I miss you.

Ya know, I’m just throwing this out there, I’d be more grateful for Hump Day if it really lived up to it’s name. 😉  I jest. [Sorry if I embarrass you with my crudeness, Mother.]  No, what had happened was I came home and finally got my shoes off and Chloe and I were relaxing on the sofa.  I was sitting here thinking of how Wednesday kinda felt like it beat me up!  And, after a few minutes, I realized I was mentally reciting a list of the horrors Wednesday had thus far brought.  As I let Chloe out the back door [Chloe’s relaxation time is about 5 minutes most days], something came back to me.  I listened to Iyanla Vanzant’s speech on gratitude this morning in the shower.  And I recalled her posing this to the audience: Think back to a situation where there was something you really, really, really needed and you couldn’t see it coming from anywhere.  Did it show up?  And even if it didn’t, did you get by without it?  Were you grateful for that moment?  Are you grateful about that moment right now?

Here I was not being grateful.  I needed to change that. With a quickness.  So I began ticking things off…

• I’m grateful for the birds, the grass, and the trees in my yard.
• I’m grateful I have my own yard and my own house.
• I’m grateful to get up off the couch and let Chloe out a million times because for 12 years and 11 months I have had a constant companion with me.
• I’m grateful for the $300 vet bill today because it means Chloe is still alive and fighting.
• I’m grateful for the after-hours phone calls from work because it means I showed up in this life as a follower and now I’m a leader, my voice counts, and I have a job when so many others do not.  It’s a gift, not a burden.
• I’m grateful for my friends who let me vent and show empathy when I forget to be grateful for it all.
• I’m grateful for the toothache because it reminds me I have teeth, I have insurance to cover a root canal, and what isn’t covered by insurance can be covered by American Express.

And then it got a little deeper and emotional and Iyanla’s statement resonated loud…

• I’m grateful for the heartaches because it means I listened to my heart and had a priceless adventure.

This list just goes on & on.  It’s endless.  But it refocused me.  Lastly, I’m grateful for the silent mode on my iPhone because I need a nap.

Lately I’ve been mulling over confidence, authenticity, vulnerability, and gratitude.  These are areas I want to improve in my own life.  It seems to me these things are all connected.  I’ve spent brief moments conjuring the image of people I know (and some I don’t) who inspire me: self-starters, artists, authors, spiritual teachers, etc. I’ve spent lots of time thinking of these principles and how they apply to the many, many people I admire so much.  Today it struck me that these are the people subject to scrutiny by others.  They are the ones putting themselves out there!  And with it comes the inevitable gossip and slander.  Eminem raps about his experiences.   And–I guess I’m still on the Brene Brown kick–this quote from Teddy Roosevelt came to me, which I first came across in Dr. Brown’s books:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Suddenly, with a little bit of new insight, my own journey makes more sense to me.  It isn’t that your skin has to be tough to put yourself out there doing whatever it is you do; it’s that you have to realize those people putting you down are NOT in the arena with you. It’s like the serenity prayer with a spin: serenity to accept that some people will not change, courage to face the critics I need to hear, and wisdom to know the damn difference!  I take SO much personally lately.  Which is funny because how much of anyone else’s life is about me?  Well, there’s my mom, my dog, and my 2 closest friends I message multiple times a day.  Aside from that, I really do not play an active part in anyone’s life.  So maybe when I hear one tiny thing about me, I give it far more weight then it should hold.

So why do I do it?  It’s toxic.  It creates worry, sadness, and holds me back from the very thing I want to achieve (see first paragraph).  It stops me from doing the very things on earth I firmly believe I came to do–write, inspire, and spread the love.  I know, I’m nothing but a hippie (who is enamored with Eminem).  I’ve seen 3 or 4 instances of my acquaintances and friends being subject to hurtful things the last couple of days. And when the people I admire so much for the qualities they exhibit and the work they slave over get slammed, I kinda want to take it personally!  It isn’t, I know that, but I feel like cheering on the people in the arena!  I want to say, “I don’t care what they say, I think you’re doing awesome.”  And again, the heart of the matter, if people weren’t actually out there and DOING it, they’d get no attention.

I think my lesson from the Universe today is to immediately stop taking things personally.  I’m going to continue to cheer on the people who are in the arena and I’m going to put myself in the arena in more areas of my life that truly matter to me.  Now, my (very interrupted) lunch break is over and I got to finish this battle in the 8-5 arena!

Confession:  I almost reactivated my Plenty of Fish account this week.  I stopped myself.  I decided to think that over and not be so impulsive (ahhh, a sign of maturity-noteworthy).  I’m glad I didn’t do it.  Last year it was active for a week or two and dude, that was like crazy.  You get 99 messages a day, all from people who you have nothing in common with, mostly all with bad pickup lines, and mostly everyone was just looking to get laid.  Wow.  And you have to deal with all of that sober.  No, it’s too much.  There’s a host of venues large and small that you can go to any night here on the Coast with the same results, sobriety optional.  It’s called a “bar” and I’m a bar professional. (Wow, that’s a serious line and not comedic, which makes it all the more hilarious).

Why did I think that was a good idea to begin with?  Well, I’d like to meet people and possibly go on a date or few.  I can’t tell you the last time I went to the movies.  And when I did, it was probably alone.  I’ve been hiding in my house since the end of last summer when some health issues threw me down and sucker punched me.  On top of that, I thought I had actually met someone with whom I belonged.  I am perfectly healthy now, a free agent, and ready to (metaphorically only) jump back out there.  I’m doing things I love again–writing for the Observer, seeing my friends shows, supporting others with their business ventures, taking less anti-anxiety meds in the midst of that, and I look freaking fabulous.  I mean, not fabulous on the grand scale of all females in the nation, but damn good for Apryl!  So, I feel like a million bucks.  I just think it’d be nice to experience some of that with someone else and not alone.

But since I’m on this vulnerability and authenticity kick, playing “the game” isn’t easy.  I am too old and too shitty at lying to be anyone but me.  Apparently, I’m a minority.  Ex: I met this guy, he’s alright, not my type per se but we chat easily about whatever, he tells me his name is Phil Robertson, just like Duck Dynasty.  “Haha that must suck!” blah blah.  Later, he puts his credit card down at Waffle House to pay for his meal.  Um, I didn’t have on my glasses, my skirt was above my knee, but did I misrepresent myself as an idiot?  Amateur.  He’s not named Phil Robertson.  Bro, that’s the best you got?  I’m too old for this.

I’d forgotten the misadventures you encounter amidst the adventures when you leave your home and get social.  Which is why I’m glad I didn’t POF it.  For now, I will sit back and observe the scene.  Still sucks to go at it alone, but lawd it’s better than sifting through a bunch of crap.  I’m thinking a “referral only” plan needs to be in place.  Aw, well, so be it. “Phil Robertson”?! LOL. You need an awesome sense of humor in this world or it gets to be a grim place anyway.  For now, it’s deadline weekend and I can’t really go out much those weekends so I spent Fri & Sat night in. Crunch time.  Enough whining.  I have to go take some pics, visit Sephora, edit pics, polish article, and send to editor.

You are about to be a witness to thoughts forming.  That’s how I roll on dis hurr blahg: I get a spark of an idea and I grab my Chromebook to think it through.  I shall attempt to prove my hypothesis that vulnerability has led to my recent confidence.  What had happened was…I was going to go through and delete someone’s existence from my phone.  Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about: screenshots, pics, contact info, FB messages, etc.  Pretty much, I can wipe his digital imprint (which is far too easily accessible) out of my life.  Now, obviously the memories and the writings and tangible souvenirs are around.  I want to be clear, this isn’t the drama-filled crazy “I hate you, I can make you disappear” emotional rant with snotty crying and high emotion.  Nope, it was the peaceful kind of wipe.  The kind that says, “I have to let you go and all the things you said that I believed and all the hope that those things would come to fruition. That is my past, not my future.”  It’s a peaceful farewell to things I’ve been hanging onto for months & months.  [For the record, I was considering a Print option from phone to wireless printer and stuffing everything in a keepsake sooooo….]

So I go to start this task and I see a video at the beginning of where he entered in my life.  I’m like, “Apryl, what did you hold up your phone at the TV for?”  Turns out, an Oprah Lifeclass with Brene Brown and the subject was what to do when you’re ready to be vulnerable but your mate is not.  Now, I ask of the Universe, how the heck did I know that was going to be essential information way back then?  It must have struck some chord, although I can’t tell you now what it was last year.  [Well, holy shit.  It just dawned on me it’s nearly July.  “Last year”…dude, no wonder I’m peaceful.  This is long overdue.]  It ends up a discussion of the premise Brene Brown says: when you cannot ask for help for yourself without self-judgment, every time you give help, you also do so with judgement.  [Why are judgment and judgement both correct?! Damn you English language, you little bastard of linguistics!]

I subscribe to that theory.  Asking for help, accepting you need it, and being at peace with yourself despite whatever rough spot you’re in–whether it’s financial, emotional, or physical–is a hard task.  Took me a long time to get there.  But I’ve also learned it’s much faster to just admit and accept what is (then go about doing the lifework of making things better), than it is to torture yourself with thoughts and action that bear no results.  The Universe will make you do that–think you can find the answer and act as if you could change some things.  It’s mental thrashing.  And no one does it better than I.  I hold like the championship belt of wildly independent “solution” seeking.  When I could have just admitted, “Bro, I’m like totally out of my element and could you offer some assistance?”, gotten the info/help I needed, and moved on.  The good news is that in trying to figure life out all by myself, I researched.  I have read some major life changing books and identified in the process the ways I was sabotaging my own effort at peace.  So, yeah, I thrash mentally a lot but I also learn so much.  Thanks, Universe, high five.  As part of that research a year or two ago I started reading Brene Brown’s work on vulnerability.

Vulnerability carries the tarnished image of weakness.  We use that word in society as politely inferring something negative.  I did it; until I read about vulnerability, authenticity, and success stories of people who make their dreams come true.  Your dreams are gonna shatter like glass until you open yourself up.  I don’t care how big you go, how high you get–if it isn’t authentic, it isn’t lasting.  Like writing this–this is a very open discussion of my person, who I am.  But I’m unashamed of my journey, who I am, and how I respond to the world around me.  I’m not going to apologize for the Universe making me this way and no one else should have to either.  That doesn’t mean I can’t improve or make my impact for good on this world a little bigger; it just means I’m on the journey and I allow myself to enjoy each step and find the value in the valley.  I come with flaws AND THAT IS OK.  I love them.  I’ve taken the time to battle them and finally I reached the conclusion that being human means we all come with a little hidden label that contains ingredients and–like all awesomeness–some stuff that’s bad for you is inside.

Growing up means monitoring the intake and output of those ingredients.  Maybe you learn to substitute or change the recipe a little so you don’t damage yourself and people you love.  That’s what I do.  I see people all around me too…….too…….fuck I can’t find the word!  Why aren’t you being YOU and loving yourself damnit?! Why do you keep acting so self-loathingly?  Why are you spending your days and time with people who bring you down instead of up?  GAW.  It’s like seeing the craziest chicks in the world–whose insecurity and drama fill up a room–walking alongside the most gorgeous, kind, and creative geniuses and he’s all like, “Yeah, I got me a hot chick.”  Dude!  Really?!  She’s with you for the attention of YOUR accomplishment and to steal your thunder.  Or the guys who think snagging the megahot chick IS an accomplishment for themselves.  Hollywood’s red carpets are lined with it.  Go to the supermarket (bless your heart) and read the tabloids.  Those couples–and it can be men & women, men & men, I don’t care–are struggling publicly over someone’s private battle inside themselves.

Shiz, all I got here is a little blog.  I don’t really care who knows about my inner struggles.  You only learn from people who expose the truth.  I firmly believe it.  The truth can change.  The truth isn’t a constant, it’s a variable.  As you do all that lifework and open yourself up, you morph.  Therefore, how you respond and the way you live your life is going to morph as well.  But the struggle doesn’t stop until you actually face the demon.  It’s like all the hype and trash talk (which I love!) before a game or a fight.  It’s why people place bets.  We anticipate that and find some sort of joy in the build up.  But it all comes down to the actual game.  I talk shit every week during football season but I don’t know if the Cowboys are gonna win (but they might!) until the clock runs out.  And they could go undefeated, but that would be life changing.  In the same sense, I don’t expect to have an undefeated season either.  But if I do, I’m gonna celebrate.

I got off topic.  Like serious.  But I have appointments and things to do today so I’m wrapping it up like this:  “Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change.”-Dr. Brene Brown

Every Sunday is getting more bleak…

Anti-production.  That’s the motto of the day.  Actually, I’ve already gotten a few necessary things around the house done but I didn’t even make a dent in the long, long list.  I’m done for now on account of being in a gloomy mood.  Holidays tend to bring out the melancholy when I’m not near my family.  Considering I have Hoozier’s “Take Me to Church” on repeat, and met with some truths that discourage me, I think I should just be honest and admit that it’s the single woman blues. The SWB (kinda sounds like a new reality show).  I mean, it can manifest a million different actions and I can make excuses, distractions, and credit card charges but real talk is that I’m bummed.  And romance, or rather, lack thereof is the root of it.

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin…

My two BFFs say they are living vicariously through me.  They see single life as no one to share with, no one around when you want peace and quiet.  An endless party where you get to go out whenever you want; living carefree with little responsibility.  Ain’t no compromises about what to eat, where to go, how to get there, who is paying which bill, putting whatever shower curtain and bedspread you want up (in whatever girlie color you desire), sleeping wherever in the bed you want [bullshit btw Chloe gets her half, I get mine. That’s her rules] full-time control of the remote for the tv and the car is always on whatever tune you like.  Not having to go out with people you really don’t want to see cause they’re your love’s friends not so much yours [and feigning interest in what they have been doing].  The only annoying personal habits are your own [Flick that booger! Fart whenever and wherever you want cause ain’t nobody gonna care!!]  Hey, a lot of that is true.  If that’s how they see it, well, I guess I can’t contradict much of that.  On those counts, it’s a sweet deal.

I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife…

Furthermore, I have no one’s issues or problems to deal with.  And that’s a big one there.  Cause when you’re emotionally connected to someone, as time passes, suddenly your lives start weaving into one where once there were two.  And that’s where I envy them. And I don’t think many people get that.  Which is a little weird isn’t it?  Sure I want laughter, smiles, hugs and kisses in abundance.  But I like the quirks you discover in people as you get to know them.  It could be the way they whistle, a body tic, their catch phrase they overuse, a book they keep with every intent to read but they’ve had for 8 years, the way they hold a wine glass. The more time you spend with someone–if it’s an authentic connection–you start to learn all the pains being alive has inflicted on them.  The deeper you grow together, the darker it gets.  I think to fall in love with someone–the real deal–you got to open yourself up with full honesty and they do too.

Offer me that deathless death, good God let me give you my life…

And that’s where the complications begin. Now they know all this stuff about you!  The real stuff.  And vice versa.  I’ve been known to bail once the sugar coating comes off people.  Sometimes I regret my exit, sometimes it saved my damn life!  Every single time was exactly what I needed.  Everybody showed me something about myself–things to change, things I didn’t even know.  More importantly, it gave me great insight to what I want and what I will or will not tolerate.  So I’m grateful.  Lord, I AM grateful.  But dammit here I sit–a beautiful little human with flaws and comfortable in my own skin–and zero connection to another human.

The only heaven I’ll be sent to is when I’m alone with you…

It’s frustrating to be at a point where I am willing to accept someone just as they are and there’s no one there.  It cuts deep.  By default I wonder “wtf is wrong with me?”  Well, nothing.  I am me: impatient and low maintenance [and I’m told blessed/cursed with a streak of independence and refusal to settle for less than desirable]. This is how I was made and what I became. This week I met a guy who told me I asked weird questions.  I cannot even remember what the conversation was.  Yeah, I guess I probably do ask odd things for a girl in heels and sexy shirts.  I’m not looking for a booty call, a good time, or whatever the term is at present [remember that one time the company president named one of our corporations and we referred to it by its initials “DTF” all day everyday? I still giggle].  But if I like you, I want to know YOU.  Oh “the game” is such a fucked up little maze.  And I’m such a bad playa.  Probably because I’m not one.  And I am figuring out–now that I’ve stepped back out there–you got to do a lot of wasted searching to find that person who has the quirks you find adorable and who is open to getting beyond the facade.  [I feel the hashtag #thestruggleisreal is necessary cause it makes me laugh]

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene; only then I am human, only then I am clean.  Amen. Amen. Amen.

I know I’m weird enough without telling more of what goes on inside my head, but I get stuck on certain words.  They just randomly float to the front of my mind (or back sometimes) and I ponder them at length.  The word “confidence” has been the word of the day.  I can’t tell you what sparked it or why but I just can’t let it go.  I think confidence is one of the sexiest things ever.  Denise Baumann, makeup and fashion goddess, discussed confidence being so sexy when I interviewed her for the Coast Observer.  [My apologies for not having that article handy to give her exact words]  I remember after she said whatever exact words it was that it lingered with me a while then as well.  Maybe seeing her last Thursday with all her fierceness just evoked that thought again.  Everything about her–from her dress with the cute little bow in front to her bold hair–just oozes confidence; she spills it with every word and she is just one of the coolest damn people to talk to.  [Do I have a girl crush? 😉 Maybe the blog traffic will pick up.]   I think because she’s one of the few people I’ve always seen walk to the talk is why I admire her so much.  She’s super talented but she doesn’t gloat.  She promotes herself, of course, but in a way so few other people do.  It’s the “let me show you what I can do” type thing and not “I’m the best there’s ever been” kinda attitude.  She loves a challenge.

So while I’ve been drifting off into my brain matter, I’ve been asking myself, “What IS confidence?  How is confidence different than other attributes?”  It kinda stumped me a couple days then I realized confidence is a quiet thing.  It isn’t a lions roar or the siren’s call.  No; you may give attention to that sort of thing, but confidence is more like an invisible vapor.  You pick up on the scent–and you’re drawn to it.  You may think you are paying attention because of a visual aid but what keeps you hanging on to every word a confident person exudes is because of the subtle way confidence fills the air around you.   Several other people came to mind–Cheli Strumlia is a good example.  It isn’t that these women are silent or aren’t striking–because they are!–but for me the awe in them both is that they simply put themselves out there without airs or apologies for their accomplishments.  Let’s just say you have no idea who Cheli is (shame on you!) but when you meet her she lights up a building!  You don’t have to know what she’s accomplished or how big her heart is and how much she’d give to those she cares for, but something about her just draws people in.  (That girl crush thing might actually boost the number of readers eh?)

Word nerd that I am, I like to also know the definition and derivation and origin.  Turns out confidence comes from my native tongue Latin confidere meaning “have full trust.”  Bam!  That’s it.  Confidence is that silent thing emitting from people that they know whatever comes at them, they can take it.  It’s a trust in their own ability to handle the future.  It isn’t what they’ve done, but where they are going.  It’s the people that know when to slow down and catch their breath so they can sprint hard when the time comes.  They’ve had to do it many, many times before.  They soak up the sun when it’s shining and bear the storms in sexy rain boots.  They trust in themselves fully.  Maybe not every hour of every day, but when they need it it’s there.

All of that thinking led me to the real question, “do I have confidence?”  Yes.  A resounding yes.  At first it was a barely audible whisper deep in my soul, but after I thought it out it got louder and louder.  Not that there aren’t days and times when I think my soul couldn’t be beat any harder, because they exist.  But it’s stupid things–like hearing my loud, obnoxious laugh wake up the dog earlier–and taking that moment to realize how freaking good it feels to smile that reminded me, I got this.  Confidence isn’t knowing what the road ahead is going to be, it’s simply not being afraid to keep walking.  It’s that trust and inner compass guiding you.  Stop and smell the roses (although I’m more of a tree climber but to each his own) when you need to, but whatever you do, KEEP GOING.  Trust enough in yourself and the universe to provide to you; that whatever is on your heart is exactly what you need to reach your dreams.  I don’t mean to imply I’m a role model for this confidence thing, just merely that I observed it and I see a hint of it in me.  And obviously I get the pleasure of having some stellar people in my life to inspire me.  I don’t think leaps of faith always have gentle landings, but the lessons make the leap totally worth it.  You have to trust your lessons in order to make a bigger leap or else you will not get very far and you’ll never see the beauty of your own uniqueness.  And authenticity?  Well, now that is sexy.

In an effort to stimulate my mind, people watch, and get out of the house; I have found myself at a casino nightclub the last three nights.  Surprisingly having fun.  I say “surprisingly” because that’s not my typical comfort zone.  One thing I’ve learned as a writer, you have to get outside your comfort zone. A nightclub still doesn’t fall into the comfort category, but there are perks.  For one thing, if you want to blend in it’s very easy to do.  Few people stick out in a large crowd.  And, maybe it’s the look on my face or something, but I realized last night the number of guys who actually make a move to hit on me are averaging like 1 per night.  I can swat away one per night pretty effortlessly.  Last night I met two cool dudes from the Air Force in my swatting maneuver.  I actually said to the one, “Hey look I need a wing man and quick-like.  If you’re here alone, mind giving me a hug and acting like we know each other so that guy doesn’t come back to talk to me?”  Turns out he and his buddy were hilarious and had “prime real estate” (his words) at a bar overlooking the dance floor.  BAM. I’m already talking to a guy so no more swatting was needed, helped him eye chicks, we had a good view, and a great night was had.

Post-Waffle House, I was driving home and despite my intention of going and merely observing I was a little down to realize I don’t turn many heads.  I bought a new dress–and wore it.  I like it but then compared to the 20-somethings (and other-somethings doing it), I looked like a nun because their asses were barely covered.  For recordkeeping purposes, I had on spaghetti straps and it was above the knee; it just wasn’t as body clinging and exposing as some of the girls who probably didn’t have much of a bar tab.  Cruise [feat Nelly] came on iTunes while I was cruising I-10 and for a very brief moment I was a little caught up in why I am single at 35. I’m not the tune anyone is humming. I’d been talking to those guys-I guess my testosterone was up a bit- because suddenly I felt like Tony Romo and apparently thought that deemed a Facebook post which was, “That moment you realize at 5am you’re the Tony Romo of single ladies: no longer a rookie, statistically brilliant, & yet e’erbody knows you ain’t getting a ring this year!”

It was, of course, meant to be funny.  Even my serious thoughts have a bit of humor–however dark.  It also in NO WAY is to be taken that I don’t think my NFL team doesn’t stand a chance at the Super Bowl rings!  Whether we actually do or not is not relevant; when you love your team you stand by them and you do NOT give up hope.  I want to clarify that.

I also saw a Facebook post shortly after mine that reminded me many a shackle has been inlaid with diamonds.  Oh yes, many many many.  I was crackin a joke but I got real serious again (notice how my brain just canNOT stay on one side of the fence long) after reading that.  I’ve done it and I know a load of others who have stayed in some relationships for the wrong reasons.  Oh those rings do turn into cuffs for some.  And I have zero desire to ever make that mistake again.  At 35, you learn when to dip out to avoid misery.  I’m single by choice and I learned years ago it’ll take a hell of a man to ever get a ring on this hand.  And I don’t mean that to insinuate that I’m better than anyone else or like the golden nugget of women.  Nope; I’m not a bombshell, don’t have an endless supply of cash, dance very badly, and I’m kinda awkward in a non-endearing “bless her heart” way.  But I do LIKE me.  I see my value.  More and more everyday.  Sometimes it has to be pointed out to me.  Like the bestie who said to me earlier this week, “Apryl, you have seen, done, and have more than some people in their 70s & 80s.”  Well, when you put it like that, I guess that’s true. [Make note, “Love Bites” just cued on iTunes shuffle at that moment]

So for those who laughed at the Tony Romo comparison, I’m glad you get me and my odd way of looking at life.  If you thought I was starting a pity party or lamenting too heavily on being single, I’m not.  In fact, I have a damn good life.  I’m happy and content with what is and isn’t.  Human behavior seems to naturally make you always want what you can’t have–which is the only explanation for why I seek out a mate ever!  The elusive relationship that manages to be balanced, healthy, and ever-lasting is about the only complaint I could utter about my life.  I’m super duper infinitely blessed in every area of life sans love.  And I got the love of my family and SO many friends.  For a brief moment there I thought life was holding me hostage.  I realized last week the gun was in my hand.  My own attitude was all that was holding me back.  Ask the guy I met yesterday morning who’d been riding a bicycle for four months and only had coins on him how bad my life is.  I asked myself that after it was revealed the man needed a job and Ingalls told him to find a way there and he’d be put to work.  And I dare think I have a single problem?  Naw, dawg, homegirl ain’t got a single problem.  It’s true, people do pray for what you have.  And on that note, I’ll quit boring readers and go count my blessings by enjoying the heck out of Sunday.  [iTunes did it again. Sheryl Crow “Soak Up the Sun”. BAM, life for the win.]