Emerging Adulthood

The popular late 1980's African-American sitcom, A Different World, is what inspired me to attend college, particularly a historical Black college or university (HBCU). The comedy depicted the lives of several students attending the fictional Hillman College while exploring social issues, glamorizing Black sororities and fraternities, and giving an overall structure of college life. When high school drew nearer to a close, I made sure college applications were sent off and my college tour rounds were completed, because my dreams of freedom, partying, new friends and most importantly placing one foot forward toward my writing career, was becoming clearer.

Guilty Pleasure Much?

Sneak peek of the Real Housewives of Atlanta Season 3:

Quote of the Day

"It is said, the most violent revolutions are the revolutions of the stomach." - Rahimyar Khan

Been to Hell & Back...But I Found My Cloud

The view leaving Punta Cana

Dear Journal,

It's been a hectic two months and in the midst of it all, I've neglected you. I will not ask for forgiveness but I'll admit much of it was no fault of my own. I'll give you the short version. I went on a fabulous vacation to Punta Cana, Dominican Republic and threw down with a couple of spiders, visited with my father and little brother in Orlando, FL; returned from my trip and was promptly thrown off my bliss train by the abrupt departure of my boss and was given a semi-half-assed promotion (I still didn't get the memo on what exactly my new title is). Meanwhile I was ripped off by Toshiba computers and was without my laptop for over six weeks (See? Not my fault), and this past weekend alone I was involved in a catastrophic upheaval that involved me, my sister and a 911 call. Ehh. What an eventful summer I've been having.

Even though I refuse to go into each and every detail, I've learned several things, but the most important one: I cannot change everyone around me, but I can become a better me. I will forever be a work in progress. This summer many unexpected events were thrown my way, but I realize the best solution is to step back and address every situation accordingly because ultimately, I am always in control of me and I still have to wake up and live with myself.

The Bible says, "Pride goeth before destruction and an haughty spirit before a fall; Better it is to be of an humble spirit with the lowly, than to divide the spoil with the proud."

Facebook Woes + Newfound Capabilities

About a week and a half ago, I deleted my Facebook account. Its something I wanted to do for a few months but didn't really see commitment in the act and found excuses to avoid it. During my pity party session right after I encountered the man on the bus incident, I axed the account. My moment in time reason was deleting numbers from my phone wasn't cutting it and I decided to make the move. I haven't broken down and sneaked a peek into this week's latest updates from "friends" and family but I believe that I can maintain my stance. For now. Well, no I really plan to. But, I need to breakdown my initial reason for bailing out on Facebook...

Loves+Laughs+Christmas List

Loves:
My newest book obsession is Dean Koontz. I've retired Toni Morrison and fellow Black authors for a bit and decided to explore more of the thriller/mystery genre. I adore Koontz's overall story lines but his writing leaves a lot to be desired for the true literary bluffs. He tends to overwrite using lots of fluff (I actually believe he writes with a thesaurus in his lap) while dragging the back story which can leave you annoyed with the protagonist but the reader is soon rewarded for sticking it out with a courageous tale of good triumphing over evil. Based on Amazon reviews his older novels are a treat, so for my next trip to Borders I'll be indulging in:

The Orb

Dear Journal,

I am allowed a pity party. I detest when others participate in their own but I need to bare an honest lonely soul. Monday morning I contemplated swallowing a bottle of prescription sleeping pills that would sufficiently put me to rest. Tears soaked my pillow as I pictured the bottle in the far reaches of my drawer. Only two footfalls away from my bed, all I needed to do was empty the bottle of pills and one by one slip the chalky oblong shaped substances into my mouth...and just swallow. So simple and so easy. I've never met anyone who hasn't been beckoned by life ending paranoia, so readers of my journal don't be paralyzed with fear that I've been tempted, yet again. My feet anchored to the bed while I thought of my four year old brother who I only met a year and a half ago and my plans to whisk him away to Disney World where dreams come true alongside the $2000 vacation I scrimped and saved for to the Dominican Republic next month. The upcoming events that last week I made painstaking sacrifices to finalize, momentarily seemed trivial. Or what about my dog? What would become of him? Would he wander around whimpering looking for his mother/owner? Those were the only things that came to mind, if I succumbed. On the very anniversary of a relative's suicide, I was thinking of my own. Loneliness encumbered my already heavy heart and I trembled at the further pains I'd have to endure if I were to continue trying to tear the thick cobwebs from around it. Lately my reading choices have eased into the macabre apocalyptic genre where humans are revealed as destructive bitter voids intent on hatred, fed by fear and moved by nothing at all. Its all fiction and false but its a glimpse into the reality of the world. Nearly three days ago, a man balled his hand into a fist and pumped me in my chest because he didn't want to give up the empty seat next to him on the bus and passengers silently sat by, mouths agape. It reminded me of an incident a few years back where I was groped by giggling school age boys in a crowded train station which evoked vivid memories of a sexual assault I've never coped with. The humiliation of that rape still causes nausea to swell into my chest at the thought of any stranger's unwelcome touch and I remembered refusing to leave my bed for days after the groping. The empty stares of the onlookers on that bus and on the subway all those years back, reminded me of people's indifference to an obvious grotesque situation and further made me realize how lonely I was. I had no one to call to receive comfort from because the triggers and violations wouldn't be understood. Not fully. I called my "situation"/ex-boyfriend for his quality reassurance and he hung up. Alone. It hurts to be lonely on the anniversary of a relative's suicide. Scary. So I rode it out. Allowed the tears to soak my pillow and listened to the small voice in my head that told me to rest and wake up later.

Two days later, I'm here.