Thoughts All Over The Place
excuse my rambling…

As soon as I sat down to start working this morning I turn on my radio and hear Confessions by Usher. This song really makes me stop and listen. I listen because it transports me back in time. Back to last summer.

This time last year I was driving down 17th avenue, all the way down to Liberty City where I worked at the newspaper as the Executive Assistant to the Publisher as well as writing my own column and other features for the historically Black newspaper. Remember that? Remember how much I loved that job? Remember when I had my own little radio show in the morning! ” These are the Headlines from The Miami Times, I’m T*******”. ~sigh~ I loved that job.

I actually contacted them last week after buying a copy of the paper. I noticed that everyone who was there last year was gone. I can only assume they have no writing staff left. Most newspapers get the majority of their content from a service called The Associated Press which is a news sharing organization. But no paper, except for the one I worked at gets 100% of their stories from that wire service. This paper needs help.

The Associate editor I helped hire is gone. The Managing editor is gone. The Editorial Assistant is gone. No one wants to work there. It has such potential. It has such a loyal readership. It’s the largest Black owned and operated newspaper in the South. The problem is, the Publisher. She’s just not right. No one wants to work for her.

I called them up and asked if they had ever developed written guideliness for freelance writers. I was almost sure they hadn’t since that was my next project on my to-do list when I worked there, and I was right. No one could answer any of my questions. ~sigh~

I remember my favorite story that I wrote about the transition of the poor blacks down to South Miami while developers are sweeping into the inner city to renovate. They, whoever “they” are, have torn down most of the housing projects and built new ones way down in South Miami, which is a totally different part of the world to those of us in North Miami. So anytime I run into someone who says, “Girl, I moved down South.” I know why.

There are so many more stories to be written about the plight of African Americans in this city. So many more questions to be answered. So much for us to learn. And with that paper, it’s readers read it out of HABIT. It’s a tradition to buy the paper every Wednesday if not just to see who is in the obituary section. The audience is there, ready and willing to read and listen.

Damn. I would love to work there- on the side. They can’t afford me now.

Speaking of being able to afford things, God is good.

Ever been so broke that you are scrounging around for coins to put gas in your car? Yeah, I haven’t seen a day like that since last summer but here I am again.

I get paid tomorrow, but um, the daycare bill is overdue -$400, plus my household maintenance bills are around $500, so that’s $900 already gone even before I get my check. ~shakes head~

But you know what? I can’t even get upset, because even though shit is so tight now that baby daddy wanna pull out the game, I STILL PAY ALL MY BILLS!

But I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish he would work with me instead of constantly trying to control me. But oh well.

On the friendship tip, I am going through a rough spot with my bestfriend Anna. We fight all the time like sisters but this time feels different. I know I’m difficult to deal with sometimes and extremely emotional and stubborn and set in my ways, but damn chick after more than 10 years of being my bestfriend- don’t assume things about me. All you have to do is ask. Shit. Everyone knows I’m honest. Why didn’t you just ask me?

I have a guy friend who is straight but he goes to gay clubs. “You’re gay if you go to gay clubs.” I told him. He says he’s not… I’m trying to believe him. At the heart of it, I don’t really care if you’re bi, straight or gay- just don’t lie to me.

I had a dream last night about my son.

I dreamt he told me that someone at his school was touching his booty. I freaked out in my dream and started screaming and yelling. I am so afraid that my sons will be molested. No for real, I’m not rational about it.

I’m afraid because I believe that homosexuality can be a result of a same sex sexual experience at an early age.

When I was really young and I knew nothing about sex I was…well, let’s say an older girl used me for sexual experimentation. She did it a lot. And now that I am older I still associate sexual pleasure with women although I don’t desire a relationship with a woman. When I see her, I see the guilt in her eyes. And I feel the guilt in my heart. She knows what she did to me.

And after that happened, when I was a little older, a man took advantage of me too. This affected me sexually as I got older. The first time I spent the night with my children’s father (this was when he and I were just friends) he tried me, ofcourse, but the way he touched me was the same way the man had touched me. I froze. He probably thought I was trying to play hard to get. But if he had looked a little closer, he would have seen the tears in my eyes as I remembered being that scared little girl who couldn’t believe what was happening to her.

But little girls grow up.

And little girls move on.

And little girls become young ladies.

And little girls become women.

Women who still need to heal from the scars created in their childhood.

Women who seem weak in some areas but remarkably strong in others.

Women who want more than anything to feel loved and appreciated and whole. But are afraid to admit it.

Women who STILL GET PHONE CALLS FROM THE GIRLFRIENDS OF MEN they have no interest in.

Why did this chick call me AGAIN two nights ago? I’m on the phone with my guy friend and I hear the click of my other line.

Blocked Call- says the caller ID.

I roll my eyes.

“Hold on,” I say to my friend.

“Hello.”

“STOP CALLING MY FUCKING MAN!” she whispers into the phone.

I hang up. That nicca don’t even have a job, you can have his ass! damn hoe!

I return to my conversation and my phone clicks again.

I answer and this time it’s silence.

“Stop disrespecting my house because I don’t disrespect yours,” I say calmly and hang up.

And guess who called my phone last night TWICE? You got it, he did.

I didn’t answer.

They BOTH stalking me. I think they BOTH want me. ~shrugs~ It has happened before. But that’s another post.

I am way too nice sometimes. That comes from years of being kinda mean and stubborn and trying to force my beliefs on others, now I’m way more chill. I like to let people be themselves and I’ve learned that everyone can make their own decisions and they don’t need me to tell them what’s right or wrong. Besides, sometimes right and wrong is subjective.

Wow. I had no idea that I had this much to say….

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