As I was on my way home from my nephew’s soccer game, I began to grow tired. It doesn’t take much now days, since I’m a constant anemic. Sometimes it’s all I can do to stay awake soon after I come home from work. The low-iron levels in my blood get to me sometimes, but as a “diva,” I still try to take on way more than I can handle sometimes.

Between family, my honey Lebron, and websites I manage, I feel pulled in so many directions and attempt to handle so much that it wears on me. Just yesterday, I left work early to have bi-monthly blood work done. Apparently, my iron levels are getting better, but it’s still not where my doctor wants it to be. It doesn’t help that the medicine he recommends has some ill side effects.

After my date with blood lab, I ran to pick up my nephew from school. Then I went to find something to wear for my night out with my girlfriends. That was relaxing, spending time with my homegirls, women I’ve known since my college days.

We ate at Carrabbas, where I indulged in Chicken Parmesean and white Sangrias. Lovely. We laughed and caught up on everything in our lives, including jobs and relationships, bonding over the fact both partners are a lot of work, but worth it. It was chill just to relax and take my mind off the week.

The night ended with one of my girls running to the bathroom with the quickness. I guess her Pasta Carrabba just didn’t agree with her stomach. All I know is her legs couldn’t carry her fast enough up the stairs, and she was clamoring for the air freshener after blowing up the bathroom. All in all, a good night.

This morning I woke up around 7 a.m. with a pounding headache. With plenty of things on my to-do list, this was the last thing I needed. I still got out around 9, taking my nephew to his last soccer game (mom and dad were tied up), got some high-maintenance stuff taken care of, and hit the store for a much-needed router for my laptop. I should have been grocery shopping, but after the eyebrow waxing/painful plucking I was done.

What a day, what a day.

And tomorrow I get to do laundry 🙂 How fun! Luckily Lebron is taking me on a date, probably a movie and dinner, which is usually the most we do in our lazy college town.

I’m still tired, though. Laying in my bed with my laptop, I realize that I can’t do everything, and can’t be everything to everybody. I have to take time for myself. I can’t afford to have my body shut down on me.

That would be so undivafied.


Right to Vote?

Although politics has never been my cup of tea, I already know whom I’m voting for. It’s been no secret. I love Obama and what he stands for politically: change and more change. I couldn’t stand to go through another eight years (or even four years for that matter) with a bull-headed idiot running the country. It’s been tough enough watching Bush turn this country into a country with worse debt than a five-year unemployed dude with child support issues up the ass and creditors calling him after 8 p.m.

If I seem a little riled up, it’s because we have a lot riding on this election. The fate of the free world lies with who will win more electoral votes. Personally, I would love to see the first black man in office (and no, Clinton doesn’t count), running things and helping us to get out of this dismal situation. I know he can’t solve all our country’s problems, but at least it’ll be a start.

One thing that irks me about Obama’s campaign success is when black folks say, “I hope he doesn’t get shot.” Yes, he has had opposition, mostly in the form of rednecks who would rather eat shit than see a black man occupy the oval office. But we need to stop being so negative. This man, the son of a white mother and African father, a Harvard law school graduate and Illinois senator, could become the first black president. It’s hard to put into words what this mean.

My father, who lived and survived through the civil rights era, has waited for this day to come. He grew up in a time when there were separate water fountains at the local courthouse and cringed to hear a white man call him boy. He tells me experiences of being considered inferior, when he knew it was simply for the color of his skin. I still get chills remembering his recollection of the night Martin Luther King died, and being under fire by white authority figures. They asked him to tell where the blacks had congregated that night; my father refused. On that night, at that moment, it could have been a different story altogether, one that could have lead to my father being attacked or, God forbid killed, but he said he wasn’t afraid. No person, black or white, would ever make him afraid.

That’s the kind of hardship he endured, so we could have the liberty to vote. That’s why it’s important.

And that’s why Obama’s my choice, because he believes in change. He understands nothing’s going to improve without it. He’s just the man to see this thing through.

Happy Birthday to Lebron!

Today is Lebron’s birthday.

She turns another year older, and our relationship grows another year as well, with our anniversary only two days away.

It was two years ago today that I surprised her with balloons and a card, even though we weren’t “officially” together yet. She had just moved back to my hometown, and we were seeing where things were going at that point. We had a long history, one where we always cared for one another, but just couldn’t work out the logistics of a relationship.

When she was ready for something more, I wasn’t. When I finally figured she was who I wanted, she had moved on.

But with her arrival, we were finally on the same page – and realized that with each other was where we wanted to be.

Today, we still continue to have the same feelings we had back then, but now it’s more of a comfortable relationship…dare I say complacent. We’re still in love, still are best friends, still can’t be without one another.

However her birthday makes me realize how long and how much we’ve really been to each other – through loving, arguments, struggling, crying, cursing, kissing, smiling, pining, sexing, annoying, hugging and everything else that comes with a long-term relationship. There are times when I can’t get enough of her, and times when I’ve almost left her.

Love is like that. Two years is a very long time.