Worst Enemies

This is a followup to the last piece, so vagueness is necessary to protect the guilty and the innocent.

In addition to my own bad habits, I have situations that keep me from being great. Like my child, who often does her best to get me to pay attention to her while I am trying to write. Or those people who essentially stand around and watch as my life falls apart, then they criticize me either for not doing enough or doing too much. I call them the Saboteurs, which is a nice French way of calling folks assholes.

My daughter is not really a Saboteur, she is a toddler. A needy, tantrum-throwing, yet sweet and endearing child who is about to celebrate her second birthday. She is supposed to wreak havoc with my schedule by throwing a random fit when I try to get her to put on her shoes. Or when I ask her to stop kicking me. Or when I switch the channel from watching the same episode of Sesame Street that we just watched an hour earlier.

But the adults? Total assholes.

So this situation that has been stressing me since January involves a bunch of folks who would rather stand around and complain about things instead of actually doing anything. One person actually issued a threat, but to date, it was just more hot air blown into their balloon of complaints. But it hit its mark and I have the extra fifteen pounds to show for the toll all of that drama it took on me.

Because what else can you do when you are angry, bitter, depressed and hurt by a baseless allegation that was intended to bait you into the most unnecessary counter-productive conflict at the absolute worst time of your life? You stop taking care of yourself. And you start to look your age. And you eat your feelings because no one really wants to hear about how angry, bitter, depressed or hurt you feel.

Those feelings you are eating taste a lot like breakfast danishes, fried chicken, pizza, and Chinese take out that you wash down with soda.

And you do this alone because you are always alone. You sleep alone, wherever you fall asleep (usually on the sofa). You talk to your not-yet-two-year old daughter because no one else has time. Sometimes you talk to yourself because she is busy watching the same episode of Sesame Street over and over again. You wash, rinse and repeat the same pattern for weeks.

You notice that your clothes are fitting tighter and that you are eating a lot less salad. You look at your face and notice that the dark circles around your eyes never fade. You keep trying to do the right thing even though the Saboteurs don't care and will continue to point out the one or two tasks that they can do are beyond what anyone should expect from them.

Meanwhile, you worry whether your rambunctious not-yet-two year old is developing on schedule because there is no one around who can tell you anything supportive. You don't have other mothers in your circle (you do, but they have lives and don't seem to have time). So you stay up late to work on projects to help her grasp certain concepts. Like talking (because that language class you took last summer didn't seem to help). You try to expose her to various things, which takes you away from your other obligations, so you feel guilty.

You always feel guilty, so you eat. And you drink. And stop trying to go to dance class. And you stop attending meetings. And you realize that you have to step down or step away or decline projects because of the drama in your life. And your anger becomes resentment and your bitterness becomes poison and your depression deepens. And then you worry too much that you aren't doing enough, so you compensate by running errands. Which means you are always in motion doing for everybody else.


You are taking some time to write about it because that is the only way to release any pressure. It is an emotional exercise, but necessary. Still solitary and often futile. But it offers some peace at times. Because none of the Saboteurs read anything you write.

Better Intentions

I have been at this precise place so many times--regret that I didn't live up to the expectations I set for myself. Disappointment that I am always seemingly starting over from the same place, beginning again at the beginning.

This year is already a wash.

I had plans. I had intentions. I had goals. Yet here I am, with nothing to show for any of those lofty hopes and dreams. I am standing in the same sad spot and always for the same reason: My inability to put my needs above those of the members of my family.

Which family member? It never really matters. With the addition of a child, it would seem that I have an acceptable reason for never accomplishing much of anything, except that isn't the case. My daughter inspires my need to actually push myself to be more than just another frustrated, reluctant housewife turned obscure, undiscovered blogger. And as she has grown from sweet baby to this unruly, insane Toddlersaurus, I should have endless material from her daily antics. According to my blog journal (the notebook I carry to jot down blogging ideas) I could perpetually write about busy black motherhood and possibly *finally* garner a following.

Yes, I have a blog journal. It was part of the elaborate plan that has yet to materialize thanks to that other unyielding demand that I am always trying to manage. That other familial obligation that I am trying desperately not to resent, because that would be selfish. And we all know that whenever I focus any attention to myself, for whatever reason...

Yet, this did not begin with the choice to focus on myself insomuch as it feels like it began with the intention to do so. My intention to devote more time to writing and live vlogging and starting a podcast and a few other projects...all on the back burner because at the beginning of the year, a new chapter began in my long-running family drama. Which has left me bitter and angry and depressed. And eating all the time. Or sleeping. Or intentionally missing certain social engagements. Or doing drastic shit like chopping off my hair and dyeing it different colors including platinum blonde. Or not sleeping.

(I actually plan to write about this situation in a more direct form, but now I need to vent without identifying or defaming anyone.)

So here I am. Angry. Bitter. Depressed. Hurt. And feeling all of the guilt that was intended for me to feel because somehow, I am the only person who has any responsibility...

For the record, in the interest of trying to move beyond the anger, bitterness, depression, hurt, and guilt I have been willing to continue to make the uncomfortable choices. To be the person in the line of fire. To be Atticus Finch and do those unpleasant jobs that no one else wants. And it hasn't meant anything. I am still standing in the same fucking spot.

So, I am going to write anyway to try to work through all of my feelings. I've decided that this situation is less about my better intentions than it is about adjusting my expectations. I will simply write to let go of things and maybe that will help.

Oscars So Black?

Every year I offer my take on the Academy Awards, and this year was just WOW! As the title implies, this might have been the blackest Oscar ceremony yet, and yes, I am using the word black to describe how much of a complete 180-degree turn this year was after two straight years of being so white. Here is my (belated) top ten list of great Oscar moments:

1. Jimmy Kimmel: Hands down, one of the funniest hosts of the ceremony in many years. I know how much people love Billy Crystal, Whoopie Goldberg, Ellen DeGeneris, and Steve Martin and I love them all as well. But given how entertaining this new crop of late night talent is, we should never have to sit through another boring four-hour Oscar telecast ever again...

2. Mahershala Ali: Well, I expected this, so my hope is that his moment and enormous talent will not end up wasted like so many other best supporting actors, especially those of color. Hollywood tends to get it right when it comes to this category, with rarely any controversy or undeserved accolades, but then there is the dilemma of how best to showcase that talent beyond that particular film. Here's to hoping for better opportunities for non A-listers who consistently perform on A-list level.

3. The Documentary Film Category: This caught me completely by surprise. I was familiar with a couple of the films that had been nominated, but it did not register that four of the five had African American directors. Perhaps this recognition will offer more opportunities for directing bigger studio projects, which brings me to the significance of...

4. Moonlight: I saw this film on a whim one afternoon and I am so glad that I did. I knew about the film from the heavy promotion it received locally, especially on public radio and ironically, on Facebook. I left the film believing it to be somewhat over-hyped because of its subtlety, but I never felt that it was undeserving of the critical attention it received. Then as the momentum built towards awards season, I watched several interviews with the stars, the screenwriter and the director which offered me the chance to reconsider whether I had missed something. I had. I had completely missed how Moonlight was one of the few films about African American life that was not placed in a historical framework. It was not one of the typical important films, just a really good one that told a story that allowed audiences to discover its merit.

I know that there are various conspiracy theories about the evening's cliffhanger regarding the best picture announcement. I am not all that concerned that Faye Dunaway got it wrong (on purpose or accidentally on purpose)...nor do I feel all that bad about the "lost" moment for the Moonlight cast and crew to bask in the glory of the win. For me, all that matters is that this year a black director got to take home the statuette, and every time that happens, it makes the odds so much more favorable for the next black (brown, Asian, female, gay, etc.) director.

Finally, the Moonlight adapted screenplay win is also very important for future projects. As much as I enjoy historical pieces, it is equally necessary for there to be a variety of options for black directors when it comes to the types of films they get to contribute. If we only hand out statues for so called "important" films that only present black life through struggle and triumph, then we never really move beyond the two-dimensional limits that bring only certain films to wider audiences. I am happy to see a film like Hidden Figures in the mix, but I also want more opportunities to see other films like...

5. Fences: And I will count myself in the minority by arguing that it would have been way too black if Denzel had won (not that I would have objected)...but it is more fitting that Viola Davis finally won for best supporting actress, even if we all know it was a cheat. Denzel probably won't get another Oscar any time soon, but perhaps he can get out-streep Meryl and get nominated for everything he touches, even perhaps earning an Emmy nod for marrying that couple during that bit from the ceremony.

Seriously, I am glad that August Wilson's work will finally be more accessible to audiences beyond the theatre. It is fitting for Viola Davis to finally win an Oscar for Fences since she is one of the many actresses who have brought Wilson's work to life. Denzel now has a stronger platform from which he can help launch some up and coming or undiscovered talent, which is ultimately more important than winning an Academy Award this year.

6. Lin-Manuel Miranda: He is my boo...and as much as I LOVE the Hamilton soundtrack, his song "How Far I'll Go" for Moana sounded a lot like every other song on the Hamilton soundtrack. He is a tremendous talent, though, so he can be forgiven for relying on what works best for him (since it seems to work well for everyone else in the music categories). I am looking forward to watching his career continue to explode.

7. Foreign Language Film: That moment was absolutely the most defiant act of the night! Too bad I never bother to see the foreign language films...of course now, I might have to make an effort. By boycotting the ceremony, Iranian director Asghar Farhadi made the blackest statement ever since Chris Rock's opening monologue last year. Given the injunction against the travel ban, Farhadi could have gotten a visa to come. But it is obvious from his statement that he was far more interested in highlighting how the travel ban had far-reaching implications for various types of visitors to the States. And if protest against injustice is not the epitome of blackness, then I don't know what else is.

8. Emma Stone and Casey Affleck: The two major awardees who aren't hardly black...starring in films that weren't hardly black...but they deserve an honorable mention for being the minorities this year. Congratulations!

9. Gary from Chicago: I mean, yeah. On the tour bus with his boo of 20 years. Grabbing Mahershala's Oscar during a selfie. Getting married by Denzel. Becoming a Twitter sensation and a FB meme. Then being dragged for being a returning citizen. Yep.

10. Halle Barry's Afro: I am absolutely in the minority, but I LOVED her hair! And I think all of the criticism of her choice is a reflection of our need to be more open to unconventional expressions of beauty. On the one hand, we argue that natural hair is mainstream and beautiful, but then we spend half the night dissing Halle for wearing a big fluffy Afro! In the very year that the Oscars were this black, someone needed to rock a fro and why not Halle?

And those are just my initial thoughts on this year's ceremony. I have a little more to offer, so stay tuned.