School Daze all over again. . .

"I'm focused, man. . . . ."



So, another semester in. Of course I'm looking forward to the end, but I'm also looking forward to experiencing what my classes have to offer. I have a heavy load this semester: Math class, some computer work, managerial accounting, and 2 classes in the Pan African Studies building, Oscar Ritchie Hall. For those not familiar, Oscar Ritchie was the first African American faculty member at my school, Kent State University. This was way back in 1947. Black United Students petitioned to name the old student union after him following his death in 1967, thus making him the first African-American to have a predominantly white public university building named in his honor.

Ok, now that the history portion is over, I'll continue.

I'm really looking forward to getting the damn math, accounting, and computer classes out of the way. I'm going to enjoy the 2 classes I have in Oscar Ritchie. It's been a few semesters since I took "black classes", so it'll be good to revisit those feelings of awareness and pride I felt as I sat in those classes.

I'm very excited about the African World Creative Writing Class. We'll be reading the poetry of Amiri Baraka, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Haki Madbhuti. In addition we're also going to write and have our work critiqued by classmates. We introduced ourselves yesterday. Everyone is a writer, whether poetry, plays, novels, or music. It's an awesome feeling to be surrounded by so much talent.

The other class is African Social/Political/Economic Systems. . .a mouthful, I know. It seems interesting. I was slightly intimidated by the fact that when I first walked in to the class, I was the only chocolate face in a sea of milky white. I swear, I thought I was in the wrong room, until I seen everyone had the book for the course. Overwhelmed, I walked out of the class to get some air, since I was fifteen minutes early. I was grateful when six other black people finally showed up in true CP fashion.

I plan on throwing myself completely into school and make the most of my final moments in college. I cant tell it'll be easy to fall behind, but I don't plan on doing so. As long as I stick to my studying schedule, I'll be good. . .Lawd, lawd please let me be in the final moments!!!

This is a must read. Or better yet, get the audiobook. Listening to the story of the 2 lovers read by Chadwick Boseman and Heather Simms puts you in their shoes. You feel like you know them, and you can relate to their love story. The letters span from 1990, when he first goes to jail, until 1999.

I tripped reading this. My first love was in and out of jail with his bad ass. . .and he used to write me. The same things Antonio was saying to Natasha, he said to me. The longer he was in there, the more frustrated he became. . .these letters mirrored that period in my life. We wrote off and on for the time he was in, but once he got out. . .I won't even go into what happened, for fear of too deeply digressing.

You know a book is good when you cry, because it's over. I crave these characters. I want to know what happened to them. I shed tears because even though this was not my story, it was.
The bottom line is that the book is really deep, and makes you think about where you're from, and how the choices you make in your life as a youth can and will effect you in your future.

Sometimes I fear silence because it forces me to be alone with my thoughts. I sleep with music playing, or the television on. With the tv playing, I avoid two of my enemies: silence and darkness. Darkness makes things clearer to me, I see faces of people I've hurt, who've hurt me, and those who I love. Darkness makes me face my biggest fears: failure, rejection and uncertainty.

That's So Tira

For as long as I can recall, I've been dreaming in color. Vividly. All sorts of images, people, places, and situations have entertained me in my slumber. Food, sex, sorrow, and family are popular dream themes with me.

I had a dream the other night that I was jumping. Higher and higher, for what I can't recall, but I tried to evaluate the symbolism in the dream, as I do with all the dreams I have that don't really make sense. I'm thinking it has something to do with me trying to accomplish my goals. Maybe graduating, I'm so so close right now, but sometimes it seems out of reach.


Where's my damn sitcom? I've been having visions for years. Raven owes me some money.There was a point in my life where I was afraid to go to sleep, because I didn't know what would be "revealed" to me. I've dreamed of people dying, myself dying, winning money, having babies, and all types of things. I dreamed about Peter Jennings dying months ago.


The insomnia started years ago. I'd stay up all night hiding from my dreams, because I didn't want this, whatever it was. Once I told my mother, she told me other people in my family have dealt with this, and it's more of a gift than a curse. But do you know how scary it is to have a dead relative come to you in a dream and speak to you? I do. A few years ago, my grandfather came to me and told me that my mother was going to really need me for a while. Sure enough, he was right, and I was terrified.


I've been told that dreams of predictive nature are messages from God. I've used them to prepare people. I like to believe that some of my dreams are messages from God, he's trying to tell me something or giving me some sort of information that I may need. When I'm sleeping, I'm still, and available to receive.

I swear I'm not nuts.

I'm not psychic, not clairvoyant, nor will I ever claim to be. You won't catch me reading tarot cards or gazing into crystal balls.


It can't just be me, someone else has to be dreaming like this.

If I sleep with music playing, the music it's often incorporated into the dream, or if the tv is on, I dream about being in the sitcom or a part of the tragedy on the news. I think that's common.

One time my sister asked me what I dreamed and I made something up because I couldn't clearly recall the dream. I didn't have another dream for over a month, as if I was being punished.

I've had dreams where I've met up with people I've disliked, and I worked things out with them in the dream. I'd see them after the dream, and I'd be fine. . .no confrontation necessary.

I had a friend who came up from Pennsylvania and spent her summers with her grandma who lived across the street from me. I hadn't spoke to her in 3 years, but during that time I had dreamed she had 2 sons. Sure enough, the next time I seen her she had the very two sons I seen in my dream.

This is such a strange phenomenon about me. I don't talk about it much, but I wanted to blog about it because I figured by writing it out, reading it, and thinking about the words, maybe I could make some more sense of it. If you think I'm crazy you should meet my granny because she dreams the Pick 3 numbers at least once a month and wins up to a grand depending on how it comes out. . .lemme get some luck like that.

Jacked

So I got jacked on Saturday evening.
Here's the story.

I was making koolaid, ran out of sugar, decided to run to the store on the corner. A fifteen minute walk, that's it.

Good exercise, fresh air.

So, I'm in the parking lot of the store, talking on my phone when this high yellow dude crosses the street. I kept an eye on him, just because he looked suspect. He walked behind me, so I sped up. He started walking quicker behind me, but I wasnt stressing it because I was at the door of the store. All of a sudden he bumps into me, and walks away.

I'm pissed, but I just went in the store. Some dude comes in the store and goes, 'Yo, that dude just took your money outta your pocket.' Sure enough dude had taken $10 outta my pocket. How he got it without me knowing is beyond me. It's not like my ass sits that far out.

Keep in mind there was a parking lot full of grown ass men watched this happen. I mean, I'm not asking for strangers to be responsible for me, but if I seen a CRIME taking place I would damn sure do more than watch.

So dude has the nerve to come in the store while I'm in there. Those money hungry (guess the nationality) people sell him six loose cigarettes and he puts gas in his tank, on my money. So I yell out and he calls me a bitch and says he didn't take shit from me, so I better shut the fuck up. . .

Store owners just watching. . .

No one does anything.

Never felt so victimized.

I'm glad I didn't have my wallet, my bank card, or my cell phone in that back pocket, and I guess I should be grateful that he didn't do anything physically to me.

People think because I live in a suburb, everything is peaches and cream. Well, I'm telling you it's not. When I lived directly in Cleveland, nothing like this happened to me directly. My suburb is like your hood, dirty muthaf*ckas live everywhere. I live in Maple Heights, but don't let the charming name fool you. It was like Sweet Valley when we moved here about 6 years ago, but now it's turning into Compton or something. Everywhere you turn, there are ReMaxx, Century 21. or some other real estate signs going up, like white flight or something. . .

My momma calls them rogues. . .

I mean, it was just $10, but damn, it was mine.

Moral of the story: watch your back, even in the 'burbs