"Oh how I have missed the good ol' Black Pen. I love the way they write - smooth, fast, exact. You either have commitment to the movement of the ink or you don't. I like things that have quirks, specifics that others have to learn about and work through. It builds a relationship to writing...the reason why I write this.
I need to practice writing. Lyrics, blogs, papers, essays, short stories. I wanna write it all sis. 2021 will be about me reclaiming my work and writing style. I am so over professors, academics, and other elitists alike telling me that my writing style is incorrect. That my ideas are never flushed out, organized, like I am unprepared. I'm tired of being too Black for people, too gay, too loud. FUCK ALL THAT SHIT. It's times like this when I have to remember why I write. I want to write a book chapter, a research paper, podcast write ups, personal pieces with my own voice. Hearing my own voice - incessantly. I want to write cause I fucking write.
In 2021 I want to write every day.
I want BOTH of my bathrooms finished, decorated, and remodeled.
I want to continue to teach and empower my students.
I want to take dance courses of varying styles and genres.
I want to apply to key fellowships.
I want to solidify relationships with professors who could potentially be on my committee.
I want a committee, a project, and to ace comps.
I want to stand up for myself more - establish more boundaries.
I want to make music in beautiful places with niggas I love.
I want to see beautiful places - alone.
I want my fucking mullet.
I want what's mine.
2021 is my time to step into my own. New car, renovations under way, dog training and socializing. Fashion game elevating. Host, DJ, content creator, music maker, business owner, mogul - in - making, boss ass bitch. Bodyodyodyodyodyodyodyodyodyodyody.
Dear 2020:
You started with a bang! All of my loved ones in my little house in Squirrel Hill huddled together, drunk as hell. The slow burn of the idea to buy a house lingered in the air like my favorite soy blend Vanilla Bean candle. I felt ready to move on past renting - it felt like throwing my money in a black hole. And I had so little money so I was finicky about where every penny was going. I was also ready to get the fuck out of my regular routine - mope, write, sulk, work, repeat. I started experimenting with photography, music making, and video editing. I cooked good food. I changed up my look. Met a lot of new people. Tried new shit. I cut ties with the things that weren't serving me, those who refuse to understand me, or make me feel less than or too much. I took my work seriously. I watched Scandal over FaceTime. Bleached, distressed, and outright tortured so many of my clothes (and took a bunch of pictures). I experiments with makeup and angles. I quit several bullshit jobs. And bought the house. Hosted a few healing circles and a digital art gallery. I took an insane amount of polaroids. Hosted an afternoon of play and a shit ton of digital parties. I went to Michigan; North Carolina; Howard, PA; and even made it back home to Houston. Went to a pumpkin patch, net my neighbors, gave away free meals, bought a Black girl a laptop. Broke the internet a couple times. Came out as a sex worker. Found queer sex workers to gush about and work with. Had my 1st accident in my car and bought a new one in the same week.
2020 you are wild. Still haven't caught Ms Rone though - haha!
Thank Beyonce you are over - well almost."
(Word vomit taken from my journal on 12/22/2020)