Tag Archives: #52essays2017

#21 – Toxic Masculinity Chronicles Part II – Random Thoughts 

Yesterday as I was heading back to work from my lunch break, I was walking behind three white bankers or Masters of the Universe as I like to refer to them. I don’t mind lingering behind groups of people because I like to listen, it’s a hobby that serves my writing and directing. These are my anthropological experiments. They were talking about Puerto Rico so my ears perked up.

“What more do these people want? I’m sick of the negative press Trump is getting for doing his job.”  Said one of them.

I wanted to move away from them but as you expect, the three of them were manspread all over the sidewalk.  I kept telling myself to keep my mouth shut, hold my tongue because today was not the day to tell three men to fuck off.

“And that mayor, some people don’t know their place.” With that, they walked into their glass castle, their building is literally all glass on the outside, and I was left fuming.

I have no problem standing up to or speaking my mind to powerful white men. It’s one of the things I’ve learned to do well because of my job as an Executive Assistant.

After the mass shooting in Vegas, Tom Petty dying, the devastation in Puerto Rico, the so called president being himself, and some family issues that have me a little worried, I did not have the energy to engage with the three Masters of the Universe. I don’t know why it still baffles me when educated people are racist and misogynist. I don’t think the three men would have been expressing their views so freely in the middle of the street if Trump wasn’t in office. It still shocks me and hurts me when I see how much hatred is being put out there.

When I got back to my desk, every news article kept referring to the Vegas shooter as a lone wolf. I hate how the media, the police, the FBI and regular people refer to white terrorists as a lone wolf. This is how repugnant humans get normalized. Wolves don’t come in and attack hundreds of people unprovoked. Wolves are often the hunted either by hunters or farmers. Leave this beautiful animal out of the vernacular when describing white terrorists.

One of the news reports made me laugh; it was a this is so fucking sad, I don’t know what else to do kind of laugh. “Las Vegas gunman (I won’t print his name) enjoyed gambling, country music, lived quiet life before…” I laughed because it reminded me of some of the dating profiles I received when I was on Match.com. I got a lot of guys who had pictures of themselves with guns or rifles, some had the audacity to point their weapon at the camera. The way the media describes this white terrorist reminds me of some of those profiles.

Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I see the president’s visit to Puerto Rico and he’s throwing rolls of paper towels at people!

Stock prices of gun manufacturers go up after mass shootings.  The contraption used to turn semiautomatic weapons into machine guns is called a “bump stock”. The Vegas terrorist used bump stocks became a hot item at gun shops.

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#19 – Guilt Chronicles

This is what guilt looks like.

Last Sunday, my daughter began a new semester of music class. She has been going since she was six months old. In the class, parents and their children sit in a circle and we sing songs, play musical instruments and dance, all lead by a wonderful music teacher.

When we pulled into the parking lot, my daughter was squealing. Her little squeals are a sure sign of her love for whatever or whoever she is squealing at. I am greeted with this happy squeal when I pick her up from school, her school teacher gets greeted with the same squeal as does her father when he gets home.

When we got to music class, she was running around, being very vocal and loud. I did not once tell her to be quiet but I stayed on top of her because there were a lot of new babies in the class. She would run up to the babies but never touched them nor was she threatening. However, I am Dominican and my first thought was about el que dira, what will people say?

There was a kid last semester who had to be dismissed from the class because he made other kids feel unsafe. The class is mixed age, from babies to five years old. The little boy was three. He was being a typical three year old but his mother never disciplined him. He threw a drum at a baby that luckily the baby’s father blocked with his hand. He would trip kids, hug too tight or hug without permission and played rough. The child’s mother was spoken to several times and my husband and I judged, I think everyone judged.  It wasn’t the kid that bothered me but how his mother laughed off his behavior, was dismissive of people’s concern about the safety of their children and never once told him to behave.  It was hard to enjoy the class when you have to be on guard. When he threw a triangle across the room, his mother was asked to leave. I felt bad for the little boy and even for his mom. The triangle is made of steel and could have sent someone to the hospital. I try not to judge people’s parenting style but like I said, I am Dominican and that mother’s behavior does not fly with me.

My daughter was in no way harmful or made anyone feel unsafe but in my opinion she was disruptive. My husband thought she was being cute which made me fume. He suggested that if I felt so terrible about Hudson’s behavior in the class, I should email the teacher letting her know how I felt.  I was annoyed that he couldn’t see how his child’s behavior could possible be experienced as troublesome by other parents. Then again, my husband is white and not concerned with el que dira.

I don’t think there was anything to discipline because what was I going to say to Hudson? Be quiet or stay still? I am not about to start making my daughter feel self-conscious or giving her complejos that will follow her into adulthood. I enrolled her in music class so she can be creative and express herself.

And that’s when the guilt crept in. I had been too busy during the week trying to win a Fitbit challenge with some east coast friends. Instead of letting my daughter run and play in the yard like I usually do, I contained her in the stroller so I could get my 15k-20k per day.  Was it my fault that she was so hyper at the end of the week? This was not normal behavior for her but it set me off, blaming myself for her needing to run around the class.

I’m trying to be better, to chuck her behavior to a fifteen month old being a fifteen month old. This week I will let her run in the park and see how she does in music class at the end of the week.

# 16 – Toxic Masculinity Chronicles

Ever since the election there has been a rampant spike in toxic masculinity, at least it feels that way to me. I’ve been meaning to chronicle these but I’m too upset or weirded out when they first happen. I want to forget that I live in a world where the patriarchy rules, that these aggressions/transgressions are not my norm but they have been happening way too often for me to “forget” about them.

Yesterday I was about an hour late to work. My regular hours are from 6am to 3pm so there is always plenty of parking spots to choose from.  At 7am on a Monday, the first level of the lot was getting full.  I pulled into a three car parking spot. I was the second car and chose the middle space. There were other places I could have parked but I chose the one closest to the garage entrance and so did the guy who pulled in behind me. He saw that I was trying to park, he could have waited for me to be done and then he could have pulled into the third spot but no. With the two of us parking, it was hard to see where my lines were. I was still OK but his car, a giant SUV did not fit in the third spot that was designated for three compact cars.

I drive a large Prius but it still fits into a compact spot.

Mr. Giant SUV pulls out of the space because I would not have been able to open my door with his gas guzzler parked next to mine. As I’m walking away, I can see that he is trying to pull back into the spot. I don’t know what time he goes home but there was no way I would have been able to get into my car from the driver’s seat. There were other spots he could have parked in.
I walked back, knocked on his window as he was putting some pomade on his shiny bald head. I startled him. I pointed to my car. He looked and rolled down his window.

“What would you like me to do about it little girl.” Said the wanna be Lex Luther in an Australian accent that I’m sure has made many women swoon but it made me roll my eyes and take a deep breath.

“I’d like you to back out so I can park somewhere else and you can keep your one oversized SUV in the spots designated for two compact cars.”

“Well sweetheart, had you done a better job parking you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” He said, getting out of the car and heading for the elevator.

“If you dare go into that elevator and I can’t get into my car, I will call security and have your car towed.” He kept walking and saw me reach for my phone. I have Joe, the doorman on speed dial.

“Joe, some asshole is blocking me and is about to get in the elevator, he’s wearing a checkered pink and white shirt, can you please, oh wait, it looks like he’s going to move after all.”

I stood by my car as he moved his car to another spot. I took my car and moved to another spot as well. I was walking toward the elevator, I was not expecting him to hold the door, if anyone had seen him pressing the close door button, they would have thought he was getting electrocuted.

This was no way to start the week.

I reached for my phone and looked at pictures of my daughter, it made me smile.  As the day went on, I kept trying to block the incident out of my mind but I couldn’t.

I don’t know why this guy chose to park in the spot next to mine as I was parking my car.  Was he making a political protest by squeezing his Escalade next to a Prius and a Tesla? Or was it an insecurity issue? Wanting his big car parked next to two smaller, more efficient ones?

# 14 – Infertility & Self Loathing

When Matt and I were in Sydney for our honeymoon in 2010, I told him that I wanted to go back to celebrate our five year wedding anniversary with our future 3 year old.

After a year of acupuncture and a paleo diet, I got pregnant in 2012.

I had a miscarriage.

I decided to deal with the loss by focusing on the positive. I was happy that I got pregnant when it looked like it would never happen. I was hopeful because my body knew how to make a baby.

After seven months of trying and no rainbow baby (a baby born after a miscarriage), we consulted with a fertility doctor.

2014 was the year that IVFs 1-3 did not take.

The 4th IVF in 2015 was somewhat successful because I got pregnant but at five weeks, I had another  miscarriage.

To deal with this one, I started planning where to go for our 2nd honeymoon/5 year wedding anniversary/vacation.  I broke down thinking of the three year old we did not have. I went in and out of my boss’ office every time the tears spilled, relieved by the lack of people at work that day.

I needed to do something to feel like I was helping the situation. I reached out to all my religious friends and had them ask their pastors/priests about adoption, in case they knew of anyone who wanted to give up a child.

I was desperate.

This was something so out of my control that not even two top fertility doctors (one in New York and one in Los Angeles) could  help me because they couldn’t figure out what was wrong either.

I needed an answer, a reason, even if it wasn’t a good one,  something to help me move on.

I threw myself into my job and writing. I took two workshops at once, my free time was to be consumed with reading and writing.

I did not want to cry or dwell on the recent miscarriage.

What would the boy or boys have looked like?

Why did this keep happening to me?

What was wrong with me?

I decided that I would try one more round and that would be the last time I would put my body and heart  through the rigors of IVF. I made it my goal to work on being happy no matter what the outcome of the fifth and final IVF.

I would not be bitter if it didn’t work.

I would be grateful for having the resources to try.

In the end, I wanted no room for regrets.

I was already on my journey to gratitude and contentment when Matt got a new job that interfered with my plans for a second honeymoon on our fifth wedding anniversary.

I didn’t mope or complain. I was not going to have a depressing, miserable summer. I was getting better at coming up with plan E when A-D didn’t work.

I went on vacation with my girlfriends.

I had nothing to lose by trying to be happy.

In retrospect, it sounds like a piece of cake to switch gears and decide to be happy. It was not an easy task. This being a shitty first draft, I see where I need to fill in the details of the pain I was in to properly illustrate it.

Below is an excerpt from my journal.

Anger Stage of Grief: This is what self loathing looks like a week after  miscarriage number two from IVF number four.

April 2015 – I am angry; at myself for wanting this so fucking badly, at my body for not fucking doing this for me, at the pregnant bitch showing me her fucking ultrasound picture. I don’t give a fuck, keep your enthusiasm to yourself you stupid hoe bag. To the other one, nosey fuck, it’s none of your fucking business when my IVF is, I fucking hate you. Most of all, I really do hate myself right now. My fucking sister is telling me how brave I fucking am, how awesome my fucking body is for trying and trying.  No, I’m not brave, I’m a fucking idiot who doesn’t fucking know when to quit. My body is not fucking amazing, all I’ve gotten is two fucking miscarriages. I am obese with a bmi of 30 from  the anxiety, eating my feelings and the fertility drugs. I don’t feel amazing or maybe I do.  You know what I think of the word amazing? It’s overused and most people don’t know what it means. They glorify things that are not amazing, like parents who call their toddlers amazing for hitting milestones they should have hit months ago. In that case, yes, I am absolutely amazing, an amazing fucking loser.

After I wrote this entry, I screamed into a pillow and cried for about three hours. I did not let Matt or anyone see me like this. My heart, body and soul could not take it anymore. The physical and mental pain was exhausting and would probably kill me if I didn’t do something.

My daughter is now ten months old, the fifth IVF worked. I don’t know if it was the change in mindset or the odds finally being on my side. I am beyond blessed to have her. I do not take her or motherhood for granted.

I would like to think that if things hadn’t gone the way they did, I would have found a way to be content. Happiness is a tall order. Even when you get everything you want, there are too many horrors in the world for me to be truly happy.

 

 

# 11 – a Micro Essay About a Place

I left NY on a freezing Saturday evening in January of 2003.  A few hours later, I landed at the Long Beach Airport in Southern California where the temperature was 79 degrees.

I deplaned onto the tarmac, the smell of burnt wood infused the air. I inhaled deeply savoring its bitter sweetness. The warm breeze enveloped me like a mother greeting her long lost child.

“That’s the Santa Ana Winds” my sister said.

We rode with the top down in bumper-to-bumper traffic. The smoke stacks of Carson behind us resembled dancing ghosts wearing shiny amber necklaces.

“The highways are called freeways here and they are always crowded” she warned.

The never ending break lights ahead of us looked like a glitter explosion on a home made Valentine’s card.

The headlights on the opposite side twinkled brightly, similar to a curtain made of Christmas icicle lights.

A giant American flag loomed in front of a cloud of blue smoke outside one of the refineries.

I turned on the radio, The Doors and the RHCP welcomed me with California anthems.

“I love this place” I said to my sister.

Billboards, car dealerships and fast food restaurants lined the freeway. The Goodyear blimp, illuminated by a spotlight, flew above us. Everything was flat, no skyscrapers in sight. This was my first encounter with the parking lot otherwise known as the 405.

Ten years later I buy a house in Long Beach and commute daily to Westwood, traveling the same roads I did when I first landed here.  Every day I am reminded, without regret and full of gratitude, that I traded crowded subways at rush hour for the privacy of my car on congested freeways.

 

# 7 – Trolls & Bullies

I became familiar with the name Milo Yiannopoulos when he bullied actress Leslie Jones on Twitter last summer. I had a new baby and did not pay attention to the specifics of what was said. What I did read was terrifying and I felt for her. I didn’t want to imagine what it was like to be her; a woman of color in Hollywood, not a size zero, who was somehow getting all this backlash from Yiannopoulos and his troll brigade because she was one of the new female Ghostbusters and he didn’t like the movie. I am probably one of the few people who didn’t think the first Ghostbuster was all that, it had its moments, but it didn’t do it for me.  Maybe it’s the nostalgia that people crave, the film is highly overrated and I didn’t understand the excitement when the reboot was being conceived or the hate that followed when an all-female cast was revealed. Had the remake been directed by a woman, I would have made an effort to watch it on Video on Demand but as a new mother, I barely had time to brush my teeth let alone watch a movie. I wanted to support Leslie Jones and the other women in the film but it’s hard to show up when you are sleep deprived.

I was bullied in seventh grade. All the girls in my class stopped talking to me and one of the boys became physical; pinching, pulling my hair, leaving thumbtacks facing up in my chair. I hated my teacher for not stopping it. Back then I was sure she knew what was going on and didn’t care. As an adult I learned that she was going through a divorce, and maybe she was too preoccupied with whatever was going on in her life to have realized the level of bullying I was going through.

I was one of two new girls in my class, everyone else knew each other since first grade. I don’t know why but a group of girls who befriended me and the other new girl decided, three weeks into the school year to stop talking to me. Maybe I pissed one of them off but there was no explanation given, there was no gossip about it. It’s as if though they got together and decided that all the girls had to ignore me.

Luckily the bullying didn’t follow me outside of school because there was no texting or social media.  It sucked to be snubbed but I wasn’t devastated, I barely knew these people and I got to spend my lunchtime reading. That’s not to say that it didn’t hurt to eat alone but I had a high opinion of myself and felt superior to these girls because they didn’t like Wham!, Duran Duran or the Pet Shop Boys.

The next time I heard Yiannopoulos’ name was sometime in December when he got a book deal with an imprint of Simon & Schuster and a group or critics and celebrities called for a boycott not just of his book but of the entire Simon & Schuster corporation. My first thought was of Lilliam Rivera, a writer I’m acquainted with on Facebook and met once at a conference. Sometime last summer she announced that her debut YA novel The Education of Margot Sanchez was going to be released by Simon & Schuster in 2017.

Lilliam is from the Bronx and currently lives in Los Angeles. I met her briefly at Bindercon in 2015 and she was lovely. She was someone I could have easily been friends with growing up. The character of her book is a girl who has to work in her father’s supermarket for using a credit card without permission. I told her that I too had worked at my father’s supermarket, we bonded over that and marveled at how cool it was to talk about where we grew up on this side of the country.

I hoped her book would find a publisher because I wanted to see her character out in the world. I would have felt less alone if I had read books with a character like Margot Sanchez when I was in seventh grade. I hoped this boycott would not affect the sales of Lilliam’s book.  I’m sure that like in Hollywood, sales have a strong impact on who gets hired and I wanted this book to do well so that more women of color get signed to big publishing houses.

Earlier this month, this guy’s name was again at the center of controversy again when riots broke out at UC Berkeley. He had been invited to speak at the university but was later disinvited due to the protests against a prestigious university giving him a platform to spew his hate. I’m of the belief that I’d rather have these people on public record. It will easy to dismiss when he’s being considered for a position of power to overlook his Twitter trolling because “it’s just Twitter”.  I want to know who my racists are, I want their opinions challenged by smart people from the opposite side and I want a record that’s more reliable than a tweet.

This past weekend, I sat down to watch Real Time with Bill Maher, Yiannopoulos was the front of the show guest. I got the notes on my phone ready, expecting to write down my grocery list during his interview. When he came out on the stage, I was shocked at how young, cute, English and gay he was! Maybe it’s my own prejudice but I expect twitter trolls not to look like they could be friends with Harry Potter.

During the interview I learned that he was an editor at Breitbart, is openly gay but doesn’t hire other gays “because they are too busy partying and are always late”, only dates black men but yet he is a racist troll who calls himself a free speech advocate. I am all for free speech but some people seem to think that hate speech and free speech are the same, they are not.

Within minutes of his interview he was name calling Lena Dunham but Bill was very strict with him and told him he would not tolerate him bullying a member of the HBO family. Bill was firm with him and Yiannopoulos backed down which surprised me. It reminded me of something my friend Mari, a therapist, told me to do to stop the ex from harassing and threatening to hurt me.

“Tell him let him there is a man in your life now.”

I told Mari that I felt weird saying there was “a man” around when Matt and I had just started dating.

“Just do it.” She said.

I posted a picture of me and Matt on Facebook, new at the time and on Myspace, ensuring that my ex would see.  I was surprised when a few days went by, then weeks with no communication from the ex.

“Now that he knows there’s a man in your life, he’ll leave you alone, it’s typical of bullies.” She was right, the minute he got wind that there was a man in my life he stopped sending scathing emails and leaving abusive voice mails. To this day, I have not heard from him.

During the online Overtime segment of the show, Yiannopoulos joined the rest of the panel and basically called Michael Nance, a counter terrorism expert, stupid and said that transgender people were sick. I was still in shock over how a gay man could be so politically insufferable.  There was something in the way he laughed when he was called out on his hypocrisy.  That  nervous laugh was more than self-deprecation, it was self-loathing. As someone who has been there, I was able to recognize it in this guy. It made me wonder what was done to him to make him this way. I suspected some form of abuse turned him into an abuser. The way he talked about transgender people told me he had no empathy for others, let alone himself.

Larry Wilmore held him accountable, and told him to “Go fuck yourself”. It was gratifying to see the bully put in his place but he just laughed it off.

A few days after the Real Time segment aired, Yiannopoulos resigned from his job at Breitbart, lost his book deal and a speaking engagement at The Conservative Political Action Conference. None of this happened because of his appearance on the show but from comments he made on a video defending pedophilia. Is the far right so desperate they will embrace anybody and hail them as a celebrity? Why are some liberals so easily baited into focusing on the actions of a little troll instead of paying attention to the atrocities being inflicted by the biggest troll of all?

I fear for myself and other people of color in the current social climate. Yes, I’m light-skinned and most days I pass when I’m with my white husband and even whiter baby. Other times, I don’t blend and have been asked for my nannying rates. While annoying, it’s not scary for a clueless person to ask a stupid question. It was one thing to be bullied in junior high, I grew up, I got therapy, I am fine. Hopefully my daughter will never know bullying. I’m afraid I won’t know how to protect her when meanness can go viral so quickly. How do we stop cyber bullying when the current people in power are the biggest bullies of all?

***

I was supposed to post this on 2/24/17 but I left my iPad at work. I had not saved the latest version of it to the cloud. Instead of beating myself up about it, I let it go, what was the big deal about posting on Friday vs. Monday? I’m already two weeks behind on the #52Essays2017 challenge, two extra days was not going to make a difference I thought, until it did.

Over the weekend a woman I respect posted a picture of an art installation in a public space in her town. The post was about gentrification and outside artists/hipster art invading her community. Most people who chimed in agreed with her comment and had harsh words about the installation, myself included. “It looks like a Sasquatch trap”, I said. It got a few “likes” but something was bothering me. I couldn’t sleep that night. The next day, a friend of the artist replied to the thread and explained what the piece meant to her friend who was born and raised in the community but had gone away to art school, moved back to the community and is enjoying some international success. I couldn’t finish reading. I made myself sick. Yes, art is subjective and I stand by my opinion but no one asked me. I became one of those people who joined the brigade without thinking.

I’m usually pretty good about checking myself before replying or posting something online, sometimes I over think it and apparently, other times, I don’t think at all. The original post was not trolling, or bullying, she had a valid point about gentrification. In my way of showing support for one person, I became an asshole to another. The woman who made the original post engaged the friend of the artist in a civilized conversation, she apologized for her initial reaction. I took the coward way out and deleted my comment. That conversation was not for me to begin with, I am not part of that community.

It was physically easy for me to delete the comment. Maybe no one noticed, maybe someone did. I am going to continue to think about this without beating myself up, and consider it a lesson in progress.

# 4 – El Reguero

I’ve been trying to smudge my house since my daughter was born. I am a firm believer that your space needs to be immaculate before undertaking the ritual of space clearing. I did not have time to do a thorough house cleaning while I was on maternity leave. Contrary to what some people believe, maternity leave is not a vacation, you don’t have much free time because babies are a lot of work.

My husband is a chemist so the house was always laboratory spotless but now that we have a baby the house is for the most part, a mess – clutter everywhere; a baby swing, a little gym, a jumperoo, a high chair, a bassinet that functions more as a hamper/toy chest because my daughter sleeps on the bed with us, all in the middle of the living room.

The house is not up to our pre-baby clean standards. Since being back at work, neither of us has the time to mop the floors on a weekly basis. The priorities are; staying on top of laundry, a clean kitchen, a clean bathroom and changing the sheets and towels twice a week.

Now, there’s the stack of mail on top of the dining room table that needs to be sorted into piles; junk mail, important mail; to be filed; to be paid. Once the bills get paid, they move to the’ to be filed’ or ‘to be shredded’ pile. I have a load of documents that needs to be shred. If you’ve had the misfortune of credit card fraud or identity theft, you too will have a mountain of paper in need of shredding because throwing out even one envelope with your name on it fills you with anxiety.

Every room in the house can use a few hours of deep organization.  This is not something solvable with a cleaning lady. What I need is time to purge. To give away stuff, have a garage sale.  The house needs the full Marie Kondo.

When my friend Teri moved to Chicago she gave us her new sectional sofa. Matt has always wanted a sectional, I think they take up too much space. This one is three big pieces that closes off the living room and blocks off the nonfunctional fireplace that I decorated with whimsical pieces; mermaids, angels, Dominican Jesus.

Since I was a teenager, my adult goal was to live in the Pottery Barn catalogue.  When the sectional moved in, my PB sofa was temporarily moved to the garage. Matt wanted the sectional in the living room instead of the back room that is supposed to be the family room.  After four years in the house, the family room only gets used as a gateway to the back yard.

This need for an immaculate house is not about keeping up with the Joneses or para que la gente no diga. We rarely have people over. We live in Long Beach, a good 20-40 miles away from most of our friends in Los Angeles and my sister in the San Fernando Valley. Other than the obligatory Noche Buena party we don’t have many guests over.

My clean and clutter free house is for me to enjoy. It has to do with me being a control freak and also being one of four kids who never had her own room. A clean house that when my filmmaker friends come over and ask “can I shoot here?” makes me feel good. As a filmmaker, I know what a crew does to a house while they are shooting, my answer is always no.

The house used to be under my control because I had time to dedicate to it. I work forty five hours a week and spend about two hours a day commuting. Now, when I get home, my time is for my daughter.

I would love some flexibility at work. Like two days where I work four or five hours instead of nine. I’d be happy with a half day once a week or even every other week.

It is my controlling nature that makes me great at my day job. I’m an Executive Assistant to Masters of the Universe. I get paid very well to keep them organized and on schedule, it’s not something that can be done part time or half assed. I love my job, I love being in control but I would also love a little time to keep myself organized and on schedule.

***

The clutter is seeping into my relationship with my sister. I should be better about getting together, by the time the weekend rolls around the last thing I want to do is drive thirty plus miles to visit her. We made a date to meet at LACMA, the LA County Museum of Art. We were going to celebrate Matt’s and Ayden’s birthdays. Ayden, our Goddaughter was turning two. I stood my sister and her kids up! What kind of person stands up their two and four year old nieces! The girls were looking forward to seeing Hudson and to give Matt a present they had made for him. I slept right through the date, did not wake up until 11:00am and completely forgot to meet them.  I was so ashamed and disgusted with myself, I spent the week beating myself up about it.

I have to make some changes.

I will start with writing. As of now, I can dedicate my lunch time to putting together these weekly essays. I want to find two hours to work on my memoir on weekends because Matt is there to help.  There’s always something to do at home. A few weekends ago, I organized my daughter’s clothes that no longer fit her; I gave a lot away and stored what I want to keep for her. I sorted the clothes into two vacuum sealed bags; from new born to three months and from three months to six months. There went six hours of writing but now, I don’t have a giant bin full of baby clothes in the family room.

I can’t blame the not writing totally on the messy house. I have a flash drive with all the writing I’ve done in the last three years. It was not a functional system.  The work was categorized by workshop date so I had about twenty folders with four to eight pieces of writing.

I spent two hours today reorganizing my work. I created four folders in a new flash drive; Young Adult Memoir, Fertility/Trying to get Pregnant, Current Memoir, and Flash Pieces. I labeled each story by name and added what chapter I can find it in my memoir in progress. I also backed everything up into the cloud. The new system will make it easier to finish the second draft.

***

The essays on this blog are shitty first drafts at best. This is week four. I will continue to make time for this writing challenge of  #52Essays2017. Now that I’m back at work I am not able to take the weekly writing workshops so I need to stay accountable and generate work. I used to think that I didn’t have enough words in me to dedicate to weekly writing and to my memoir. Now that I don’t have time, I realize I have so much to say, so much I want to share. Little by little I will get there.

My daughter has already outgrown the swing and her baby gym. Those are now in the family room waiting to be stored in the garage in case one of the three frozen embryos turns into baby number two. Now, in the middle of the living room there’s a giant mat made of interlocking foam blocks with the letters of the alphabet in each block.  There is a baby fence around the mat so Hudson has room to crawl without hurting herself. At least Matt mopped the floor before he laid down the foam. I’m not going to be hard on myself about the baby stuff all over the house. I wanted this baby more than I’ve wanted anything in my whole life. I need to get used to the extra stuff that comes with that. I’m giving myself another two weeks, regardless of the state of the house, I will open up my windows, burn some sage and palo santo and invite new energy in and kick the old energy out.