Steak Dinners

Sometimes I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I trust myself, I do, it’s just looking at how much I hustle to make connections and do things in a proficient manner, I don’t see the reward from this shit.

I had to turn down the deal from the publisher who was interested in my book. In no way could I ever work with someone who says one thing and doesn’t deliver. It’s simple, you say “I am going to do this” and you do it. That’s not hard. I give nothing less so I expect nothing less. I am not afraid to walk away from a deal that does not feel right. So here I am back at square one, looking for an agent or a publisher while I am continually meeting more and more Black women my age who already have the title ‘author’ on their resumes.

I’m reconnecting with Black female friends who are working on doctorate degrees and even the people I know who were hiding from the repo man just a couple of short years ago are now homeowners, rocking blackberries and shit. I’m still wondering how I’m gonna pay my Metro bill.

Yeah, I’ma give myself a moment to feel sorry for myself. Shit, I used to throw scheduled pity parties but lately I find no reason to feel bad about my life because I am so appreciative of who I am and the gifts that God has given me.

But today I’m studying up on successful women. Reading bios, trying to see what they did that I didn’t do. I’m not finding anything major. That’s why I don’t get why I am where I am and they are where they are. Why am I eating oatmeal for breakfast, lunch and dinner while they’re hiring assistants and shopping for fun?

Everyone close to me says, “Oh Tee, it’s just a matter of time. Your personality, your skills, your drive! I can see your success. It’s coming!”

For real? When? When am I going to be able to have my sons back with me? They need me. They need to see me day in and day out on the grind. They need to travel with me and be exposed to my path to success. I need them to bless me and inspire me with their juvenile wisdom.

I wrote my FUTURE author bio the other day and I sent it to my friends. It sounded so beautiful, it had me with multiple best selling books, a retreat for couples in distress and I even married Kanye West and had two daughters; Bliss and Rain. Yeah, it’s fun to imagine my success. It’s cool to sit in front of a candle and stare at the flame envisioning my dreams coming true. I can almost TASTE the juicy steak and shrimp with garlic mashed potatoes prepared by my wonderful personal chef.

The fucked up thing about it all is, it’s not like I can quit and go back. Back to what? No where to go but forward. Wanting to be the woman I feel like I am in my mind but outside I’m looking like a mess.

Wanting to make a difference in people’s lives but feeling like my words don’t help at all. I really, really want my sons to look at me and say, “What a Mama!”

I want a real bed. A hug. A warm meal. A smile. A suprise paycheck. Something to add to my resume.

Man, I’m trippin. Things take time. As long as I have these oatmeal packets and I get to go to Denny’s every weekend to make my gas money, I’ll be alright.

~sniff~ What’s that smell?

Great…my roommates are making steaks right now. Isn’t that ironic? Maybe that beautiful scent is a sign of land.

I’ll have to believe it is.

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