if she tried. But she was something...sooo damn fly! She walked as if she owned our high school. Her skinny body created hips and twists that wouldn't normally exist on anybody. Her beautiful smile and over the top attitude gave people comfort, and drew them closer. She was the definition of amazing. Never speaking about her illness, just knowing. ONly hearing updates from friends and family, and wondering why she wasn't laying up in some bed losing her mind, depressed and waiting for death. She told me once, that there was no reason to fear death, because it was inevitable. Death is a reality for everyone, and whenever it was her time to go, she will have to accept it. I couldn't understand that strength until I was faced with my own tragedies. I only had to figure out how life worked by watching hers. Within 22 years, she was able to find the love of her life, accomplish more than most black people accomplish in groups, and inspire many; but mostly me. It wasn't until after she phoned me letting me know that she has acute lymphoblastic leukemia where I learned her inspirations, fears, and goals. All I knew was the tough, good natured exterior that she created for the world to see, and left the rest for special some-bodies....not including me. It felt as if it was my duty. To use the very things about me she celebrated and made them good for her. "shaving your head may not look bad, just wear the big earrings like Inida Arie, and head wraps and rock that shit like you own it!" Seeing her repeatedly, updating her on my life, and talking mindless nonsense just to keep her mind off of the bullshit running through her veins. Our conversations never being so short before, I began to feel fearful and uncomfortable. I got wrapped up in the bullshit world around me that I only became a phone call...every month or so. I left her; by herself. The very thing I vowed never to do the first 7 months of her horrific journey. And then, almost as punishment, I received a message of it not being what it was supposed to be...a success story. Worrying more about myself and gas prices, I called her to make sure she was okay. Not realizing that it was the last phone conversation we would have for the rest of our lives. Her mortality had somehow become a joke to me. All I want to say to her is I'M SORRY. I can't should have, would have you, so i'll just hold you. IN my memories for the rest of my life. You took my optimism from me, and I know that makes you mad. I was the other side of you without a reason to force a laugh. You left behind a bevy of people who can only remember your thoughts. You taught me excuses were unnecessary before Obama and after my Momma. I know that this would hurt worse if I transferred our freshman year. But either way, it hurts. Crying over you is all I can do, because you did nothing to deserve this and yet, I still trust God and the decisions he makes. If I don't, I won't be able to stand much longer. TICHELLE I KNOW YOU HEAR ME. I can't be selfish and bring you back to me like I was selfish in pushing you away. No matter what, who, when, where and why...My Girl, you ARE sooo damn fly. Typing with more fury than this Macbook can take, I think back to that beautiful message and smile. "Hello, Beautiful!"

Break-time

What the hell is the purpose of a break in a relationship? there are no breaks in marriages, so why break now? Does that mean you can't handle the heat, or that you shouldn't be together in the first place? Honestly, all that you're doing is giving each other space. Spending so much time together in such a small space causes that I guess. Relationships are not for the light-hearted. Nor the impatient. It takes work, patience, and focus; and frankly, some people don't have that. 

Mac is life

This is my first blog on my new Macbook. A year ago, owning a Mac was the furthest thing from my mind. Now, all I look forward too in my day is to sit and do mindless nothing on my Mac. I'm not a PC vs. Mac person, I still enjoy the "i'm a PC, and I sell fish" line. However, I am slowly beginning to realize that mac is life. Better yet, as Phalan says, Mac is a lifestyle. After about a week of being on my oh, so, sexy Laptop, I realize that once you go Mac, you never go back. lol. But seriously, if you can afford it, make the investment. The dummy proof nature of a Mac is almost refreshing. I don't have to worry about anything happening to my laptop, and that makes me feel almost safe. I'm not a computer geek or very knowledgeable about technology as a whole. So yes, the aesthetics of a Mac do entice me a bit. But, I can't deny that the exclusivity of owning a Mac makes me feel like i'm apart of a secret society. Honestly, if I didn't have other Mac-crazed friends, I would never enjoy this system as much as I do. They have found all the inner workings that can enhance my Mac experience, and I appreciate them for that. I am trying very hard to figure out how my school day went without this laptop, and I only had it for about a week....lol. A misconception was made about Macbook owners by my friend once. He said that they sit in the middle of Starbucks with their mocha latte's blogging about their philosophy on the cracker and it's impact on society...obviously un-true. I'm blogging in my friends apartment hungry, and describing this wonderful new experience. Much different. Either way, it is one of the best decisions I have made in a long time, and I will not regret it for as long as I...and my Macbook...lives.