WHICH I’LL GET TO TOMORROW. ๐
OK….so the podcast is here. I’m actually getting ready to broadcast the next one…Yeah, I know it needs work-I’m working. If you have listened already-I apologize for the poor sound quality etc…I apologize. I’m new to this. I’ve made some mistakes-which will happen in any endeavor, but I say this to my critics-you had to start somewhere. You didn’t wake up to 1,000 followers overnight. Right? Maybe you did. Kudos. Not me. I ain’t that lucky. Never have been. Never will be. I have to work. By the way, this is the last time I apologize. It’s exhausting and debilitating.
The podcast ain’t perfect. Neither am I.
Moving right along…
The other day my mom came across an old blog post I wrote circa 2004. Sorry. I’ve been longing to use that word for. ever! Anyway, she was going through some things, clearing stuff out and she happened to come across a post I wrote on my dad’s birthday. November 7, 2004. The day before mine.
My dad had already been dead three years.
When she called me and told me she’d found it, which to me is a miracle-and a sign, I knew I had to post it again. Especially since I’m goin’ through some thangs lately. Y’all get me. You’ve been reading.
So my blog back then was called Black Woman’s Burden and a dear old friend whom I know longer speak to, (and regret) because he’s just the kind of friend everyone needs: an asshole or comfort blanket when you need it. I miss him. He not only helped me recognize my talent but went the extra mile to push me out of my comfort zone.
Potential. What a curious and frightful concept.
I’ve always found it interesting that the ‘potential’ others see in you depends on what they see in you. Good or Bad.
It’s what they see. Can’t see. Don’t want to see. Don’t want you to see.
Potential.
Maybe I just need a hug. I’m angry at everyone and everything these days. Could be cuz I’m a 46 year-old-baby. Can’t get over the infidelity, can’t move on-and I literally need to move. On. From it all. I can’t take my mom and my sister tellin’ me what to do as if they have the answers.
This man…
is not a bad man. He’s been supportive. Against the odds, I suppose there are those (in my family of course) who’d say he had no choice.
But he did. We all make choices.
For better. For worse.
We all make mistakes. I seem to keep paying for mine.
But
Answer me this…
When will you learn that it takes more of an effort to clean the mess after it’s made, than it does to make it?
My Power. My Pleasure. My Pain. 
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