Significant Kisses

I am a big supporter for gay marriage and gay rights. Actually, I'm just a big supporter of people living their lives to the fullest without societal or cultural restraints. When I saw the article on Marine Brandon Morgan's kiss with his partner, Dalan, I thought it was beautiful. And strangely, it wasn't because it was two gay dudes sticking it to society. I actually never saw their sexual orientation. I saw them as two human beings who love and missed each other.

Let's be real. Brandon was deployed 3 times over four years during their relationship. That's rough no matter if your gay or not. He could've been killed any one of those times. Now that he's home for good, you bet your sweet bippy he's gonna show his partner how much he missed him. It would be no different if my husband had done the same. Hell, we kiss each like that when I've only just gone to the market.

I often find myself floored when I hear someone make the insensitive, almost immature commentary that "it's gross" or "nasty" for two guys to kiss, yet be perfectly fine with women doing it. Really, folks? Really? It's two thousand freaking twelve, get over yourselves. We're adults (some of us) and human (some of us). Either dislike the same sex kissing thing as a whole or don't. Either way, there's nothing wrong with it.

Nowadays, you are bound to have at least a couple of gay friends, and they will have significant others who they are going to smooch around you. Are you going to stare wide-eyed and appall? Are you going to ha-rumph about it? No. You'll probably bristle and try to look away. I usually get sappy and romantic about it, personally, but what do you expect from a romance writer? To me, if someone means that much to you and you want to show some PDA. DO IT!

Life is too short to dwell on propriety. In this day of posting and sharing, this is what's happening. Maybe one day two gay dudes smooching on a dock somewhere will no longer be news. It'll  be just another day to celebrate love. I'm looking forward to it.

Pray for me y'all.

Seeking a Widow's Advice

Twenty-eleven was a really tough year for our community. We lost a lot of good, black men too soon. However, no two deaths touched me more than those of a rap icon, Heavy D, and funny man, Patrice O'Neal. Although they achieved fame in two different entertainment mediums, they both shared common elements. They both were highly respected in their fields. They were both very big men. And sadly, they both died in their forties from ailments that could have been prevented.

Heavy D died of a pulmonary embolism that formed from a blood cot in his leg during a long flight from London, where he had performed in a tribute concert to the late Michael Jackson. Now, skinny folk are septible to this, too, but Heavy was a big man with a history of heart issues. No matter how roomy you think first class is (if he was lucky to be there), you're still cramped up if you're big. I know when I fly Southwest I am forever having to stretch my leg or do something to keep the blood flowing; and I'm 5'4". Can you imagine a 6-foot plus brother with extra meat on his bones? Not to mention, he was also your quintessential yo-yo dieter. Going from extremes of weight loss and weight gain. Who knew that one flight would kill him so soon?

O'Neal died of complications from a stroke and long battle with diabetes. Again, a disease that can be managed and practically erradicated with a healthy diet. What was so tragic about Patrice's death was that he had predicted it. He had a comedic routine he did where he joked that 40 for a black man was like "177 years." He joked about his diabetes and made light of his serious health conditions. He basically said that if you hadn't set up the ground work when you "should have did it" than it was a waste to start now. That's a cop out, people. Now, I won't lie to you. The first time I heard the routine, I laughed hysterically at the sallies. They were funny! Then after he died, I tried watching that same routine again and found myself crying. Crying for him, his wife, Vondecarlo, and his daughter.

All I kept asking myself is why are our black men dying so young of these awful, yet preventable conditions. They were in their forties, for Godsakes. I mean, if this was 1900, fine. I can see it happening, can except it. But, damnit, it's 2012. They should be alive. We have the knowledge and access to better health. Good foods are readily available. We don't have to wait for the harvest. Why couldn't they be saved? My bigger concern is how are their wives/girlfriends and children coping? Is Vondecarlo blaming herself?

After the news of their deaths came my way, I began to look at my Big Man differently. Fear clamored my spine. He's 36 years old, 6 six feet tall and about 390lbs. Maybe more since he refuses to get on a scale for me. His belly is not so jolly and he complains of back, knee and foot pain constantly. My mind started to calculate how long I have with him. Patrice was 41. Heavy D was 44. Does that mean I have less than 8 years to enjoy my husband? Does that mean my son won't have his dad for his teen years, the most crucial years?

Don't get me wrong, people. I've looked in a mirror myself. I have my own demons to conquer. I battle with my weight and health problems. In fact, back in 2009, I realized this weight was not worth it anymore. So, I started to rebuild the Temple God gave me. I've slipped here and there, flatlined, but I have stayed focused on the priorities. I tried encouraging my Big Man to join me on the journey. But he waves me away with "yeah, sure, babe." I can't tell you how frustrated I get when I try to feed him good food and he balks. He is strictly a meat and potatoes kind of man. Salad. He'll nibble a salad, but no other veggies. Arg!

However, that is not the worst of it. He physically looks ill. It makes me afraid. One night, I watched him while he slept. Then I had a full-blown panic-attack, because he looked like he was drowning in his own body. If not for the haunting noise of his snoring echoing back at me through the dimness, I would think he was dead. I told him the next morning about the incident and he merely waved it off again and said, "You and Ockie will be fine if anything happened to me."

What?! Did I just hear him correctly? Did I just hear my husband, father to my son, love of my life, soul mate, just throw in the towel on his life? I could feel my head spin and my heart slam in my chest. Panic began to choke me and all I can remember was yelling at him like he was a lunatic. He couldn't understand why I was so upset.

"I don't want to grow old alone, P! I don't want to be a WIDOW at 40, or 50, or 60. I want to have you for as long as God will let me. I want to experience grandparenthood with you!"

He gave me a hug, and assured me things would be alright, but nothing's changed yet.

I know what some of you are thinking. He's a grown man. He needs to make this decision for himself. Well, it's not easy to stand by and watch someone do this to themselves and say nothing or do nothing. It was easier when I was single and had no real attachment to the big lunk next to me. But now, we have a marriage and a son and the playing field has changed. I have to fight to save him, even if he won't save himself. I don't want to be a widow in my forties. I don't want my son to grow up without his daddy because he could not control his weight. There's no honor in dying because you're fat!

The last couple of weeks of 2011 I began to think of Patrice's wife. Did Vondecarlo feel like me? Did they have the same arguments and fights? I would give anything to sit down with her and ask how she dealt with his weight, his diabetes, his stubbornness. Did she nag him everyday? Did she beg him to change? Did she hide veggies in his chilli? Did she try to regulate his sugar? And more importantly, what are her reflections now that he's gone?

I refuse to lose this fight with my Big Man. I refuse to let him go into the ground a fat man. He may have lost his mother to this awful epidemic (she was in her 50's), but I will be double damned to let my man go down like this. Y'all, 2012 is gonna have to be a year of change for Big Man.

Pray for him (and me), y'all.

Love and War

Ok, so Demi finally gave Ashton das boot. C'mon, the Bastard was cheating on her with some lowly heifers repeatedly. I consider that Che's Golden Ground for Divorce, along with putting any type of hand on me. Now, all this other foolishness - (I said I wouldn't bring it up, but I done lost my mind today) Kim and Kris, Velvet Teddy Bear and his lady - "irreconcilable differences" and "complete incompatibility of temperament" is just ridiculous. I'm sorry, call me old school, but what the hell ever happened to working it out. People need to stop treating marriage like a dating game.

I had a moment to look up the legal terms of these two grounds for divorce and was appalled. Irreconcilable differences are defined by the courts as "differences between spouses that are considered sufficiently severe to make married life together more or less impossible." If that were true, then I would've snipped the Desir off my name years ago. What makes a marriage fun and frustrating is the differences you experience with your husband or wife or life partner (gays/lesbians you ain't absolved either). My take on it is this: if you knew he was this stubborn about leaving his dirty drawers in the hallway when you were dating, then why did you ever think that would ever change when you got married? And inversely, do you think he enjoys catching a glimpse of your discarded tampons in the bathroom trash? No, he don't. But that doesn't mean he or she doesn't love you an less. As long as you agree or have a mutual understanding on the important things (finances, disciplining the kids, retirement, etc.),  you can totally hate each others guts over dishes in the sink and bras hanging off the fan blade.

Complete incompatibility of temperament is defined as “not [being] able to live in harmonious or agreeable combination. When there is conflict in the pattern of behavior and reaction it is said to be incompatibility of temperament. This is due to the different manner of thinking and behaving of a human being." Really? So, because I have a human reaction to P eating the last of my peanut butter Oreo's, the stress of it gives him the grounds to divorce me. Uh-huh. So, why couldn't he just let me be mad and then go buy me a new bag to make it right? Why couldn't I look on the bright side and think that was 70 calories less than I needed? Everyone has a temper and a mood. As long as it is not violent or emotionally/mentally damaging, then there is no reason two adults can't talk stuff through. Really talk stuff through.

Now, I know some of you out there are probably saying, but "Che, it's more than just that. We grew apart. We weren't talking. We were living separate lives. He/She just doesn't get me anymore." Who's fault is that? Look, P and I can go for an entire week not saying one word to each other, maybe a "Mornin'" or a "G'nite". But eventually, one of our dumbasses realizes this and says, "Hey, I have a wife. Where is my wife? What she doing?" and vice versa. And wait, people, a conversation ensues, maybe even a date. The great thing about a marriage is that you can still be an individual and do things that don't include your husband or wife (except cheating. Thank you, Jesse James). P is a hockey coach and is forever on the road doing tournaments or recruiting. I write and have my choir. But you know, despite my aversion to my husband's hobby (Che don't do cold, people), I actually get a kick out of hearing him relate stories of crazy parents and the politics of the game. On the flip side, on long car rides, P will ask me to whip out one of my blogs and read it and then we discuss it.

Kids, hate and discontentment comes with a loving marriage believe it or not. My parents will crack me up, because as many times I've heard them argue about something or other. I've seen them be loving to one another. Also, I've never seen them fight unfair. Now, some of you may have heard me give this advice, "Fight fair." I'll tell you what I mean. When you have a disagreement with your husband or partner or wife, don't start bringing out shit from the way back. If you're mad at him for not taking out the trash, don't bring up that time he was late picking you up from the train. One has absolutely nothing to do with other and only breeds resentment. Ladies, I hate to say it but we are notorious for this, not to say you brothers don't do the same. Just we take it to another level. Our marriage councilor (yes, we saw someone before we got hitched) said that if you fight, fight about the subject at hand and leave other issues out. And if it gets hot, walk away for 30 minutes, then comeback and resolve the issue. And if there's no resolution, then don't go running to the first divorce lawyer you see, table it for another time, until you can respectfully agree to disagree.

I can wholly admit that P and I have had outrageous, knock-out, drag-out fights (stuff that would destroy a Hollywood marriage in 72 hours), but I think what keeps us going is that we actually like each other, not just love, like. When you like someone, you actually care about making amends. It actually hurts you to see them upset. So many of these couples fly high on the love aspect of things that when they actually fall back down to earth and realize, "Oh, I don't really like you at all." Suddenly, it's over and he's walking out the door with your Robin Thicke CDs.


Look, young bucks, let me break this down to you simply: Marriage is tough. It's supposed to be. Sometimes it even sucks! Sometimes really sucks. But you can't keep treating it like a pair of last year's Jimmy Choo's. Unfashionable, therefore unwearable. The best shoe is the one you've worn in real good. Sure it's got smudges on it and a strange funky smell, but it's yours and it fits. So screw all this irreconcilable differences and complete incompatibility of temperament crap and actually talk to your partner. You might like them if you do.

Pray for me (and them), y'all!

Really, Man...

So, I've been following this End of the World, Judgement Day business for the last week and I can tell you, these crack pots are giving Christians a bad name. Now, be aware, I have no strong religious compass. Let's just say I was dedicated Nazerene, grew up with Jews, educated Catholic, baptized Baptist, palled around with Muslims, and know the difference between a Buddhist and a Hindu.  In short, my view on religion is slightly skewed.

What I always find so fascinating are the people who try to predict the will of God (or insert your deity here). Now, people, this higher power has to be the most gangster entity known to man. He's got more aliases than the late great ODB. She's got more VIP standing in mostly every religion than P. Diddy does in NYC. It's the only cat that can carry a grudge and forgive all at the same time and it's cool.

Based on the readings in the Christian bible, God's convinced a man to take his people through the desert for 40 years, convinced another old man to build a boat cause She was thinking about flooding the earth for about 40 days-40nights, helped an old woman conceive way past her childbearing years, convinced another man to sacrifice his own son, only to turn around in the last second and change his mind, sent Her own son down to the earth to get mauled by these ig'nant fools, just to show us She ain't playing. I don't know about you, but that sounds like a gangster if I every did hear one.

But I digress.

Back in the day (we're talking robes and sandals, people), apparently, God was real talkative. She'd show up as a burning bush, dust cloud, lamb, whatever and start telling people her plans. In fact, He'd have a laid out precise plan that was as easy to follow as Aunt Jemima's Complete Pancake mix (just add water and stir). If It was dead set on destroying someplace, you best believe there would be dust and pebbles in your path. But somewhere after Jesus, God got real quiet and subtle, or really man just became real idiotic.

Every century and religion has pretty much predicted the End of the World. That God has "spoken" to them and said that this date, this time is when it's all going to be over. And pretty much, we're all still here. I don't know about y'all, but they're making God out to be a punk bitch. Yeah, I said it. Instead of playing the wait and see approach, reading their bibles, praying, tithing, they keep putting God on front street and mouthing off like a playground instigator, "Yeah, God's gonna destroy the world on May 21st, we rising up and you staying here to suffer."

Uh-huh. May 21st was Saturday. It's freaking Thurs-day, May 25th. What have you got to say? "Well, uh, God got His dates mixed up- He's really gonna end the world October 21st." Brother, please, God did not mix up the date. She just didn't tell your ass and he's not gonna tell your ass. Like I keep saying. God ain't a punk; It's a gangster. She's gonna roll up on this Earth one day with His crew and poof: DE-STROY! End of story. No rapture. No Celine Dion serenade up into the Heavenly clouds. Just poof.


Now, you want my take on this End of Days business. You remember how the dinosaurs departed this world? Oh, that's right, we aren't really sure how they died. Was it tar, a meteor, deep cold? Maybe, maybe not. All we know are those big beasts are extinct and eventually, this world is gonna evolve again and only the strong  survive. Till then be strong in your own convictions and stop listening to fools who think they got an in with this higher entity. They'll still be in the line outside the club - with the rest of us.

Pray for me, y'all.

A Letter to Octavian - From the Book of Che

Dear Ockie,

I made an adult realization today. It was something I voiced but had voiced in times of annoyance and frustration and couldn't hold it in water because the vase it was in was so full of holes. As your father drove me to the train station, his one simple statement about my not complaining about work made me realize that I was a square block mercilessly jamming myself into a triangle shape. But what I said was one of the most selfless things I could have said, "I think I serve my job an injustice by being there."

Let me tell you what I mean, Diddles. Sure, I show up on time, I do what I need to do for my department, I offer the best customer service to my customers and colleagues, but my heart is not here. I don't spring from my bed saying, "Yay, I'm going to my crappy ass job!" I drag myself there because of my responsibility to you and your father. Without said job, you and I wouldn't be able to see the doctors. Without said job, I can't pay for you to have fun at play school or the house over our head. But, baby, I am not being a good role model to you.

So, I hope when you get older and read this, you'll take with you these lessons I picked up (or more oftentimes failed at) along the way.

* Dreams are just life plans with glitter on it. Don't be afraid to actually put some flesh behind them.
* For as much as you put into plans, be able to let go and have fun. If you get so hung up on the details, you miss out on the fun.
* Don't wait for someone to tell you to do something (i.e. pick up your toys). Do you know how much joy you bring someone when you just do something. Oh, here's a tip, try not to get annoyed when they sarcastically say, "Wow, you're doing dishes!"
* You're only alone if you stay alone.
* Be you. Know you. Prove it to you. You (and maybe the Man Upstairs) are the only person you have to impress, because if you wait around for other humans to recognize and adore you, you're gonna be disappointed everytime.
* Know when to Cuss and Carry on. Sometimes it's the thing to do with a few choice friends.
* Laugh. 'Cause if you don't laugh, you'll cry.
* All things die, baby. But memories don't - hold them closest to your heart, but be inspired by them not saddened.
* Fight for the one you love. Even when the world says it won't work. If you believe it, then only God can part you.
* Sometimes love ain't got a lick a sense. I know, boyo. Trust me, I know.
* No one ever runs on time.
* Learn as much as you can from your mom and dad about your history. You'd be surprised at how bad ass your ancestors were.
* If your parents come from a foreign country, make it your mission to touch that Earth at least once before you go.
* If you're gonna be wrong, be wrong strong! Don't be afraid of making a mistake or being embarrassed. You gotta learn somehow.
* Don't be afraid to say I'm sorry. If your words hurt someone, if your hands hurt someone, if your silence hurt someone, be man or woman enough to say I'm sorry.
* It takes two of you to argue, but it only takes one of you to be the bigger person. Calmer heads will always prevail.
* By the way, you're not always right!
*And, honey, momma has always failed this, but hopefully you won't, don't let your emotions rule your features. Have a poker face, when it's necessary. Humans are humans and they will use your emotions against you.
* Giving up is the worse thing you can do!
* You can live a normal life with a chronic disease.
* At birth, you were given a temple to take care of. Don't be cruel and let your house of flesh and blood be overrun with weeds and ill-repair. In order to maintain your land, be good to it and fill it with only good things.
* Drugs are highly overrated. Trust me, you're wasting your time, money and life trying to feed an addiction.
* Oh, by the way, anything is an addiction. If you don't learn moderation now it will haunt you.
* Once in a while, stand completely naked in front of a mirror and check yourself out. Now wait, don't look at your flaws. Look at the things you like. Be proud of the framework you have. So many people are unhappy with themselves because some person or magazine or show done told them how to look or dress. Baby, beauty is how you perceive it. If something makes you happy, then it's beautiful and let no one tell you different.
* Treat everyone you meet with a clean slate, unless they prove themselves otherwise. No one race is better than the other. No sexuality that supersedes the other. There are assholes in all cultures and social circles, just find the good ones and avoid the bad ones and you'll be fine. Stereotypes are just fodder for comedians.
* Love for the right reason. Grandma once said, "Love with interest, doesn't yield a thing."
* Pain is like rain. If you don't have it, you don't appreciate the sunshine and happy times.
* Education is a right and you should learn as much as you can about everything, but try not to be a know it all. Remember, know-it-alls get kicked out Smurf Village.
* When you know it's time to leave someplace, always leave on good terms. It wasn't all bad, so don't make it like it was.
* There is no shame in a man crying, honey. You are human and you have a right to feel. 
* And if you can't please yourself, you can't please anyone.
* This one's for when you get older. Learn how all your parts work, and don't be afraid of your sexuality. Whether gay or straight, be comfortable in your skin to share yourself with someone who will respect you in the morning. Life is too short and too dangerous to be sexually naive. Don't be afraid to be selective about your partners. Don't be afraid to try new things - that you're comfortable with. Don't be afraid to love yourself. There's nothing wrong with that! Learn to be an unselfish lover - and teach your lover to love you.
* Lastly, be a spirit of the Earth, and don't get caught up in man made religions. Every Creed offers a lesson about the High Power of this world. God (whatever form you take him) is everywhere. He'll be there for you when you need guidance. Life is a classroom and a chapel. It's up to you if you want to attend.

Ockie, I certainly would never vote myself World's Greatest Mom. I know there are times where I feel like I've failed you, but I can only keep trying and learning how to make this work. Baby, I promise to try to be a better role model for you and prove that if you do put your mind to it your hard work does count for something. Life is a scary ass journey, but it's so much fun trying to get to the end. Always know that momma loves you with every fiber of her heart and soul, even if it doesn't seem like it.

Love and smoochies,

Momma

P.S. Pray for me, y'all!

Anxiety...

So there I was last night exhausted as all get out, when a dreadful thought claimed me. I vaguely recalled a show joking about a cubicle being half the size of a jail cell. My God. That is so true. Believe it or not, I actually began to panic. Yes, people, I panicked like a ho in church. I began to sweat. Then I began to pace. Is this what I signed on for when I signed on to this thing called Life? Jesus, this is a horrible assignment.

I know some of you are reading this and thinking, "She's gone bananas." But I know there are good number of you who feel my pain. You wake up, get dressed, eat/don't eat, catch a bus/drive, get to work, sigh, do your job, eat/don't eat, try to finish out your day, get back on the bus/drive, get home, eat/don't eat, sleep. Repeat. Pepper in some bathroom time and that's it. 

Today, as I strolled through the train station, I compared everyone around me to a herd of gazelles, bumping and trotting to their destination. We were all moving through the valley and I just wanted to break from the pack. However, I didn't want to be the one mowed down by a lion. So, I kept moving along the line. Ugh!

There is this piece of me that wants to make a difference, but another piece that could really care less. God, that sounds so shallow. I want to pursue the things I love, but they sound so silly. I know what I'm good at, but continue to do the things I am horrible at.

THAT'S IT!

I am tired of being so bloody wishy-washy with myself. I got two ovaries (because I don't have balls, people, follow me) and a lot of gumption. How do I not wake up on Sunday morning, worried about Monday morning? Hmmmm.

I'll get back to you when it kicks in... Pray for me, y'all.

Stop Work Order

It has taken me a long while to actually realize that my brain has apparently put a stop work order on the rest of my body. The holidays had been sweet and fun with little lapses here and there on the work outs, but January and February, things came to a grinding halt. The tools were starting to gather dust. The resources and materials were growing mildew and mold. I glanced around one day and said, "What happened?" between mouthfuls of Funions.

Oh, dear God. My body has gone on strike.

I recently just finished an eight week rehearsal for the famed Providence Newspaper Guild Follies, where I had killed it as "Lizzy Gaga". However, during the process I had let me regime and eating habits fall by the wayside. Cast members had been kind to bring treats to get us through the long rehearsals, but it was stuff like cupcakes, cakes, breads, etc. It wasn't their fault. It was my freaking will power that went into low drive. I was housing this crap, despite bringing healthier alternatives like protein bars and shakes.


I think where I went into serious fail mode was the week of the Follies. Good Lord, the amount of food that I crammed down my pie hole in the midst of two days coulda fed an Ethiopian village. Here is just a breakdown (cover your eyes or ears if you have a weak stomach):

Thursday
- Eggs (about a quarter plate), sausage link (1 mind you) and a handful of potatoes. On top of already having a breakfast sandwich earlier that morn.
- Venus wedding soup about 3 to 4 bowl fulls.
- Venus bread slathered in specially prepared Venus olive oil and tasty fixin's about 4 or 5
- Seafood Scampi (large chunks of lobster, scallops and shrimp) oh wait, and pasta.
- Reisling wine

Friday
- Hoards of snackies all over the place
- Housed some serious chicken salad (minus buns - I did have some sense) wrapped in lettuce and cheese.
- Pre-show glass of Reisling wine (be aware, folks, a cup of Reisling is like a slice of cake) and nibbles of beef.
- Post-show housed a bowl of Lobster Newburg (a Venus tradition), salad, a slab of roast beast, 2 1/2 pieces of breaded cod fish and Chardonnay.

And you would think somewhere in this mind of mine, I would have said, "Ahem, don't you think you should check you caloric intake at this time and STOP CRAMMING YOUR PIE HOLE!" No. You see, apparently, I had gone off the deep end, because it did not stop there. No, sir. Come Saturday I was hot in the kitchen brewing up my White Chili and putting the finishing touches on my red velvet cupcakes with the butter cream cheese frosting. You heard me... BUTTER CREAM CHEESE FROSTING!

The only thing that may have saved those cupcakes was the simple fact that I accidentally used wheat flour instead of white flour. Needless to say, that became null and void when, as my good friend, William, pointed out at the party, the cupcake to frosting ratio was 50:50. However, it was not my contributions to the party that appalled me. No. It was my contribution to housing everyone else's pot that appalled me.

Once again, here is the breakdown:


At home:
- 8 oz. of a protein shake with a banana in it.

- Half a steak and cheese sandwich I shared with P.

At the party
- Mini roast beef wrap
- A plate full of salad drenched in a tasty/tangy dressing
- Chips and guac
- An off the hook, someone-put-their-foot-in-it curry dish that I slathered over some dirty rice (not once but twice)

- A scoop full of my own White Chili (over some dirty rice)

- I can't even remember how many, but let's say I housed a quarter of the Fried Wonton plate
- Two cups worth of Merlot wine (remember, kids, that's like two slices of cake)

- One of my own cupcakes (actually one and a half since I had tested half of one back at the house).

It was Sunday when I woke from this disasterous  meltdown of will power that I realized, "Oh God, I have derailed my efforts." Shame and disgraced just filled me. I was doing so well. I was watching what I was eating and not going overboard. But like an alcoholic you are truly never reformed.

I looked at the calendar on my wall and realized that I had let The Brain continue this "stop work order" on my Temple for far too long. That's when I called a Summit meeting. Sitting down at my mental table with my staff (The Brain, The Heart, The Stomach and The Muscles), we came to a resolution.

We all knew what needed to be done and we all knew how it needed to be done. Stomach kinda blanched at the idea of going back to square one, but she knew that the current materials in the warehouse had to go. The carbs were putting a dimple on the Temple facade and the lack of fruits was causing a flap in the right and left wings. The Muscles were in on the ground work and were ready to get beat up to re-strengthen the foundations. The Brain and Heart came to an understanding that halting the progress was going cause the Temple to deteriorate to itself dilapitated state once again and both had agreed they liked the clearer space.

So, tonight, I will be joining a group of gals in the same boat as myself and trying to get back on track. Pray for me, y'all.