What's for Me?

We all look at past photos and become inspired. This time, my own photo inspired me. I had to think to myself, “Damn, I had it going on.” In this particular photo I was at my dream job as I was mentored by none other than Cheryl Jennings, in less than 5 minutes during a behind the scenes tour for Lend A Hand Foundation

. It has stuck with me all this time.

Here I was at the ABC7 studio in San Francisco, Ca getting schooled on a career I’ve known I wanted to pursue since 7th grade, thanks to Ms. St. John from Solano Jr. High in Vallejo, Ca. Within that 5 minutes, Ms. Jennings gave me so many pointers and even schooled me on what some would call a simple handshake. Look at how uncomfortable I looked in this photo. She dominated that interaction so tough to the point where I was ashamed. But, I never forgot it.

At one point I thought I had it in this field. But, yet, I don’t….I can admit that. It’s funny how situations will humble you. I’m here for learning along the way and am open to receive any advice, critique and constructive criticism given. Y’all don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to give up on this career. My minor has been Deaf Studies; even then, I second-guessed that.

I feel the disappointment that I should be further along than I am. However, I revel in the moments when I’m able to inspire myself. I have been doing that lately.

I will indulge in it while I can. And, this picture inspires me.

So, here goes to me and my future career.
I’m holding myself accountable. Whatever God has for me, I will eventually realize IT'S FOR ME!

The Lucky Necklace By: Ava Simone Kirk

My 9-year-old daughter showed me a couple of google docs she was working on and I was so proud I had to share. She wrote a couple manuscripts and a short story. When I got the email of her google doc, the message read: "IMMA BE A WRITER!!! AND IMMA HAVE $$$$$$$$$"

Alright now, Ava. Make mama proud. This morning on the way to school she asked me, "Did you get my email?" (Never thought my 9-year-old would be asking me that! I didn't even know she knew how to work Google Docs, let alone an email). Then when I told her I was going to post it today she said, "Ok, but can you look over it first?"

I'm glad she trusts me. I'm a happy and proud mama right now.

Here is her story:

The Lucky Necklace

Written By: Ava Simone Kirk 

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named Oriana that lived in a big beautiful castle. One day she was walking by the ocean just minding her business, until she found a pretty heart necklace. It was no ordinary necklace, it was called “The Lucky Necklace.” So she picked it up and brought it to her best friend Princess Rebecca’s castle to tell her about it.

“ Very pretty,” said Princess Rebecca. But Princess Rebecca thought it looked familiar.

“This looks familiar like the necklace the Queen of Hearts lost just last week!”  

“You’re right, it DOES familiar.”  

“Should we turn it in to the Royal office?”  

“ We should  return it so we don’t get in trouble by the Queen of Hearts and get our heads cut off and----”  

“ Rebecca, calm down now! I will go ask my mom to let me go to the office and turn it in,” said Princess Oriana.

So Oriana went home to ask her mother to go to The Royal Office.

“Mother, shall I go to The Royal Office and turn in the royal necklace?” asked Orianna.

“Yes, you may.” said Orianna’s mother.

“Thank you mother.”

So Orianna went to Rebecca’s castle and they went to The Royal Office together. When they got there they told the guards,

“We have an important thing to return to the queen.”  Then they showed the guard “The Lucky Necklace.”  

“Go on in!” said the guard.

“Here, we have a lucky necklace that we have come to return to the queen that I think she lost last week.“

“Ahh,” said the office manager. “Thank you very much.“

So the queen gave them a reward!!!!  AND IT WAS TO KEEP THE NECKLACE! Princess Rebecca and Princess Oriana were very blessed and lived happily ever after and nobody got their heads got cut off.

The End

Brandy - Right Here (Departed)

Do you know how hard it is to ignore this? Statuses? Posts? Support?

To paint a smile on my face and act like I don't see it?

I'm right here.....and I see it all.

All I'm saying is I wish I received that public support that you so freely give to everyone else.

I'll never be ok with it.

And, in all honesty, it sucks that I have to run to my blog to express myself. But, I've already articulated myself well enough to you and it still seems to fall on deaf ears. Yet, you wonder why I feel so alone?

Actions speak louder than your private words to me.

IT'S EMBARRASSING.

But let me go run along now. I have nachos to make for my daughter and a book to finish writing.

Regrouping

First, I would like to thank you all who reached out to me regarding my last blog. The support I received was tremendous and I wasn’t expecting that at all. I was so shocked to have so many people take a public stand with me on this situation. I also appreciate the texts, calls, emails, advice, etc…ALL OF IT! I appreciate those who shared their stories with me as well. I sure needed that. It assured me I wasn't alone.

Secondly, even though I lost some friends behind it; friends whom I thought were some of my closest allies, it really opened up my eyes to other relationships that were toxic and I had to make decisions to let them go for good. I will always be cordial with said people, even pray for them, nonetheless, I will no longer allow them to take up too much more of my time with uncertainties on where we stand.

Getting the courage to write that public letter was so freeing. I feel like I finally reached a point in my healing where there is no turning back. Having to no longer live in shame and humiliation of this secret overpowers all reservations I had and it allowed me to unapologetically be honest by admitting how I still struggle with it. I have accepted that there will be days I have breakdowns and triggers that I cannot control or haven't mastered, yet. Even the whole Brock Turner story was a trigger for me.

Finally, what I did learn with my most recent meltdown is that having these minor setbacks doesn’t mean I’ve regressed in my progress. I just have to learn to regroup and pick up where I left off when the time is right.

Forgiveness seems to be my biggest hurdle at the present moment. Not just with him, but with others. I know I have pained folks to no end with my episodic breakdowns and discussions of the situation. I’m sure it even got on some people’s nerves. Hell, I was even told that it seems that I want to stay in a place of pain so I can have reasons to be angry. That is so far from the truth. This doesn’t feel good and I don’t like being here; I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

Today’s sermon referenced Luke 22:31 about how Satan’s desire is to have me so that he may ‘sift me as wheat’; meaning scrutinize me to the point of a back and forth struggle to keep me out of the will of God. A big portion of my life has been a back and forth with this issue. One day I feel I have forgiven, and other times I realize I haven’t. The preacher then begin to tell her own story of forgiveness with a particular person that took her over 15 years. When I say I heard every word spoken, I soaked it all in. It was right on time, too.

Before I go, I want to acknowledge a few of my friends who got me through last week when I was being so hard on myself thinking I had failed. Alma, Marlon and Danielle….thanks to the three of y’all for what you don’t even realize you did. You gave me optimism and confirmed that you will always have my back. I love y’all for that. Your friendship is unwavering.

Dear James

Dear James,

I don’t think I’ve ever addressed you, personally, to really talk about what “transpired that night” (your words, not mine). Those were the exact words you chose to use when you attempted to address me, secretly, while my sister and mother were a room away from us. You chose that exact, quiet moment to give your secret apology while we were left in that awkward moment, alone. You hoped that I’d forget about it and never mention it. They had no idea at the time that you were my abuser, how much it affected me, nor how uncomfortable I was being left alone in ANY room with you, let alone just being IN a room with you. These are moments that I remember “taking one for the team.” But, do believe, it wasn’t for you, it was for my family, the church, and the sake of keeping things peaceful while your dad was fighting for his life.

I will never forget that half-ass-whispered apology; it was offensive. It almost hurt me as much as the hours of torture you put me through that night when you thought I was sleeping. Matter of fact, I KNOW you knew I was awake that night. But, you didn’t even care to consider my feelings, or your wife’s feelings. Your wife - my sister - has been nothing but good to you and has been there for your sorry ass, at least in my eyes. And, you still chose to hurt her, as well as myself in the process of your selfish, devious, sexual fantasies of wanting to fuck an under-aged little girl. Let’s call it what it is, YOU ARE A PEDOPHILE! While I seek professional help & support groups, you should consider doing the same. After all, you are surrounded by many of "flock." I figured it wasn't a one-time thing when you made an inappropriate statement to a young-TEENAGED-GIRL that I introduced you to at one of our forced meet n greets.

No matter how angry I am with my sister at her at her lack of empathy regarding this uncomfortable situation that you’ve put us ALL in, (because as she prematurely said it before, “I didn’t think it was that serious?!?”) you were wrong to have treated her in a manner as such…..while she slept in the upstairs bedroom.

I trusted you. We trusted you. You were your dad’s son. How can you possibly come from a selfless man of great stature, yet, be so self-indulgent? I have to realize, you’re NOTHING like your dad. And, will never be. That would be an insult to compare you to him, as everyone has tried for years.

I’m not looking for an apology from you, especially at this point. I realized I’ll never get that apology...sincerely. I expect nothing from you, really, and my healing process doesn’t include you right now. I’m just going through the motions and proper steps to free myself from the guilt and shame of what you did to me. I hate the guilt that I carry when I feel like my story isn’t as bad as the other survivors, so I stay quiet, thinking I shouldn’t be taking it as hard as I am. Truth is, I will ALWAYS have MY STORY. At times I’m glad it wasn’t as brutal as others, then, other times I feel like you may as well tied me up and brutally raped me; my pain is still the same, and it's valid. And I intend to tell it until my last breath, with no intention in mind but to release. But, in order for me to move on to the next phase, I have to be honest with myself and express what it is that I actually feel I lost along the way, on my journey to adulthood, so here it goes:

MEMORIES:

I wanted to erase the memory of that night ever existing so bad to the point where I even denied it happening - to others and to myself. I did this for so many years and blocked it out so well that I actually lost good memories along the way. I have a block of memory loss for several years that you took from me and I hate it because I had wonderful, supportive friends & family but I wouldn’t allow them into that space to help me, when all I really needed was help.Yeah, YOU DID THAT!

HOLDING HANDS:

You have stolen affection from me. It pains me to even hold someone's hand or have skin to skin contact. All I can think about when someone’s hands touch me, is nothing but negative thoughts. To picture your nasty hands and dirty fingernails touching my body pains me to no end. To the point where I never want anyone to touch me ever again. Imagine how my kids feel when I can only hold their hands for short periods of time? Yeah, YOU DID THAT!

BEING TOUCHED:

The thought of being touched, specifically sexually, disgusts my very soul. I have failed relationships because of you. My future husband will have to tread lightly because of you. Yeah, YOU DID THAT, TOO!

AFFECTION:

I was always uncomfortable with affection. My family isn’t the big affectionate type. But now, the chances of that ever getting better are slim in my eyes. Yeah, YOU DID THAT, TOO!

FAMILY:

I feel like you actually stole my family from me. They all STILL love you, well, some of them. They STILL invite you over for dinners & family functions (that I choose to never attend again) But, they PUBLICLY SUPPORT YOU. I never got that from them. We all kept quiet, I guess for your and my sisters sake and embarrassment. Y’all all stand behind “the cloth” and think it is the “Christian thing to do.” All the while, little ole me sits behind the scenes and watch them support your “ministry” and stomp the yard for Jesus alongside of you, as if y’all represent the same Godliness, but I digress. What’s even worse, is that I have to allow my son to call you UNCLE. Do you know how hard that is for me? My flesh wants to spew out as many “Fuck you’s” as I can, but I’ve done that already. And it does nothing but leave me with swollen eyelids the next day. I’m tired of that. So you won that battle of me ever cussing you out. Lucky you. Yeah, YOU DID THAT, TOO!

I will end with this, though: I wrote this letter after reading Alma Bass’ letter to her abuser and it inspired me. I’ve never done this, and it happens to be therapeutic for me. I’m done hiding your name. I’m done hiding your identIty. I’m done “taking one for the team” and I'm certainly done taking one for the sake of family unity. Some may consider this exposure, but I consider it part of my closure.

Whatever it takes, I will get better, trust!

He Was In The Room

My outpatient surgery went well yesterday, praise God.
I spent the last two weeks crying & worrying enough about it so much that on the actual day of surgery, I was pretty calm. I didn’t really cry like I thought I would. The night before, my mom prayed over me (as I sobbed out of fear) and the morning of, my brother, Jr, sent me a prayer via text. After that, I was just chillin and counting down the hours.

I spent my morning writing in my kids’ journals, watching Wendy Williams and salivating at my mom’s meatballs and rice that sat in my fridge for later. Of course, our bodies crave what we can’t have. But once I got to the surgery center I was okay with what they had to do. It also helped a lot that Kindra was there keeping my mind off of the unknown as we sat and chatted in the waiting room. When they called my name, I 'chucked her the deuces' and strolled in the back like it was nothing. It kept me sane.

My cousin, Coco, made a joke to me the night before that I should do the cabbage patch down the long-dreaded hallway on the way to the surgery room. So as I was being wheeled down there with IV in arm, hospital gown on with my backside exposed and that fashionable, blue surgical cap, I giggled to myself as I pictured myself doing the cabbage patch while lying on that gurney. Trust, the visual was funny enough. Thanks for that, Coco!

The most awesome thing happened in the surgery room, though. Once I was prepped and the doctor put the oxygen mask on me and ‘upped the ante’ on my IV, I can remember praying to God for Him to take over from that point on (as if he hadn't already, I just didn’t realize it, yet). I actually remember the point where I felt woozy and I knew the very moment when I was losing control of all bodily functions. The last thing I mumbled under the oxygen mask was, “Lord, please take over. I trust you.”

And that is when it happened. I actually felt God’s presence in the room. Although I couldn’t see Him, I felt Him standing at the head of the bed, and I felt Him put his hands on my shoulders as I passed out. I remember thinking to myself (before I actually passed out), Wowwww, He really IS in this room! THAT IS HIM!!! It's like I silently heard Him there.
I knew He was there because I felt Him. I wanted to turn my head and look at Him, but I couldn't. I immediately was put at ease with the touch to my shoulders and went to sleep.

I have never denied God’s power. How could I? He deals with me sooo much, specifically in my dreams.

But I was at peace and knew I had nothing more to worry about.
That peace and comfort felt soooooo good! (And, NO, it wasn’t just the drugs….LOL).

But I felt it. I know I did.

God is so awesome and I don’t even deserve it.

Thank you all for your prayers and calls/texts.

I'm recovering well, thank you.

By Myself

I’ve listened to the song “Mary Did You Know?” the last two days via Facebook. For some reason, it made me cry both times. The second time it was uncontrollable crying like I had just gotten a whoopin.. The only problem is that I wasn’t sure why I was crying? Was it the lyrics? The harmony? My love for music? The amount of dranks I had?

Or who was singing it???

The words to the song got me all in my feelings. It talks about how great Mary’s Baby Boy is, and how Mary was carrying such a jewel; delivering a child that will soon deliver her and how the dead will live again. Never heard the song before, but it made me emotional and I began to think………….

I was once a jewel.

I was supposed to be great and do good.

It’s what I was created to do.

But, I don’t feel like it.

I go through these spouts, often.

I feel like I was robbed of my greatness. I really do. I’m reminded of it with each move that I make. Each sip that I take. Each family function that I attend. Each friend that I keep around that has ties with my offender...that I want no part in.

To watch someone sing such a beautiful song, in perfect melody, that ministered to my soul, mind you, that had so much meaning, with words so strong, with so much potential, in reverence of a baby boy that was to become great……..come from the mouth of someone who was the very cause of my life’s downward spiral; now, that hurt me even more.

I was once that baby girl with such potential.

I’m actually jealous, to be honest.

How could my molester move on so preponderantly?

And I still be so stagnant because of what he did to me?

He stole my potential, some of my talents, my innocence, and part of my personality and I just want them back.

I just want to feel normal again.

*************************

This morning, a good friend of mine sent me the song, “By Myself” by Alvin Garrett ft. Ruben Studdard.

I absolutely love it!

This song may as well be the theme song of my life right now. It's so encouraging and very immediate to the situations in my life. I've been cutting people off left & right for personal reasons. I’ve ceased contact with so many people & most of my family that sometimes I stop myself to ponder if I AM THE PROBLEM? But, uhhhhh, NO.

That is not always the case.
And I have to get out of that way of thinking.

I don’t necessarily have a “victory story,” just yet, but the fact that I am still standing is victory enough in itself. It’s just up to me to realize it. And this song is my walking, active testimony in progress.

Trust, that when I get to the that “safe” place, I’m going to sing this song like a Southern Baptist Hymn (In my alto voice).

Through all of this I have had some very solid friends. But, one very specific person whom I don’t give enough credit to is my son’s father, Jon. He has known me since I was 5 years old.

This man knows me like no other. He may have just bared every mood swing written in the book of feminism.

I’ve cussed him out, called him all kinds of names at times, and even disagreed with him on 99% of things…..lol. But what I can say is I know exactly when to call him. My life can be in disarray, or my childhood sometimes comes back up to haunt me, but I can call him and do the “silent cry” while he just listens.

Now, whether or not he hangs up on me and blame it on his battery dying, I will never know? But at least I get it off my chest for the time being. lol.

We were best friends more than half our lives. He's stuck with me, now. And it’s unfortunate that it was his own brother that caused my downward spiral in life (in my opinion). However, I have never forced him to make a choice between the two of us, nevertheless, he stuck by my side through all of my tantrums, unbiased to his relation to my molester. He has been in my corner all these years. So this is a public thank you to my friend, Jon.

He sent me this song this morning and I’ve had it on repeat.

My current theme song.

That Smile

Y'all see this smile??????????

My baby is overjoyed to receive her very first PRINCIPAL'S AWARD!!!!!!

This is 2 of the 3 awards she received today and I couldn't be any more proud!

(Even though she scolded ME for not getting the perfect attendance award, too....uhmmm....that’s another blog, lol).

But, this specific school year I have seen major improvements in her attitude towards school. Not that she was bad or failing before, but she is ENJOYING school more.

She was soooo bored with school because it was "beneath her level" or she would always finish her assignments before everyone else, so her down time wouldn’t always be used wisely. She got bored waiting on everyone else. (Disclaimer: I mean that in no disrespect to anyone else's child).

Ava even enjoys reading more than before. She can never put her books down whether we’re at home, in the car, in her bed...etc.

She becomes so excited about a book that she tells the entire story, if I allow her. I have to remind her to be mindful of those who have not read it and warn her not to ruin it. Everyone doesn’t like spoilers (I do, btw).

My baby is becoming a BOOK WORM & ENJOYING IT and I love it.

She went from fussing at me about being boring for curling up on a couch and reading a book and now she’s doing the exact thing. She even called me weird for reading a book from my Kindle App on my phone while we waited outside of Calen’s school to pick him up.

She's taking after her Mommy & Big Brother.

LOVE IT!

 

Eat the Meat and Throw Away the Bones

We all would like to think that we’re pretty private.
But let’s be real, most of the things we choose to keep “private” ends up going from one ear to the next.

I’ve always been an open book and plan to remain that way. Some days I feel like I’m holding out when I write, and other days I feel like I’m telling too much.

My mind is a mystical playground, literally.

I say all of that to say this: I’ve been pretty private about some health issues that I’m having. I’ve talked to a few select friends about it and of course my Mom. I've been keeping them updated about different tests I’ve been taking over the last couple months and what’s been going on.

But here I am at the crossroads and I am facing a “minor” outpatient surgery in a couple weeks.

For some reason, I am beyond nervous about it. Like soooooo nervous that I can’t even explain to the people I confide in. I don’t want to worry them. I even joke about it.

I think I’ve been trying to take it lightly because I’m beginning to become a little more paranoid and a little “hypochondriac-ish”. But I know my body and feel that something isn't right.

I want to believe that it’s a “minor” surgery and that just like my last one, I will be ok.

But, I have to be honest with myself……..I’M SCARED SHITLESS!!! I don’t know why???

Even when I’m only getting wisdom teeth pulled, I’M SCARED.

My brain has never been able to comprehend the fact that there are drugs that will put you to sleep and someone can cut & drill on you and you feel NO PAIN (at least until you wake up)…….I just can’t wrap my head around that.

It’s as if the person being operated on is DEAD.

I don’t get it?!?!

So, of course I go into any “minor” (as they like to call it) outpatient surgery/procedure nervous as hell. I’m just tired of feeling helpless right now. I have to depend on people to drive me & my kids around and do things for me ALLLLL OVERRRRR AGAIINNNNNN??? I've been through this twice before and my parents really came through. Second time, my cousin did it for me.
I'm talking about even taking the kids to school everyday because I couldn't drive.

I’m so over it.

*SIGH*

Anyway, after this surgery on December 29th (unrelated to the ankle issue), I have to have another one, AGAIN, in April (to remove the screws from my ankles).

I have to be honest with myself and admit I’m overwhelmed with all of the medical issues I’ve been having. It’s like hitting me all at once with the “domino effect.”

Lately, I’ve always felt my body feels older than its actual age. I’m only 33 and dealing with too many things at once.

I thought I had wayyy more time to still feel young? 33 is NOT old.

But, my body is saying otherwise, at least in my case.

I will never be the same.

And, yes, I expected to.

I expected my 30’s to be nothing but fun years?

I live with guilt that it’s not. My children react in extreme shock when they see me active, or even doing something as simple as bending down on the floor on my knees (like when we moved our furniture around last night). My memory, my body and my joints work with me when they want to and I’m reduced to a DAILY pill box. I thought those boxes were only for old people?

I’m not getting that old, or my body is not shutting down that much……….

Is it?

That is what I really want to know, within myself.

With all of my recent health problems, surgeries, and tests to rule out certain things, I think my brain has shut down before my body actually has.

*********************************************************************************

>>>>> Here’s the point in this blog where I stared at the screen, writing sentence after sentence, only to erase it. I started off wanting to be transparent and more truthful, but questioned myself on how much of my personal business I wanted to tell.<<<<<<<<<<

So, I will end with this (I think it’s been time to end), I just hope that through my privacy, yet, openness, that I am learning valuable lessons and “eating the meat and throwing away the bone.”

***Blog inspired by just coming from the lab getting poked on to the point of puncture wounds***

R.I.P. to Ava's MOUF

"Hurry up, Ava. Get in the car, other parents are waiting behind me."

"I am [hurrying]!"

*She hops in the car.*

"No you weren't. I watched you walk slowly to the car as if you didn't see me."

She knows I hate how inconsiderate the other parents are in the drop off circle - every parent's nightmare- so I always tell my kids to hurry so that we're never the cause of the very traffic that annoys me.

"I saw you," she says, sharply.

"Well next time, walk faster. You were walking so slow."

"No I wasn't."

*I'm driving away from the drop-off circle by this time, but still in mid-dialogue about her slothfulness*

"Ava, I watched you walk slowly and like this towards the car," as I motioned a zig-zagged, snake-like pattern.

"Well, I'm IN the car now!" as if she was telling me to shut the eff up!

R.I.P to Ava's MOUF!!!

#Avanisms

Oh, I got your Avanisms, alright!

"MOMMY, I'm Bleeding, Heavy!"

Those are not the words you want to hear your 8-year-old daughter shout at you while you’re in the shower.

When I looked in her direction, I saw her foggy profile through the glass door and she was standing there, impassive; very stagnant. The distress in her voice didn’t match her stance so I became very concerned. I didn’t see any visual blood so my mind began racing.

“WHERE?”

She points downward........

“WHERE?????”

The second time, I asked with a little more urgency to rule out what I thought it was. Panic started to occupy my thoughts before she could even answer again. In that immediate moment at least 20 questions went through my head in about .5 seconds.

How?

Isn’t she too young?

What am I supposed to do, now?

There is no way this is happening?

Please, tell me this ISN'T happening?

Those were just some of the first thoughts. But, leave it to my dramatic, wildflower of a child, Ava, she was actually pointing down at her foot! Her motionless posture was to avoid tracking blood on the floor!

WHEEEWWWWW, I DODGED THAT BULLET!!! She's ONLY 8!!! I know it can happen, but I sure wasn't ready for it today!!!

Undoubtedly, this goes into the category “heart-stopping” moments in motherhood.

#JesusFixIt #NotReadyYet #SlowDown

Fine Journalism, Eh?

I’m never the one to correct anyone or disrespectfully disagree with them, especially on social media.

I am very respectful with respecting others’ opinions because I only want the same in return. I know that every post does not deserve a response and I live by that rule.

Nonetheless, when I am passionate about a topic, I speak out on it.

Still, respectfully.

There are few times where I have had to take short sabbatical from speaking my opinion on public forums. I try not to get too emotionally involved, but, still say my piece.

Lately, I’ve noticed a certain news anchor by the name of Terrell Brown out of Chicago being mentioned on my news feed with very strong opinions about entertainment news. He unprofessionally made some statements about an artist. I responded to the video then moved on.

He also amateurishly responded to a fight video in a deli and a wedding video where the groomsman knocked over a bridesmaid. He had strong and “sassy” opinions about those two.

I know they’re only reporting based on what’s on the prompter, but he also adds his own commentary at the end of each segment.

Fine, that’s his right. ABC 7 obviously don’t mind.

With this whole #SandraBland case, he popped up in my news feed again. But what pissed me off about it, is when he reported on her story, he was so hush-hush with nothing more to say. And this time, he asked for public opinions on his social media page!

Reallllyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

I just watched several clips of you bumping your gums against things that have no weight on the world and its corrupted state, but this one, you have nothing to say?

I find that cowardly.

Journalists are supposed to report news in an unbiased method. I don’t hold anyone accountable when they veer from that. But, I will hold you accountable when you seem to do it on a regular, but have nothing to say when it really matters?!?

Now, suddenly, you wanna be professional?

#BoyBye

That’s exactly what I told him.

I also expressed my displeasure with him having nothing more to say on the Sandra Bland case and how he left it up to many people who don’t have the platform that he has to make a difference.

Oddly, my comment was deleted.

I feel like I was respectful enough. Yet, he still deleted my comment that held him accountable.

I do not respect journalists that do their job ineffectively. Journalism has always been my passion and career goal so I take it seriously. It angers me when news outlets are subjective and it even makes me question my career at times.

Some of them can be so heartless to people just for a story!

That can’t be me. I refuse.

I’ll be like that journalist that walked off her job saying, "F&^% it, I quit!” before I become conformed to your propaganda.

Diaries

I don’t have much to blog about lately.
Or, actually, I do.
But I am choosing not to share much right now.

Lately, I’ve found myself doing more listening, than talking…..or writing.
At times I’ve gone through jealousy stages of not being further along in my own projects, but I know sometimes I'm very content with where I’m at.
That's what I'm learning.
I'm experiencing the joys of editing more than writing.

I know that I am my own worst critic.

I lose my thoughts, a lot, and it’s frustrating.
Very.
At times I feel like I share too much.
Other times, I feel like I share too little.
I debate, often, where is the healthy balance?
Where do I draw the line?

I do forget that I have a blog to write freely.
This is my safe-haven.
With no judgement.
But the more people I share it with, and the more followers I gain, I tend to close up even more.

My blog is like a diary to me.
It contains puzzles that only I can decode.
And certain times I don’t want people to figure them out.

When I look back at old posts…. it brings back memories that I’ve already dealt with.
Some made good stories and some reminded me of situations and relationships that I’ve overcame.
Some of the memories I don’t want to re-live over and over again.
Do I have to revisit those moments, again???

Some diaries are meant to stay private.
All depending ont he persons progress.

I read some stories from my blogs and smile at how far I’ve come.
Other stories I read in disbelief.
Some I giggle at in embarrassment.

But they’re all my memories.

I also have so many journals that I can’t even keep up with.
A drawer full of them.
And I utilize every one of them.
Often.

But they’re categorized.
It’s the OCD in me.
I hate it.

Each of them represents a certain mood.
Each mood, I’m compelled to pull out a specific journal.

I’d love to, #OneDay, pull out an “all purpose” journal.
One where I can share every thought to over cross my mind.

Ava's Art Museum

Because I am a neat freak, I am very meticulous about everything having a place and my house being in complete order.
Ava loves her artwork, so of course she creates hundreds of pieces everyday, so many pieces that I can't keep up with them all. I've tried hanging them on the fridge, stuffing them in a drawer in her room, even putting them in my file cabinet or allowing her to hang them in her room as well as putting them in a folder on my bookshelf. The Hello Kitty book (to the left) is an empty canvas for her to keep them all in one place and it's almost filled up. She loves to paint in it.
Recently, I have loosened up. What is the point of artwork if you cannot display it? So I have allowed her to hang up her artwork ANYWHERE in the house, even in my living room. It wasn't easy at first, I must admit. I was so particular on sticking with a color theme in my living room, everything matched. My artwork on my walls had to match the decor of my house.

Well, I finally let Ava go for it and she is well on her way. Soon, my walls will be filled with her masterpieces. And I am okay with that. It's the little things that makes me smile and her artwork is one of them. So seeing them daily around my walls make me smile...knowing the effort she has put into it. And to watch her so happy and feeling accomplished as she hangs them on the wall is priceless. The four photos to the right are a collection of what she calls her "fireworks." She even labeled them as if we're in an art museum.
 





This one is her artwork on a canvas that I purchased for her to do for my room. Nothing but paint, a comb, and a blank canvas was used, and I let her have at it. This was done back in 2011 and hung on my bedroom wall. Notice the hand-print signature in the corner?

Here is the first book we've written together (June 2014). Of course she did all the artwork. That's her area.

The following are just a taste of her other work she is capable of.
I love it.
She enjoys it.
Win-Win situation.