Coasting Looks Like...

...abandoning previous goals because it got too hard or something minor felt major and got in your way

Häagen-Dazs, Butter Pecan

...not speaking up for yourself because what's the point? they're never going to see your side of it

...doing just enough to keep a roof over your head and food on the table

...eating yourself into oblivion so you have a reason to self-isolate from the world

...answering "How have you been" texts with "Meh, but pushing on anyway" instead of unleashing the full weight of the hell swirling around in your brain, because we're all meh, but pushing on anyway, everyday, and commiserating on being meh isn't going to make you feel better; I've tried it

This all seems quite familiar, like I've written these words before, and felt these feelings before. 

But hey, consistency, amirite?

Love & Balls,

Jaded

-----

hey, there, you, looking for a brighter season

need to lay your burden down

hey, there, you, drowning in a helpless season

buried under deeper ground

When the Party's Over

Art Deco Grandeur

In 2009 or so, I was sent out by a staffing agency to temp at Central Library in Brooklyn, and I was thrilled because, I mean, books. I grew up with the library system as my babysitter (shout out to the DeKalb, Marcy, and Bushwick branches!) and now I'd get to go behind the curtain, so to speak, and work there.

About a year into my assignment, the boss offered me a permanent position on the marketing team and I played it cool ("let me think about it over the weekend") but really, I was living the dream. It was shit money but the hours were good, the people were nice, the benefits were stellar, and the organization as a whole was beyond reproach. I could sleep well at night knowing I worked for/with the good guys.

Then the cracks started to show: the head honcho wasn't a former librarian when historically they were (I think it was a must but they changed the rules for her); said head honcho decided she didn't like my boss NOR the head of the design team, so more often than not, she poo-pooed everything we were trying to do; a new guy came in, from the DoT, and decided to bring along a crony from the DoT, and oust my boss; that crony, who did not have the marketing experience or gravitas that my former boss had, brought in a third crony, so that cronies 1 and 2 were now both being paid crazy amounts to split the job my boss was doing by himself (and then they also brought in a third person to deal with press, which is something my former boss did, too). So are you keeping score? Three mediocre white people doing the job of one talented Black man, all because the Head White Lady didn't like the cut of his jib.

Ephemera

It all started to go downhill from there, for me at least, and definitely in the area of morale.

I personally dealt with so many microaggressions, and was passed up for a promotion because I supposedly didn't have the experience and I was, quote, "unapproachable." So they hired someone with no marketing experience which made all the sense, right? And then proceeded to groom her for any and every salary increase and promotion they could think of. Not me, though, because I was unapproachable and didn't hang out with people after the workday or celebrate my birthday in the office or participate in something called Lunch Crew where they expected me to allow and trust white women with cats to make me a tasty and pet-hair-free meal. I didn't care for any of it, I was vocal about all of it, "I haven't seen your kitchen, so no, thank you," and it made me "not a team player.

Celebrating Z outside the office!

Still, I showed up, did my job, got my check, because that's how I came up. I don't go to work to make friends and kiki and party and bullshit, I'm there to do a job. And I will be cordial and might even smile here and there and contribute my fair share to the workload but that's all. Being friends is not in the job description, and frankly none of these people were folks I'd be friends with outside the office (minus one, HEY Z!)

The final straw came in the fall of 2022.

I was making plans to visit my daughter in Italy; she was going to study abroad so I was going to do 10 days in Milan, and then a week in Rome with a weekend in Athens, Greece. To make it work, I figured, I could do a full remote work time (the library had started going hybrid by then) so as not to use up all my time. I only did two days in the office anyway, what could it hurt? Well, request denied, even though I know they'd done similar deals with other non-brown workers, and I was pissed but whatever. THEN I was informed that the worst kept secret in the marketing department was that my direct supervisor was resigning, she wanted the other copywriter to be her successor, and they had all met about it without me. 

Well, listen. I'd signed on as a contractor with a corporate giant during this time as a side gig, making roughly $1K a day, so I thought about it and decided, before they even approach me with a bullshit explanation as to why I wasn't considered (and probably threw a tiny disrespectful raise at me) I was going to finally grant their collective wish and leave. Fuck that whole marketing department full of transplants (EXCEPT Z & Fritzi!) with a bag full of rusty tire irons. The whole lot. I can't think of a more toxic place for this Black Latina to work, except maybe the current White House administration.

A BK Winter Wonderland

Things I miss: working for an institution that focuses on access for all; the steady, non-freelance paycheck, the benefits, Z. THE VIEW OF PROSPECT PARK FROM THE OFFICE. What I don't miss, everything else. 

I don't look back and think, "I wish I still worked there," even as freelance work is beginning to dry up. I look back and think, "The stories I could tell you about this place..." Because you just gotta know when to walk away from shit that no longer serves you. Honestly, I should have left sooner, but I let fear be my guide.

Don't let fear keep you where you're not wanted or appreciated. No matter how green the grass on that side is.

Love & Balls,
Jaded
-----
I hate people that feel entitled
look at me crazy 'cause I ain't invite you
oh, you important?
you the moral to the story, you endorsing?
motherfucker, I don't even like you

On Retirement and Finding My "Why"

courtesy of Simon Sinek

"Why do you do what you do? It’s not an easy question, but the answer could make a big difference in your life."

Sometime around 2018 I started to notice that I had been coasting on autopilot in my life. Maybe it was because my youngest was graduating and leaving for school across the country, and I had more time to think, but it was a sobering realization. I finally had the time and freedom to do whatever the fuck I wanted, but didn't know exactly what that was, or if I did know, wasn't taking the steps to get what I wanted. The one area of my life that took the biggest hit was writing (and all of my literary endeavours). I remember thinking, "who cares?" and "what's the point?" and I began to hate everything I had created and resent the people who were reaching out to me about their writing, wanting to do readings, etc. AND I HATED MY COLLEAGUES AT MY 9-5, which I couldn't do anything about because I was paying tuition for one kid and subsidizing rent for another.

So to summarize, I was very unhappy and had too much time to think about that unhappiness but I was stuck in a situation of my own making because I had dependents, which meant that chasing a dream (even if I had lost sight of that dream) wasn't possible because I had to do practical things.

Then in the summer of 2019, my literary org was turning ten and I planned what I thought was a fun celebration...that no one wanted to attend. I took a step back and thought, "all these people that I've helped, or published, or given a stage to, or collaborated with, and maybe five ride-or-die folks wanted to celebrate that with me. Enough was enough. I decided to retire and disappear from the literary scene in NYC. I refused all invites to talks and readings and workshops, stopped editing manuscripts, and abandoned my own work. I even handed over the reins to La Pluma y La Tinta to someone else.

That fall, a bunch of shit started to happen, like a snowball rolling down a hill, that forced me into therapy. And every session was just me crying because I felt weak and lost and really, what was I even doing with this life anymore?

It's been a lot. And my therapist concluded the obvious: I do for everyone else, and hardly ever for me. 

Where does that leave me now? Slightly un-retired. I'm reading again. I've even started listening to audiobooks. Ideas for stories have popped in my head. A tiny vision of where I want to focus my energies emerged. Now, I'm not saying therapy did all that, but it didn't NOT do all that, either.

I'm working on my why. I think I'm meant to use my storytelling abilities to persuade you mongrels to stop being assholes to the planet and each other. That's what really matters to me. This reboot is a part of that work.

Lake Como, my heart

But if in pursuit of de-mongrelizing you I happen to become a best-selling author who splits her time between a three-bedroom condo in Riverdale, a refurbished farmhouse on the right good side (read: the side that doesn't touch NJ) of the Hudson River Valley, and a vineyard in Italy, too, you know, I wouldn't be mad at that.

Love & Balls,

Jaded

-----

it seems like I'm always against me

seems like this is never ending

and I refuse to let it end me

mentally, spiritually, physically

i need my peace

A Bitch Got Fat.

That "F" word can be really triggering or polarizing but I'm An Old and I use accurate words to describe things that are real, and I. Am. Fat. How do I know? Well, besides having pretty decent vision and a working mirror: my back and joint pains have increased, my belly sticks out and hangs like a trash bag full of pudding, and my snoring has gotten so much worse.

Now, because I'm gifted in height, it took a while for it to really show, but then one day I took a selfie and thought WHO THE FUCK IS THAT FAT BITCH? Clothes that I've owned and comfortably worn for years no longer fit, and then rock bottom: I sat down and my jeans gave up on life. That's when I really knew.

"You can't be fat AND mean, Raquel"

I got on a scale and a number I never thought I'd see associated with me popped up; 252lbs. I'm not sure how you deal with bad news, but my way is to feel defeated, fall into a shame spiral wherein I identify and dwell on every wrong decision I ever made, then escape into a new hyperfixation while completely avoiding the obvious solutions. It's so much fun in my brain, I wish I could sell tickets!

And a lot of things contributed to this; not the actual lockdown but life after, where everyone walks around maskless and not social distancing and coughing into the open air as if Covid never happened. That shit stresses me out. Being in a stagnant relationship that I refuse to make a decision about one way or another, stresses me out. Being underemployed and in a financial crisis stresses me out. Worrying about my daughters' well-being stresses me out. Worried that my mom isn't progressing in her recovery the way we thought she would, and the pressure it adds onto my sister and brother-in-law, stresses me out. THE GOVERNMENT COUP THAT IS CURRENTLY TAKING PLACE WHICH MAKES ME FEEL HELPLESS AND POWERLESS, STRESSES. ME. OUT. And when I stress out, I EAT & SHUT DOWN, a combination well documented for its ability to fatten people up.

If I could just be 100% depressed only, then I could lose some weight, you know? Because that's when I lose interest in food altogether. Ahhh, I miss only being depressed...

(I will share, however, the one major positive of looking like someone's Big Momma... no more catcalls in these streets. PRAISE ALLAH.)

So what do I plan to do about it? *kanyeshrug* Does this blog post not count as something being done?

I think I'm sharing this out loud because if/when you see me in these streets wearing a mumu or complaining about my diabetes acting up (who are we kidding, it's only a matter of time), I don't want you to be surprised and wonder, "what happened to that hot Dominican blogger I used to fantasize about?" I'll tell you what happened, a bitch got fat.

Love & Balls,

Jaded

-----

like the scar of age

written all over my face

the war is still raging inside of me

i still feel the chill

as i reveal my shame to you

i wear it like a tattoo

The Jaded NYer: The Reboot

Hi. Remember when I used to blog regularly, and on the days I'd take a break, I'd come back with a song? I figured that, since I've decided to revive the blog, I'd ease you back in with a little tune.

Wasn't that fun? Great, let's move on.

Why reboot the Jaded Blog? Well. A lot of factors led to this decision.

1. I have been RUDDERLESS since Papi died. Just walking around this world like a chicken without a head. This is a strange world for me- first I lose Grandma and just when I've made peace with it, Papi leaves. The one man in my life who loved me unconditionally. It's a lot for a girl to lose her dad.

2. I lost focus on my WHY. I became so entangled in trying to run La Pluma y La Tinta, trying to host events that would garner likes on the interwebs, bigging up others only to get nothing in return. It depleted me.

3. I quit my library job after it became ABUNDANTLY CLEAR that they didn't value me or my skills, and my whole department, minus one or two people, became overrun with people NOT from NY, telling NYers what types of events/books/art they should like. And finding a new job, one that will pay me what I'm worth but also feels like I'm positively contributing to the good in this world has been... not great.

4. My daughter had a major health crisis, the world shut down, my mom got sick, and my sister had twins, and I realized, fuck everything else, family is what I need to focus on.

5. I'm living in a world that, basically, hates me and everyone who looks like me or is where I'm from, and the anxiety and depression that comes with that has forced me to seek some sort of anchor, and I think I'm realizing that anchor is language, literature, the written word.

So I guess, for now, I'm un-retired. 

Listen, if Stephen King can do it, so can I.

Happy Black History & Dominican Heritage Month.

Love & Balls,
Jaded

-----

does anyone remember
what it felt like to laugh all night
and sleep in late
not worry about anyone or anything?

well, I don't, I don't, I don't