I had a job once.

Then I quit…

Well, I’m still employed but I quit putting forth any type of creative conscious effort. So technically, I’m employed without a job. I should really be more optimistic about the whole thing. It’s like finding a hair in your favorite dish from your favorite restaurant. You know you like it, but that one hair has fucked it up…forever. There’s no clear alternative energy for that establishment now. It is the hairy eatery for the rest of all time and it makes you uneasy to order from there ever again.

It wouldn’t do either of us any good to revisit how it got to this point, so I’ll skip to the good part, the most influential, monumental part.

I got a new manager.

New managers are not always a bad thing. Most times, it’s refreshing to get a new manager. You really rely on them not knowing what the fuck you do. You can train them in your favor. In my case, or “THIS” case rather, my manager was once an equal. Since becoming manager, he’s eliminated about 95% of my daily job duties. So here I am, blogging. I love to type, don’t be mistaken. My griping comes from a place of love…like when you’re forced to wash dishes but at least you know they’re clean to your standards so you find a tiny pinch of satisfaction.

I like to write. I always find an excuse related to time as to why I don’t do it as often as I’d like to but here I am. 8 hours of free writing time and I’m getting paid a crazy amount of money to do it…well, do nothing. I should really be more humble and grateful for this opportunity. I know my true colors. When I’m inspired to type all day, I’m probably fed up with something….usually my place of employment or a specific authoritative figure/role. That’s okay though, I’ve been creating a destiny of my own that I’m truly looking forward to. I’d tell you a little about it but an artist usually only shows the finished product…

But since you asked, I’ve considered becoming a rapper. I’m the greatest freestyle mastermind of all time and creation. The only problem is, I can only do it while driving. Recording and driving isn’t advertised as being deadly, contrary to texting and driving, but I could imagine the danger is imminent.

I’ve always believed I was the greatest rapper. Even when Wayne claimed it, I knew…deep down, that he was incorrect. I gave him the benefit of the doubt because he doesn’t know me, or my skill level. I’m sure if he did, he’d quickly reevaluate that claim. Although I’ve noticed he doesn’t say it much now that Drake is wushpoppin.

I also know I’m fairly entertaining. I can’t pinpoint my strength because I am truly a versatile gem of energy and light. Simultaneously. Like one of those crystals you hang in the window and the sun peeking through the grooves makes you say “woooooooow bruh”…that’s me. I’m the light refractions. That could be my rap name but I want something catchy…like Gutta Wont Stutta or Gutta Bitch in the Buttaz…then I’d ALWAYS have to wear Timbs and…I live in Florida so it’s always hot as fuck, and never cold enough for fucking Timbs. Plus I’m not a gangsta, just a mom who hates muhfuggas with no blinkers or brake lights. BLR…pronounced “BLUR”…stands for Break Light Refractor. Whew! See, I’m the shit. I’m the BLR…refracting so bright, I just might BLR yo vision niccuh!

Plus, it works in my favor that I truly believe in myself. I got confirmation about 2 weeks ago on a small stage at my company talent show. I was pissed at my manager because I heard he was talking shit about my attitude…which, by the way, I have the BEST attitude and he don’t even know how grateful he should be for my office/workplace attitude. I don’t show him my REAL attitude. I’d get reprimanded, if not, fired for sure if I showed my true inner workings. ANYWAY…so there’s a talent show that my company has every year for charity. But I didn’t give a fuck about the charitable part this year. This year, my 3^rd year hosting, 1^st year performing…I said you know what? These hoes are boring. I can win this with a wig, track pants, and some good house music.

And so I did. I won.

I beat a guy who played the fiddle. He fiddled like his mamma caught snakes with fishing hooks make from gator bones down in the bayou. A bad mutha-shut-yo-mouth on the fiddle. He was unaware that my mamma also caught snakes in the bayou, but didn’t have gator bones so she danced to distract her prey. That’s where I channeled my energy from…my winning energy. I stayed humble in the moment but here’s how I really felt before, and after.

Here's me practicing in my junky ass room the morning of the show...