I Almost Said...

Living in a world in which we have to deal with other people and their -isms/assumptions/stereotypes, the art of telling people off is a valuable skill to possess. In my late teens (three or four years ago), my proficiency was limited to "Bitch, I know you didn't-" and name-calling.

But over time, I have honed and refined my ability, learned to use the sweetest words to make the sharpest point. Sometimes, I am so clever and adroit, that it takes people a minute to realize they've even been told off. There's nothing like watching that uncertain, flickering smile disappear from the face of someone who has insulted you as awareness dawns.

Time has wrought another change as well--I'm not as easily offended as I once was. I've learned to bite my tongue, give people the benefit of the doubt, and comfort myself with the knowledge that I know the truth that undermines ignorant assumptions.

Still, there are the occasions when I feel the need to set people "right." And there's no worse feeling than lost opportunities. I've been thinking of times I should've told someone off and was simply too shocked or too slow to do so. Prime examples:

1. When the white girl with whom I'd been having a pleasant conversation in a store reacted with shock at my assertion that I'd taught classes at Louisiana Tech. "Are you sure?" she asked me, "It must have been Grambling [the local HBCU]. I'm sure it wasn't Tech."

2. When the best friend of a person I'd been sharing a reciprocal flirtation with told me he didn't think I was his best friend's type because of my Pretty, Hot, And Tempting physique. Not that his friend had said anything like that but he'd never seen his friend with someone "like me."

3. Every single time I pass this certain male professor in the hallway and he looks me up and down then smirks. I can just see his desire to pet me on the head.

So, whom should YOU have told off?

Unproductive

So usually when I'm slacking on one thing, I'm on the ball on some other. But lately, I am thoroughly unproductive.

I'm not cooking.
I'm not prepping for the spring semester.
I'm not reading.
And most upsetting to me, I'm not writing.

I can't even have a good cry to get over this spell. I cry like two minutes at wide-spaced intervals and that's it. Last night, tears actually got caught in the corners of my eyes and would not fall.

Perhaps, I thought, I am tired of the house. So last night, in a really inconsiderate way, I called up a guy to whom I'd given a raincheck and was like, if you can meet me in one hour, we can do something.

But, as sweet as he was (is!), when I got home, I felt the same. I decided to write something, at least catalogue how I was feeling. I grabbed looseleaf and a blue pen (that's my serious writing gear) and...

nothing.

All I could think of was a story from my long ago days teaching elementary. In the middle of class, one of my students was trying to describe how she felt about some event and she told her classmate, "Girl, my bones were even sad."

And I said something to the effect of, "Hush, little grown girl, your bones can't be sad."

She insisted that, yes, they could.

Eventually, I understood her. And right now, my bones are even sad. I'm frozen (dreading going to the AHA next weekend!) in space. I'm also apparently not fooling anyone because my BFF came up here this morning. I cried for two minutes again.

For three hours, she worked her usual magic to reassure and support me and to kick my ass in gear. And while I don't think I feel better, I must.

Because I wrote this, right?

The Totally Unbiased, Cutest Baby in the World Post.

My new niece. Why, yes, we know!

Free Concert!

My nine-year-old son ripped his whole dance style from Chris Brown and Columbus Short's character in Stomp the Yard. He's not quite as rythmic or flexible, but that's another story.

Apparently, the Chris Brown madness begins even earlier. Check out my four-year-old godson:

How I Know I'm Back in the Rural South

Actual sign from the high school basketball game I attended tonight:

The Problem with the Blogging...

...is that it's hard for me right now. The words, despite temporary blocks, used to come easily. I've been looking through my archives, and I realize I used to come here and tell the silliest stories--sometimes with a point, sometimes with absolutely none.

And then I realized, I don't feel free to do that anymore. I have these self-imposed standards, this habit of comparing myself to others and judging myself way insufficient. I always want to say something profound and meaningful and... right. Like, I play posts out in my head a million times to try to figure out the ways they might be perceived. For example, the post with pictures of my son below--it took me a while to put that up because I have so many feelings about the military in general and about who the military uses and how it uses them and the effects on our communities. But on the other hand, my child loves Coti and he was glad to share that day with her.

So, I'm trying to reclaim my blog, trying to make it personal, political, silly, serious, reflective of the whole me.

Even More Cuteness...

Trying to placate a sleepy Nick.

The pacifier just isn't sufficient! This just might work... Going... Gone.

More pictures!

Coti took The Kid to drill for family day.

This one includes Coti's best friend, Nicarlo.

because the words won't come...

How about pictures? Here is my great-niece, born yesterday-- 6 days late and 8 lbs even. More pictures after my visit today.