I went to Mississippi and hung with my family, and now I have strep throat.  I went to Dollar Tree and ran into a woman who I’ve always thought was lesbian–totally isn’t my business, but you just wonder sometimes. I went there to buy balloons for my lil cousin who had just turned 4.  Earlier he’d cried because his grandma had bought him a balloon that flew away before he could get his hands on it.

When I walked in the  house with the 3 balloons (tied to a weight), the ebullient joy I witnessed is something I won’t soon forget.

I love kids, and the way they (if not too reserved) unapologetically express their needs.  The way a 4 year old will say “I’m hungry mama”, with full faith that mama will fix it.  The way a 7 or 2 year old will crawl into bed and lie beside you when they are lonely or need some affection, without asking permission, and watch whatever you were watching on your laptop, or ask to watch something else, or completely disrupt your viewing, to play with your nose (the 2 year old).

Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and Thanksgiving day seem to have all coalesced into some 5 day shopper’s holiday.  My participation was limited to the purchase of a long-sleeved T-shirt with my favorite womanist (read: Black women) authors, and a sex toy being sold at an 80% discount.

That has to be some type of cliche.

I haven’t owned a sex toy in several years because I prefer (and am quite skilled at) getting myself off the natural way, but I’m hoping this will prevent me from making regretful decisions with my vagina.

I did not see my long-time lover (a.k.a. “side husband”) while I was in The Sip.  To be honest, I’m relieved.  If I had seen him, I probably would have fucked him, because I was ovulating.  I probably would have enjoyed it, but…

At some point, you think to yourself: I been smelling my pussy on this nigga’s breath for the majority of the past decade, but I’ve never fallen asleep in his arms, watched him wake up, or smelled his morning breath.

Things get old, is the point.

I like Jackson because it’s the kind of place where you can forget to bring your license to the club, put the club owner’s cousin on speakerphone and all of sudden, security moves aside.  It’s a place where, if your server is your cousin’s ex-girlfriend, she’ll hook you up with free hookah all night, even though you’re there with your cousin’s current girlfriend–the one he cheated on the old girlfriend with (mess).

So, at the club.  Literally the ONLY person who caught my eye was this stud sitting by herself at the next table.  I wanted to talk to her, but…I never worked up the nerve.  I gave her “the eye” for a few seconds.  Baby steps.

I got invited to participate in threesome by a tinder nigga and his girl, but I declined.

I don’t even know who I am.  I was once a person who genuinely wanted to experience an orgy at least once.  Now the thought of sex with even just 1 other person (like, besides myself) seems unfathomable.

Not even just sexually, I seem to have–temporarily, I hope–lost the ability and the desire to engage other people.  I’m not sure which is more disturbing.

We press on, though.

So, strep throat.  I’m  annoyed that I gotta spend $45 at urgent care just to get a diagnosis, so I can get antibiotics.  But at least a nigga got health insurance.  #silverlinings


  1. Westworld is the best show on television.
  2.  It just fucking is.
  3. Queen Sugar is, too, though.
  4. Atlanta was also excellent.
  5. The last episode of Insecure had me missing pain.  Perhaps not the hurt itself, but being so close to a person, that I could feel so much.

My christmas present to myself is going to be piercings.

I’m meditating on what it would mean to be in an interdependent relationship.



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