suck it.

I love that catch phrase. Thank you, Wrestlemania.
Sometimes I forget how much better my own homemade brew is over Starbucks. I love its strong goodness. And, yes, my pregnant ass is still drinking coffee. Cup a day, even. I've stopped smoking, I don't drink alcohol anymore, my wild life is roadkill; give me a motherfucking break.

I actually have a shitload of work to get through today. Won't start it 'til I absoultely have to because I am the best kind of procrastinator. I like the pressure of down to the wire.

Class starts soon. I really think it'd be in my best interest to look up my schedule to see which day, exactly. I'm so out of it right now. Shit.

Been watching Chappelle's Show, second season. "I'm Wayne Brady, bitch!" Funny, funny stuff. I rarely laugh out loud at television, but he's crazy that Dave. And cute in a weird way. Personality and smiles go a very long way.

So, did I ever tell you that I spent 15 years breaking up with my ex? Yes, I did. We got together when I was 17. He was my first everything. I was so in love with that boy. Sooooo in love. He made me feel so special, important. All the things I strived to achieve from the people around me, he gave me. Of course, it didn't take me long to realize he was giving this treatment of his to several girls, but by that time I was hooked...like an addict. I'd catch him lying, he'd convince me to believe him. It wasn't hard for him to make me see things his way. I wanted so desperately to believe him. Our crazy minds, we can make ourselves believe whatever feels best, can't we?

I broke up with him the first time about six months into the relationship. That lasted all of two days, I think. He just looked so pitiful, sounded like a wounded animal on the phone...I couldn't take it. I wasn't in that great of shape, either. I mean, who was ever going to love me like that again? So, I took him back. And he did it again. And again. And again. And again so many times I don't think I have enough character space to type enough "agains" here.

I think I liked the drama, in a way. It was so very passionate and heated and it made for some great make up sessions. It was like the world ended and began over and over again. My very own romantic tragedy. Shakespearean and painfully beautiful. Addictive to say the least.

By the time a decade had passed, my soul was tired. But I kept at it. I mean, after ten years what else was there for me? And what a horrible failure I'd be as a woman if I couldn't make. that. relationship. work. if. it. killed. me. And damned if it didn't almost do just that.

I have so many people, genuinely good people, around me ... I'm so lucky to have them. They dragged me out into the world, made me meet people who, in turn, made me realize that I AM fucking lovable and decent and worthy of the good (some might say boring) kind of love. I shouldn't have to worry every fucking minute of the day.

And I don't anymore. I don't worry about how I look. I don't worry about my man's whereabouts or whether he's coming home tonight. I remember that girl -- the insecure, desperate girl -- but she isn't me anymore. I'm a woman now. And I have a real man now. And, believe me, I've had the best and worst of that world. I know the difference.

Ladies, you should all be so lucky. (And I know some of you are.)