I’ve been walking past, flirting with the idea of sitting down, sipping on a martini , and maybe just maybe falling in love with a perfect stranger.

Three martinis later, I needed to vent. And for fuck’s sake, I became my own friend. I opened my journal and started writing. How cliché, a girl who apparently looks 17, alone at a bar in Harlem with a notebook and a pen.

Why does everything have to be so political?

After weeks of doing great, doubt came back like it never left. I have 40+ little faces looking up at me, hoping I’ll figure it out. And truth is we’re in this together. Whether I like it or not.

I can tell by the looks, that people are surprised. Honestly, so am I. Things are somewhat going well. And there was no plan. It just happened. Maybe I’m exhausted from having to explain it, all the time. When I myself have no concrete answer. I decide to respond with kindness and still I’m met with the past… let’s not forget that I was once a certified “crashout” but the attitudes, slick comments just make me feel burnt out. 

For years, I questioned why Scott M. Gimple and Matthew Negrete decided to kill off Glenn. He was a fan favorite on The Walking Dead. His death, thanks to Negan and that damn Lucille was supposedly necessary for the development of the other characters.

So I have to die for you to grow?
How selfish is that? Right when everything was going smooth, for a zombie apocalypse.. here came Negan… does that sound familiar to you?

I hated Neegan. Hated his violence. Hated how he didn’t give people a chance. He was rage, personified. But when we dig into Lucille, we find out Negan was honoring his late wife. That was his way of coping. His pain made him cruel. Lucille was a bat, btw.

Negan… hurting others doesn’t make your pain go away.

I see Negan in a lot of people. In my youth. In my colleagues. In folks who lead with ego and call it leadership.

Why does everyone feel the need to swing their dicks around?

Last week, I sat across from some of my favorite people in the world, fully aware that this moment was temporary. And it reminded me: I still have to find my gold. I handle my pain inward, I do the inner work so that I won’t project my shit onto others.

That same week, I stumbled across John Doe. A Nameless bar. Nameless night. I had been everywhere but nowhere. And there I was. 

Funny thing is, in my life I’ve only used John and Jane Does in legal findings anonymous placeholders in someone elses Motion. For years, I never once considered that I might be a Jane Doe. Who really knows me? 

Maybe that’s the real character development.

Only one person really understands my weird love for country, pop, and soft rock. But still, I convinced myself I wanted to be alone. Sometimes, solitude is necessary. You need silence to hear your own voice.

Not that anyone offered to show up the way I needed.
So it was just me, Lucille, John… and Sev.

I was holding back  tears until I found myself next to a middle aged white man from wait for it… Floriduh. No kids. Owns a company. Clearly fighting demons. Negan, please.

We talked for what felt like hours. And I realized: I’m glad I’m not a middle aged white man alone at a bar, no kids, never married, workaholic.

Instead, I’m a 30-year-old Hispanic/Latina/Latinx/brown woman (whatever label works today), no kids,  existing in the in betweens, and yes just like him a workaholic.

And if you’re still wondering who Sev is, it’s where I decided to go for self care.. it only lasted 10 minutes. There is/was no happy endings, no solid lesson, just a girl with a blog who needed to vent.