Anatomy's Philharmonic

Today I had a great day!

Got up early, went to the farmer's market, bought peaches, apples, and raisin walnut bread. Sat on a bench with my Mommy in an artist's cove of sorts, drank fresh squeezed lemonade, and people watched. Later we went Uptown and had brunch accompanied with an iced mocha. I felt like a really earthy, artsy, white woman. I almost made it all the way home without a glitch and then World War 2014 happened. I began hacking and my lungs began to fight, my throat continued its battle with Tourettes, and my nose felt like a really hot summer day in a Black neighborhood, with an open hydrant and all the kids are bare chest and feet drenching in my snot.

For months (more like years) now I have been struggling with the worst "sinus infection" known to mankind. I'm not sure at this point if that's even what it is. I've been to several doctors several times. The diagnosis has ranged from an inner ear infection to walking pneumonia. Most recently, I was told I have acute bronchitis. The symptoms, very irritating to say the least, are violent coughing, isolated migraines, retching, post nasal drip (more like down pour), post nasal drip reflux, sore throat, wheezing, restricted breathing, chest pain, dizziness, and my all time favorite clogged ears. Neti Pots, Z-packs, Claritan D, Albuterol, Fluticasone, and a whole heap of other prescribed pharmaceuticals have invaded my body to no avail.

But there is a silver lining (always).

With my ears being clogged most of the time I find it hard to hear externally. It feels like a barricade blocking the external from the internal. As a result I have been upper respiratory bullied into listening to what's going on internally. Internally I can hear all sorts of things like my heartbeat, calm and steady while I'm relaxing and quick and rhythmic when I run up the stairs. When I take a sip of water I can hear a rippling sound as it travels down the esophagus. But if I drink something with more acidity in it then it sounds like Rice Krispies dancing down my esophagus. I can hear haunted house noises in my stomach when I'm hungry and every creek and crack of my moving joints and bones is amplified. Headaches, though they feel intense, often have an alto lightsaber sound and every deep breath and exhalation fills the inner ear with a zephyr euphony.

If it wasn't for my ears being clogged I may not have ever had these orchestra seats to my anatomy's philharmonic.

That's life and lesson. Siamese twins.

For every block, pause, delay, obstruction, and hinderance there is always something you are meant to receive from it. GOD is a GOD of calculation. He has pre-planned and forethought every millisecond of our being. When things get heavy, when things get hard, when things get out of control…

Block out the external. Find retreat in the internal. He is waiting there.

Meet Celeste

Ah yes. My dear blog. I know, I know. How I've neglected thee. So much has happened since we last dialogued. I've missed the feeling of my fingers appropriately resting in their place at ASDF JKL;. No longer imprisoned by MLA standards. Just me, you, a large bottle of water (or some other spirited beverage) and my thoughts. I've missed the freedom. Nevertheless, here I am. Ready to talk. Did you miss me?

Where oh where should I begin? Personal? Political? Social?

Let me go back a bit. In 2010 I first started my blog out of frustration with my life and how I was not only being perceived but also how I perceived myself. "The Purse Carrier" I called myself. Read more about my theory here: Purse Carrier Theory.

Four years later this theory is still very real. But there have been some changes.

I have been possessed by my 30 year old spirit. Her name is Celeste.

Celeste seemingly has her ish together. She no longer desires to hang out in clubs and bars so she avoids those purse holding nights all together. She works hard, loves GOD, goes to church, volunteers, and is an upstanding citizen. She still lives at home with her Momma, which in the minds of the moronically opinionated is a red flag, but she actually enjoys being with her Mother (most of the time). On the surface and on paper she's a woman headed to greatness. But…there is a but...GOD help her...she's a pistol.

Since I have turned 30, Celeste was born. She rocks a big mean afro underneath her ombre blonde
colored weave. Celeste is a Black Christian-ist, Black feminist, Black womanist, Black Youth-ist, and Black equality-ist. All Black erythang! She's the type to wear her Jesus sandals in the rain and dare you to say one word. Celeste has an extremely low tolerance for nonsense. Someone said something about her, her family, her friends, her OBAMA? She's confronting them, right away! Head on! She always prays for the right words to say but is frank and straight forward. She doesn't entertain "he say, she say." By the end of whatever "they say", you can bet Celeste is headed right to the source. Celeste believes she is Stokley Carmichael and Miriam Makeba's love child. She will stand on top of any furniture…well wait she's a big girl so let's retract that statement. She's not about that "Scarlet takes a tumble" life. She will stand out in the middle of the street yelling "Black Power", "Amandla", "Ready for a revolution", unbothered by your opinion of her. She's a 30 year old activist and she is ready for a change!

I don't know if this is a good trait to have or not but I do know it feels good. Damn good. I've let go of grudges and I am able to say my peace and go about my business. This being 30 thing is beauty marked.

I know the stages of life differ and by the time I'm 60, GOD willing, I will have evolved into an older woman with more idiosyncrasies. As long as I'm not introducing Cruela I will be fine. But I love this journey I'm on and I am proud of the woman I am becoming. As for now…

Viva la 30! Viva la Celeste!