I smell like anxiety, that kind of sweat that sticks with you even into a cool evening, the kind of scent that is laden with emotion. There is a stench to it that is almost sweet, but it leans heavily on the musk, and there is a sour tinge that you cannot put a finger on. The perfume follows me like a natural body odor, despite the layers of scent that I use to cover it up, Miss Dior Bouquet, kush, and tobacco, the odor of my nerves still breaks through. It isn’t noticeable until the pits of my shirt are stained with sweat, and antiperspirant will do nothing to help the situation, it seems to make my pores only open up more because I have become conscious of it, I am aware of the nerves that are now coursing through my head, being expressed in a physical reaction. There is nothing that I can do to reverse the process, except a change of clothes to hide the evidence, having to do laundry twice as often when it becomes a chronic habit, and shower just to remove traces of the scent still clinging to my body, even after I have talked myself down from the anxiety, people can still see the sweat stains, they can still see the red in my face, they can still catch the quiver in my voice, there is no hiding what is going on if they are paying attention, and I just want to disappear when they turn in my direction, as if I was caught in the act of doing something bad, as if I was doing this on purpose, as if I don’t deserve to be on this earth.

It took a woman with a stronger scent than me to accept this piece of me, she was dancing, and sweating, and living, and breathing, and flinging her body all over the dance floor with emotion, she would flip and turn, whirl and twirl, slink and stink in a way that was sexy as ever. And when you drew close you caught a whiff of something stringent, something putrid, something that ladies are told they should never smell like, but she didn’t seem to notice. Someone else in class mentioned that they think they need to add more deodorant, and she claimed the space to say, no that was her scent. She knew about it, she claimed it, she did not practice shame around it, and I became to see her perfume as a powerful scent. A whiff of it smelled like empowerment, like living naturally, like claiming all parts of her body proudly. She smelled like pheromones and sex, and she moved in a way that embodied it. She explained that she came to terms with there being nothing she could do to change it, that she needed to learn to embrace her natural scent after hating it for so many years, she had to stop self-shaming and accept herself as whole. It made me stop to think about the way in which I smell, the times when it happens and the situations in which I have to handle it, and how much I had built them up in my head. My scent is not offensive, I am not a walking fly magnet, I smell like nerves and success, bravery and resilience, sexuality and anxiety, all mixed into one body that is moving, living, and embracing the times that expanded my acceptance of me. 

Let It Slip Through Your Fingers

It is time to release. Let go of control and trust what you have been manifesting. Trust that things will get handled when they need to and only what was unnecessary will fall through. You are better at healing than you give yourself credit for. It just takes time for some things to sink in further, but only after other thoughts are released, to make space for more thinking. This train of thoughts will never stop, so you might as well hop on board, check the tickets and determine how much longer until they will be kicked off. Since these unruly thoughts are deviating the tracks, they are attempting to derail your progress, they are making noise in the cabin, knocking over glasses, and puking outside of the bathroom. They claim to have no choice in the matter, but it is a developing pattern, they only return when you are doubting your choices, when there is a break in the healthy thought patterns, that is when they worm their way in. To whisper in your ear that you are too tired, you will not make it, this will be your breaking point. So that yet again you have to tell these voices to fuck off, but they must be heard, they are sure to return again, they will not give up that easily on taking over your lifelong thinking patterns. Those voices have grown comfortable, secure, confident, and assured. They were provided masculine strength, and the pitch of a Banshee, screaming when they do not get the way they predicted. These thoughts do not have wants and desires though, they are just hungry and being fed by a fragile ego, one that is operating in a state of starvation, it’s no wonder that the voices are winning. The mind needs time to heal, time to release, time to process, and make space for its own wants and desires. Since I do not see those voices as a welcome piece of me, I have been asking them to move out for years, but there are times when I still speak to them like friends, when I am on the bathroom floor convincing myself not to vomit anymore, and I ask them for assistance, I ask them to tell me that I am weak, to tell me I am broken, to tell me that I will not make it past this moment. I hear them scream Fuck, and Not Again, since their tight synch on my stomach is being released by my body naturally, it hit a tipping point when I could no longer hide these voices, and they start coming out from my brain to my vocal chords, calling me a dumb bitch for doing this again, a hot mess, a hopeless case that needs doses of western medicine. But the strangest thing happens when they are released, and I take a step back from the panic they are instilling, to listen to the words I am saying to me, and find them uncompromising, not sympathizing, unable to connect with the present. I am not the words that are spoken, I am not broken, and I just storing emotions inside of me that need to be released, I am just human consciousness, I am finally listening, and hearing what I need, to release these doubts built up inside of me, to release the future thinking, to drop into my body and start singing, to take showers with spliffs and music playing, to sit naked in front of the mirror and tell me I love me completely, mind, voice, and body, I accept where I am in this moment, and know that it will not last forever. Mornings are rough, especially when I am thinking too much, but I am watching my patterns and learning from myself. I am more confident that I can now release and move on. 

Intuition Speaks, If You Listen

I knew this would happen, I have to start trusting my intuition, I have to start taking into consideration the way I am living, and the way it can be adapted, with thought processes and manifestation, envisioning a life that realistically works for me. It’s then when I start to believe in the change I am creating, I can start to see the effects of what I am working on, and the reward of my patience. I needed to trust that I would have a new job by October, that this season of change would not move on without me, with everyone else riding the waves, when in past years I have been sinking. But this autumn I have my eye on changes, and am ready to embrace what hits me, so that I can heal past frustrations and disappointments, and know I am on the right path. I almost hate that I believe in manifesting, past versions of me would have mocked the connotation, that everything is within my control, everything is within my power, everything is more simple than it first may appear. But control is the power I struggle with, wanting to place everything through the process of clinical manifestation, thinking things through and how to get to them has become an obsession, I am rearranging my life pieces to make sense of this mess. but I will still lack control over what happens next. How can the focus of my attention make a real difference? I have seen the adverse effects. I know how to obsess over every little detail, how to think every minute of every step I make, and what I want the outcome to create, a kind of efficiency that is inhuman, standards that are unrealistic, task lists that are never ending. Maybe manifestation gets the best of me, maybe there is a dark side the this phenomenon of creating, maybe it is the wrong medicine for the way I practice living. This time I asked my ancestors to lead me, and allowed the control to be placed in their all-knowing capacity, and they brought me to this place of hopeful living, opening doors and windows that I would have never seen, allowing me to place trust in the unknown, instead of trying to exercise power over something so wildly out of my control. I have the faith now that I can move on, that I was meant to take this next step in living, that I am stronger than I might think, and more intelligent that I give myself credit, feeling more emotion than the average person, all of this holds such significance to me that it is almost crippling, prodding my reaction to disengage. But instead of running away I am learning to stand grounded and embrace it, I will allow this reason for celebration to wash over me, I allow the fear of change to pass through me, I allow space to be created for new experiences, so that I can embrace what the expansive future holds for me. And yet I knew that this would happen, something told me that by October I would be experiencing changes, I would be making decisions and choosing new beginnings, I had a sense in my intuition that these things were already decided, and I just needed to release and fall into the next version of me. 

Let’s Read About Consciousness

I’ve grown tired of what I am speaking, the rhythms need breaking, the voice needs tuning, and the language I speak is confusing. It says “I want to work for you,” and “I am a valuable asset,” as if I am a prize that is already won and ready to be packaged. It speaks of tragedy and becoming the victim, saying “I wanted more than this once,” and “I was on the right track before I abandoned it all.” It seems to want the best for me, but there is something in the tone that my instinct is telling me not to trust. It is too positive, too optimistic, too focused on the future to live in the moment. It says “I want to feel success, I want that big paycheck, I deserve better than my current circumstances, because I have always been working towards it,” it continues on to argue that “I was at a disadvantage, I started at a financial status that was lower, being raised in a neighborhood that is ghetto, and knowing that I would have to overcome the struggle that surrounded me everywhere, my childhood was not perfect and I am still searching for the chance to move upward.” It sympathizes with the lyrics of rap songs, repeating “get those dolla dolla bills y’all,” and “money, power, respect,” since there is nothing else in this world that will mean more than rising out of oppression. It places value on this image of the victim, identifies with it, and draws conclusions that are confined by this image. “Because my dad is dead I was placed at a disadvantage,” but that is not the only validation it comes up with, “I was always too quiet, too timid, too shy to live boldly, since it took me ten years to finally be comfortable with speaking.” It continues on with rationalizing, “It’s the anxiety that is doing this to me, but I have no choice in the matter of the way my brain works, it was broken from the start of my genetics, I was destined to be depressed, to struggle with addiction, and to have to rise above what I was given, to prove that I am worth the struggle of living.” Maybe that voice makes some sense, or maybe it is whispering lies on repeat in my head, securing me to an image that has already passed. Or maybe I am finally ready to drop into my consciousness.

I Will Be Hired Again

I’ve grown tired of what I always wanted, and now I am exploring other options, I am taking a chance on timing combined with this opportunity, believing I am valued while speaking intelligently, carving the next path I am taking, while realizing that it is all out of my fragile hands, they are not expansive enough to hold all that I care out, while tasks and thoughts overfloweth my palm cup, there are human leaks at the bottom, no matter how tight I clasp my hands in anxiety, I cannot seem to get them to fit perfectly, I wring and wretch, squeezing out every last breath they offer, working my fingers to the bone, so that my tendons no longer stretch like they used to, they are tight and compact, yearning to extend themselves again into nature, to feel the earth between the fingers, to stretch them wide to meet soil, to soak in the moisture of the rain pouring down over us, the skies finally opened to bring the tides of change, I can feel the shift inside, the expansion to move on from this state of living, this short phase of my existence, there are still so many questions unanswered, but I can feel myself gaining grounded footing, I am reconnecting with what brings me safety, I am expanding my vision of how to make me be seen as successful, if only just in my little world of imagination, I can see myself moving on from this state of working, I can see the job offer letter in front of me, I know that I will get the call, or I will find another way to move on, I am ready, I can sense the change within, the problems of the pass seem so little in this moment, the trials of the work place seem so separated from my current state, as if this is the timing I have been waiting for for months, this is the turning point that I have been craving, aching to reach out to with strained fingers, praying to ancestors to guide me to prosperity, to continue to represent them with integrity, and allowing a sense of flexibility in my vision, taking the goal I started with and adapting it, to fit the circumstances of living in this time period, I have to remember that my envisioned solution was different when I started, I wanted to be a Copywriter, I wanted to be paid for the words I am choosing, for the turn of my phrasing, for the creation of content that is engaging, I wanted to push through until that goal was achieved, until I had a portfolio that is expanded, a value that is established, a work ethic that is stronger than the rest, but now I am seeing the need to rest, the need to return to my creative practice, to make space for taking up ceramics, to create writing without a focus, to take in experiences and process them with art, I want to tend to my healing practice, take time to walk my dog and practice yoga, I want to dance again without considering how to make money with it, I want to take the pressure off, to have a job that requires that I just show up, to have a day time paycheck, so that I can enrich my evenings with my reflection, I want to be passionate again, but right now I am too tired, I am too obsessed with this job search, I am stretched too thin to considering expanding again, and that is the red flag I have been fighting against, the warning sign that maybe I need to head in another direction, the signals pointing that I should be adaptive to the way I approach resolution, a whisper that this opportunity is the one I have been waiting for, that I was meant to wait months to move on to this position, I have been anticipating this transition, I have been anxiously waiting for this interview process, because I knew that I was meant to crush it, I was destined to impress them, I am going to be invited to join their team, since I am valued and people want to work with me, I am strong and intelligent, I am talented and intuitive, I am the employee they always wanted, and luckily for you I am looking to move on from my current position.

Respect Women

I am staring up at the thighs of another, wondering if they are strong enough to carry their body for miles, or if they are just provided for pushing out babies, which is a common misconception, since women do not have a say over their anatomy, as a little girl we are told that the baby comes from the belly, using phrasing that is inaccurate, as if little girls cannot understand scientific terms or have a willingness to learn, as if belly was another term for the womb, getting female children confused, does the baby come from a stork or the folds down below, are they a gift or a consequence of unprotected intercourse, do STD’s accompany every fetus, or are those reserved for babies feasting on insecurity, do they make the mother stronger for believing in true love, or weaker for giving into Eve’s temptation, is this view practical for women, or is it what we were told is truth and we accepted it, saying that bleeding is dirty, that the feminine is weak, that our energy can be raped and put into submission, until we no longer recognize that it was once our entire existence, until our power is suffocated in a pile of period products, stocking us up, gathering the blood of life to be deposited into trash pile, discarded and undervalued, being told as little girls that our cycle is something to anticipate and fear, that it can bring beauty and maturity, and this will be accompanied by danger and a lack of purity, that our bodies are now sanctioned to be soiled, men and bears will not be able to help themselves, they will have a primal attraction to the call within out wombs, the one that we were not taught about until it was too late to understand, it will be tragic, since women at the age of thirty-one do not understand their own magic, they were not told to embrace the cycle of life and death, to see the power they have hidden between their thighs, to touch the blood that comes pouring out from the inside, to feel its power, to embrace its ability to nurture, to allow the release and the rebirth of energy, we are an incubator for magical things, but the fairy tales we read never mention the bleeding, they never discuss what it takes to be a woman, they do not pay respects to the Priestesses who taught us to listen to our bodies, to dance in the star lit evenings, to howl at the full moon with a desperate wanting, to feel connected again to our bodies, to pay respect the cycles of life we are harboring, and no longer see our own thighs as evil, they are not a trap created to catch men’s penises, they are a beautiful and magical representation of living, a wonderous cave of secrets, and something that will remain a mystery until we learn how to pay respect.

I Don’t Want To Be “Friends”

It turns out I like myself more than I think. This is the realization I came to when being forced into the presence of the frat crew. I didn’t choose to have this barbeque and invited ten people over, but that is just part of what I have had to accept when living with an ex-frat star, they roll deep, and I have no control over it, even in my own house. His fiancé understood, and then had a breakdown over it in the spare bedroom, grabbing me as she was passing by, seemingly normal, and then the door closed and it came pouring out and all over, it came with anger, it came with frustration, it came with yelling, and I noticed that I began shrinking. The yelling still scares me, I know I need to start going to therapy again, the childhood memories are surfacing, and the household tension is making me feel small again. In the home environment I am more sensitive, more receptive, more careful about what I say and how I act around others, in my home I do not feel like myself, or like I can speak up, in my home I just want a lack of conflict, and I will do almost anything to get it. I will allow ex-frat boys tell me that I am a tease for wearing a costume at my own Halloween party, and for not openly sharing the weed I am smoking, as if I am made of drug money. I will allow these implanted thoughts to trigger my hidden emotions, but I will work to bury them, to not disturb the home I have worked so hard to create, when he is the invader. I allow forty people to feast at Thanksgiving dinner, to take over every space in the house outside of my 100 square foot bedroom, to leave lines of cocaine and Adderall in bathrooms, for me to have to discover and clean up later, even though I have never participated in such practices, even though they are not my friends. I allow my roommates to tell me when it is time to move on, to dictate when I can afford to move out, to make me feel guilty for being where I am in life, and for not having the same financial advantages as them. I could have never afforded to be in a frat in college, I was working too much, I was drinking too often, I was doing illegal drugs with friends who were self-declared degenerates, and I felt like I was finally fitting in. I did not have to pay dues to make friends, or have a pretend job at the fraternity, because I was out living a real life instead. I can no longer relate to them, I no longer what to fraternize in their presence, I no longer want to have to listen to their influence. I am ready to slaughter their opinions, to take no shit. I am ready to tell them they are wrong for looking down on me, that I do not deserve their pity, and I am doing better than they might assume I am in comparison. I am tired of keeping up with the images, tired of the rage cage gatherings, tired of finding sticky beer all over my kitchen counters. I am tired of living with them, and allowing their constrained life vision to influence my decisions, I am tired of pleasing the people that immediately surround me, when I have those who see my power and appreciate me from hundreds of miles away, I do not need these frat boys anyway. I will live a future without them in it soon, I will look back with confusion about how I masked myself for so long in their presence, how I lived such a limited existence, how I got caught up in the wants and desires of a different wealth class, bred with different expectations, living above the bullshit or real shit that makes life more stimulating. I am tired of listening to their chatter, and tired of feeling like I have to join in, next time I will not have to participate in this shallow existence, because I will have moved on to a new life by then.

I Want This Too Much

What does it mean that a bird flew into my window to wake me up? On a day with so much weight hanging on it. How can I change the course of what is headed to me? Maybe it was just there to make sure I was wake in time since I slept through my alarm. But maybe it holds more meaning. Internet tell me what I am missing. Does the bird represent a message? A sense? A redirection? Was it sent to me by my father? My ancestors? My God Mother? And am I unstable for reading into these messages? Will the bird mean nothing at all in the end? Or was it sent to wake me up? Could it just be that it didn’t see the curtains hanging? Maybe it was shooting for the crack allowing fresh air into my bedroom. Maybe it was in attack mode. Maybe it was just learning how to fly and ran into a window. But I want to see something more. I want to know that message was sent for me. I want to decode it into tangible meaning. I wanted to wake up early. I want to feel prepared for these conversations. I wanted to have a sense of control over my morning. I want a clear approach to passing this test. I wanted to feel appreciated. I want to feel a part of a team. I wanted acceptance. I want to be able to predict what will happen. I wanted to feel safe and comfortable. Now I want to move on to expanding. My horoscope and friends are presenting questions that are affecting my vision. I can see that they want something more for me in the end, but I question their intentions. Or I question the way that I listen to them, seeking binary answers instead of allowing myself to be lead to a complicated resolution. Since nothing in this life is simple. And nothing will stand in the way of what I want. I need to embrace this masculine energy that once exhausted me. I need to see that it is a part of me. I need this new job desperately. Or I want it with my entire being. I have been praying to my ancestors for this moment, the one that I hope will come today. After the interviews they will tell me I am valued, I am wanted, I am the perfect new team member. I got this. I will be hired. Or I will learn a valuable lessen in giving attention and the ways I receive it. I will take my next step, no matter what. I will quit my current job. I will move on. It is time for me to seek different answers. Time for me to step into my power. To listen to that whisper I had two years ago, the one that threw the gram of weed off the shelf, telling me that I am on the right path again, to remind me that I am only lost momentarily, that I will regain traction, and I am headed in the right direction. Or maybe the bird was trying to warn me that things will go different than expected, they will change the course of what I wanted, maybe the horoscope is telling me to accept that this will not happen. I have experienced this kind of disappointment in the past, and I know how to handle it, I know how to continue on, and I know how to rise above. I know that my life will press on, and I am expected to release control, allow these feelings to flow. But I want to force this one through with a positive attitude, I want to make it happen with persistence and blind dedication. I want to have the opportunity to thrive in a new situation. I want to impress them during these interviews, I want to show them that I hold value, I want to succeed at the task the I approach with enthusiasm. I want this to happen. Please help me fly little bird, instead of warning me about the impact of another crash landing.

Bring The Spinning To A Stop

Now it’s time to wait, and in the waiting we worry, because unknown things might be coming forth to greet us, the future may be welcoming us with open arms, or it might be waiting to change our expectations to something that we have never assumed we needed before.
Maybe I am reading into the universe too much, maybe I am obsessing over thoughts again, maybe I am changing.
Wait, that part is certain, since there is no constant in this universe, that is something that science made up, a lie to tell themselves when they need answers, or something to compare for the sake of setting standards, so that some can rise above and others can learn to settle.
I pause to search for a thought that only existed momentarily, needing to string together my conscious thinking so that it makes sense to my body, so that the nausea stops pressing in, and the deep breathing can take over, allowing these anxious thoughts to be purged, but this time without violence, without the imbalance, releasing the impatience that I reserve only for myself, one breath at a time.
Time to get back to processing as a collective, since we seem to think better when leaning on each other, one voice can say that it is time to panic, while the other remains calm and placid, one side craves this kind of attention, while the other wishes to recede from existence, and one side is accepting of the intentions of the universe, while the other fights them with vengeance.
I am caught somewhere in the middle, trying to balance the left and right sides of my brain and convince them to coexist, to take the negative thoughts and balance them out with the positive, but this practice has been laborious, and I am growing tired of my own antics, I just want the answer I wish to hear in the end, I already decided on my answer, that it is time to move on from this state of existence.
We are tired, we are exhausted, we are patiently waiting for our chance at success, for someone else to tell use we are valued, to take the next step, waiting for permission to make it, asking the universe to consider the prayers to my ancestors, asking them to provide a life that was better off than they experienced, or filled with a type of freedom that did not exist for them, to give our generational line a second shot at success.
I pause to wonder what my obsession is with image, the way I place all of my value in the way others see who I am, and the passing thought influenced by television, maybe I am a touch autistic and that is the answer to my struggle to exist, but that is just a binged influence, an obsession with watching love portrayed on the spectrum, an answer that I am seeking from the lives others are living.
We need to process what is real, what is tangible, what actually exists in the world we are living in.
I need to drop the internal voices, allow them to grow silent, to provide me with peace instead of a constant stream of analysis.
We need to pause, we need to grow quiet.
I needed this writing practice.

The Whiplash Of Confidence

Yesterday I was so confident that I crushed it, that I have that job in the bag, that I am the best option they could ever have, and I should be hearing back soon. But now the self-doubt is creeping in, and I am wondering if I will actually get it, or if this was just another lesson, that I should learn from this experience and look to move on to something else, if I am worth the hiring paperwork, or if I should be working on hiring myself over getting employed by others to do their work. I am wondering if there is value in starting over again, in meeting a new team and becoming newly integrated, in never looking back and not regretting the situation I am leaving. Sometimes I still question if I am ready to move on, when there is still so much to accomplish, there is still so much to discuss, there were points that were never made and frustrations that were never settled, respect that was never shared, and coworkers who will never be converted to caring. I wonder if a new job is what is best for me, or if I am shoving aside my dreams once again, by working for another person, enslaving myself to another company, dedicating myself to another paycheck and status symbol, I wonder if I could be doing even more, and if I am giving up on my dreams too soon, if I should keep pushing blindly forward. But I also wonder if my body is trying to tell me something, that the way I am living is not aligning with my inner affirmations, that I am listening to what others are telling me, and allowing their opinions to outweigh my whispers of intention, maybe I am allowing them to tell me what to do. Or maybe I am finally moving on from a hell of my own creation, maybe I have had blinders on for so long that I can no longer see what is surrounding me, maybe I am ready to demand better working conditions, earn a better paycheck, and take on a different way of living, maybe I am ready for this transition. Maybe that’s why I feel so invested in this interview, why I feel the pressure of it all coming down to this man’s answer, why I am desperately checking my email, and kicking myself for not asking when I would hear back from him, maybe I am regretting not doing all I could do to secure this position, but I have a feeling like I crushed the interview conversation, or I have an overwhelming hope that I did, so that my life can finally start gaining traction, I can be paid a reasonable paycheck, and make enough to live without the pressure of working for negligent womanizers, or maybe I am moving from one situation to the same in disguise, or maybe this is my time to shine.