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21 more things = 42

The last post was the 21 things I KNOW at 42. At the end I said I'd consider writing 21 more things to make it 42 in total & then ...


Whoah is She!!

Women baffle me.

Yes, I too am a Sister of the Traveling Vaginas but I am openly admitting that I do NOT understand us. On any given day, I'm really wading through my own idiosyncrasies, understanding my own wax & wane. This is a full time job & leaves very little energy to expend on trying to figure out the next chick. Unless you're my friend. In that case I'll go to the end for you. I'll tie ends for you. I'll give ends to you to help you make ends meet (if I got it & you're a do fa'self kinda woman). I'll travel to new ends with you. If you're my friend.

In case you missed it, that's a lot of giving. Granted, I'm less present physically than I was as a youth but Life twists & turns & restructures things. We all got isht to do. The long & short of it is that if you need me I do my best to be there. Sometimes the best I can do in any given moment might not allow me to be there but to at least tell you that as the truth. That's another part of friendship: within my power. Sometimes my power pack needs to be recharged. & so does yours.

I'm straying.

I'm the type of woman who hates to see another sister down. I have, on more than too many occasions, offered up time & services to help a sista out of a jam. Some of these women have been close friends & others have just been in a state that I could not, in good conscience, turn my back on. Yes...I have aided a woman or 2 who has thrown shade.

I don't know if it's the old-soul sista in me or if I've just paid careful attention, but I have pretty clear boundaries. Especially when it comes to men. Women are easier to manage because for the most part we don't deal with each other unless we're REAL serious about it. Men however will hover around anything that begins with a "v" & ends with an "a." It's the power of the pee. you. ess. ess. why. Early on I recognized that it was gon' be up to me to make sure I did right by that thang. Agreements & understandings only; no open door policies. Part of those agreements are ALWAYS around how I would be treated. Nobody's perfect in this area, but it seems I fare better than some of my sisters do. I've actually taken toilet paper to a woman's apartment because she was VERY pregnant & her CHILDREN's father wouldn't get up & go to the store. That was in walking distance. Walking. Distance. I've also delivered sanitary napkins to this same woman for the same reason. He wouldn't go. & she kept living in the house with him. He's spent her tax return on a Play Station. She bought her own engagement ring. Paid the rent. Bought the car on the rare occasions they could secure a bucket to push the pedal on for a few weeks or months. & in the midst of all that I've also fed her, while VERY pregnant, because they had no money. Cuz he WOULDN'T work. Wouldn't.

Love, I've heard, is blind. & the prospect of being on your own with 1 child here & another fighting to get here is not for the faint of heart. I honestly have not lived that situation to say what should be done in it. I wouldn't pretend to tell anybody what they should do right then, feet weighed down by drab concrete boots & an inability to unscramble the letters u-t-r-f-u-e. So what conversation did I have with her? The only kind I could. I let girlfriend know that I didn't respect her dude & I damn sho' wasn't gettin' ready to be her man if her man wasn't gon' be it. I told her that I don't have a problem with helpin' folks out but folks gotta be about the business of saving their own lives. I picked up where my parents left off, passed the torch, & was busy raising myself. I didn't have time to raise 2 grown folks and their seeds. I told her she was gon' have to temper these help calls, that if she was willing to accept such disrespectful treatment at the hands of her man, then she had to stop complaining about where he fell WAY short. I knew who & what he was before I knew she existed. I didn't need her to tell me he wasn't no man, but at the point that she'd decided he was HER man & continued to sip piss from his tip in the name of family...well, that was her cross to bear. Alone.

I ain't never wanted nobody that damn bad. Bad...but not THAT damn bad.

A few years later she crept out from under her rock. In need. The death of her mother left her alone as he continued to...do what he'd always done--a whole lot of nothing. I listened with compassion to the tale of her mother's passing. She had been sick for a long time, making it no less difficult to handle. I stood at a crossroads. I had to assess quickly whether it made sense to give anything more than my condolences. I could not. A seemingly callous act, I had to be honest with myself about whether I could allow my kindness to be misunderstood as a reopened door. I couldn't let that happen. Condolences offered, I made it clear that nothing of hers lived within me. Back under her rock I pushed her...

Until she was so done she imagined murdering him for his cheating ways. His cheating ways & his immature approach to family & marriage. **guess she paid for the wedding too** His irresponsibility that supposedly led to their numerous evictions. Yes, that means more than 1. His drunkenness. A lot, right? I agree. But the money she requested & the potential place to stay for she & her 2 children, to escape the vicious indifference of this man she'd married...I could not offer. I lent a disbelieving ear. I shared my wish that she figure it all out, but my Welcome Mat was face down. I hoped she latched on to someone she hadn't used up & found the help she needed to outrun this louse.

With the magic of the Facebook Gawds, her face showed on the page of a mutual friend's. For fun I clicked to see if she'd posted recently, signaling whether she was OK. You know, cuz I care & shit. What did I find? Pics from last week of her latest baby shower. Big Belly Gyal dem a glowing in her fresh micro braids & pretty new dress. & who was among the likes for her picture? Him. Of course. Who wouldn't be? Me. She's deleted. & since it's my house phone she calls, I got some dial tone for her too if she ever crawls back from under her rock again. I've supped on enough of this plate of bullshit. I'll have the check now, but I'm leaving it for her to pay. Done.

Watch me move.

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