Sunday, October 28, 2007


I’d forgotten what it was like to write just for the sake of writing. I’ve been fighting to write what other folks want from me and then feeling frustrated because I haven’t been able to write at all. I’ve known since I was a little girl that writing was my passion. It was the one thing I could do and do well and be completely fulfilled doing. It never mattered to me if I made money doing it. I just wanted to tell a good story and have whoever read it be moved by my words. I wanted to take others to the places I traveled to in my mind, to share that part of myself that people might not have been able to see. Writing elevated me above the mundane routines of everyday life and when a story came, when I could twist it and spin it until it was just right, I was in my glory. When I focused on the words rambling in my head and the voices crying out for my attention, there was no challenge I could not conquer, nothing that could ever best me.

And then I found myself writing what other people wanted, trying to fulfill other folk’s expectations, and more times than not, the words failed me.

I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do light and fluffy. Life isn’t like that and no matter how hard I try I can’t get to the happy ending without letting life do what it does naturally. It needs to throw me and my characters a curve or two. It needs to be difficult and complicated and sometimes downright messy and nasty. It can’t always be pretty because life isn’t like that. Sometimes it has to hurt so deeply that I question whether or not I can rise above it and then I do. That’s what I need to write. Those are the words spinning out of control for my attention. I am desperate to write for the sake of writing because I’m still passionate about the beauty of words and the tales they can tell. I don’t want to stop being passionate about what I love to do.

I’ve decided to let other’s do fluffy. I just can’t do it anymore.


John’s not getting it and so I’m going to explain it to him in English he can understand.

No woman wants to feel like a car that's being test driven. She doesn't feel pretty when the man she’s head over heels in love just seems to like that she's got all the right parts in the right places and everything seems to be working well. She doesn’t want to feel as if he's decided she handled better than the other car he was test driving last so he'll keep her around because it seems like it's the right thing to do. She doesn’t want to be the one he decides to be with simply because his friends tell him how good he looks behind the wheel or his family proclaims she handles much better than his last ride. Most especially when he thinks it’s necessary to keep running back to that other car to see if the ride has gotten any smoother since the last time it broke down on him and left him stranded on the side of the road. No woman wants to be just something for him to take a ride in while he’s still spending time in the garage trying to get his favorite car to run like he wants it to. No woman.

John's been test driving Leslie and Wendy. Wendy was his first ride, that classic vehicle he can’t move himself to let go of. He keeps thinking that if he puts enough parts into her engine and he keeps trying to polish away all of her rust that she might still be the sweet ride he wants her to be. John can’t seem to accept that Wendy’s rust is glaring and no amount of Bondo will ever hide the damage that’s underneath her surface. Wendy will keep breaking down, forever leaving John stranded on the side of the road.

Leslie, on the other hand, has done everything she can possible think to keep the shine on her own chassis and ensure every ride John takes is a ride he’ll never forget. Leslie has never left him stranded, never broken down, and she can’t help wondering why John finds it so easy to toss her aside to go see if he can get Wendy to run right. Leslie is a classic in her own right and she doesn’t deserve to be parked in the back while John’s trying to get Wendy to run. John seems to be oblivious to the way Leslie is feeling about things. Leslie deserves better than she's getting. Leslie deserves love and attention from a driver who truly appreciates the treasure that she is.

I can’t say much more to John. He seems to be enjoying the roller coaster he’s been riding on. He’s bought stock in Bondo and doesn’t seem to mind patching and repairing Wendy as the moment moves him. Sadly, John may very well miss the boat and not have a car to drive at all.

And I will say this to Leslie because no one else will. Girlfriend, it’s time to get off this ride. There’s many a driver ready and willing to put you first. They would be proud to have you hold that place of honor in their showroom. Although you keep holding on to hope that Wendy will break down for good and John will realize she's not the vehicle he would want for himself, you may very well have to leave John right there on the roadside. Unfortunately, that’s where he seems to enjoy being stranded most.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007


A young woman posed an interesting question to me, believing that I might actually have an answer to her dilemma. Boy, was she wrong! Jasmine is in a new relationship with Ben. Ben has an ex-wife. I had an ex-wife once. In fact, I had two ex-wife’s and a few ex-girlfriends. I say I had them because although I wasn’t the one who’d been married to and divorced from these women, their presence in my life was undeniable. They had children with the hubby. Children who lived in our home full-time. I shared parenting responsibilities. It made for some very interesting moments.

Ben and his ex have a child as well. Ben’s ex has free reign in Ben’s home, coming and going as if she still lives there. In fact, her time with Ben is substantially more than Jasmine’s time with Ben would seem to be. As well, Jasmine is more aware of the ex than the ex is aware of her. This keeps things peaceful for Ben. It ain’t doing much at all for Jasmine. Only one of the hubby’s ex’s had the audacity to believe she still reigned supreme in our home and only because the hubby allowed her to. Took me a good long while to nip that bad habit and until the hubby and I were on the same accord there was many a Queen Bee battle waged between us. I said the moments were interesting!

It took me many years of personal growth and maturity to understand that the ex had as much influence in our lives as she did because the hubby truly hadn’t let go of the emotional bond between them. It took a grand slap to the back of my thick skull to understand that bond didn’t have a damn thing to do with their children. But I was young at the time, hardly out of my teens. I didn’t know any better but I soon learned.

Jasmine spent a good half hour trying to convince me that Ben truly does love her. I could see her holding on to hope that Ben’s promises would ring true for the two of them. I also understood that Jasmine was trying to convince herself that the two of them could make their relationship work more than she was trying to convince me. Ben’s ex though may prove to be the challenge that Jasmine can’t overcome, most especially if Ben doesn’t want to get over the woman. I learned that the hard way too. Not a lesson I’d wish on anyone else to have to learn.

Jasmine asked me what I thought she should do about her ex-wife blues. I wanted to tell her to run fast and run far but I didn’t. I understand that the heart will make you do what it wants to do. I didn’t have an answer for Jasmine. I just knew if I had to do it all again, it’s something I wouldn’t do.


Y’all know how I do this. And if you don’t, it’s not hard to figure out. Dribbles are random thoughts that will never manifest into full-fledged posts but for whatever reason, they’ve stuck themselves into my mind and I can’t let them totally go. So, I dribble…

  • Why does it take one pizza, a chocolate chip cookie, and a bag of potato chips to gain ten pounds and then take 280 hours of exercise and 30 days of grass and carrots to lose two?

  • When a man says he loves you and wants you in his life, but he loves her too and can’t let her go from his life, he’s really trying to tell you that he doesn’t want you in his life. Not really. When a man truly wants you, he‘ll tell you, her and the whole world without a moment of hesitation or doubt. You know this. Now accept the fact that he really doesn’t love or want you in his life and move on.

  • Dirty little secrets always come out sooner than later. It was never supposed to be a dirty little secret.

  • I’m obsessing over little black dresses. I’ve purchased five in the last two months. Each little black dress is cuter and sexier than the one before and the thirty or so little black dresses already hanging in my closet. Sadly, I can’t remember the last time I felt cute and sexy enough to wear a little black dress, much less have a man in a very nice suit to wear it with. I need to start obsessing over something else.

  • Sometimes just getting your feet wet isn’t enough. Sometimes you have to dive in head first and allow yourself to be fully submerged before it makes sense and feels right. So stop worrying about getting your hair wet. Dive.

  • Commitment sucks, relationships are hard work, and love can truly hurt. So what do you do when you’re sick and tired of the hurt and you don’t have the energy for the hard work?

  • I’ve had my fill of fair-weathered friends. No, I don’t have any books to give away. Tell your great Aunt Bertie to call the bookstore and order it like everyone else.

  • I swear there is some sort of life force with a warped sense of humor who gets a kick out of making sure that every time I run into a fione man that I look like I’d just been run over by the fugly bus. And when I look good, and I mean really good, I’m assured to run into toothless Dave, jobless Mike, and Waldo the Wonder-Boy-Without-A-Clue. I’m about ready to kick the humor out of some serious life force ass.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007


There is something incredibly sexy about a cowboy on a horse. It is pure power personified. The only thing sexier is a powerful black cowboy on a horse.

There is an annual black rodeo event hosted here in this small town of mine that I usually do not miss and wouldn’t you know it, I missed this year’s event. I swear, a woman feels like a kid in a candy shop at this function because the men are FOINE. And I do mean FOINE. They come in tight jeans, tighter tee-shirts, boots, chaps, and it is typically one delectable chocolate confection after another to satisfy any sweet tooth. And these are chocolate confections who are also successfully employed as doctors, lawyers, Indians, and chiefs.

For a woman in need of some old-fashioned attention this is truly the place to be ‘cause there is no lack of men wanting to give you a ride on his horse and I’m talkin’ the four-legged variety. Although I’m sure there are some other horses that get ridden as the evening wears on, I personally don’t know nothin’ ‘bout that kind of thing. I go to enjoy the camaraderie, the rodeo events, and the barbecue.

This event and these beautiful black cowboys inspired the series I’m working on now. In February 2008, with my book To Love A Stallion, I’ll be introducing John Stallion, the first of four brothers. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John Stallion come from Dallas, Texas where everything is large and powerful, and they are no exception. They’re all successful, wealthy, old-fashioned, charming, and the kind of men that can melt a woman where she stands with just one look.

I’ve been riding the Stallion boys for months now and it has truly been one heck of a good time. I’m winding down to the end though, getting ready to let them boys out of the corral so others can enjoy them as much as I have. And all I got to say is, they are truly some sort of sexy.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007


Veiled threats can come in all forms so when a man tells you that your failed marriage will not end the way you might want it to, you should trust that he does not mean you any good. Lisa is learning fast that her husband Ralph can smile his way through any amount of torture he can put her through and not think twice about doing it. The man relishes knowing that he’s got her so twisted that she can’t figure out if she’s coming or going. Fear had never been something Lisa had felt for the man but now she’s afraid. Few will ever realize that she’s more afraid of what she could do to him than what he might even imagine doing to her. And that’s because she’s raging.

Lisa has walked a short tightrope with this man since forever. Her entire marriage was built on his needs with no regard for her own and her sacrificing everything she could to make him happy. Her own joy was so irrelevant that it took years for Lisa to even believe she was entitled to an ounce of joy for herself. But Lisa now believes and she’s angry that someone who once professed to care for her would go out of his way to try and take that joy away.

Lisa cannot remember ever owning so much anger. She’s warped with rage, unable to focus on anything but getting out of the prison she feels she’s been locked away in. She feels like she’s been backed into a corner and she’s fighting tooth and nail to get herself out. Lisa refuses to do another day of time behind Ralph's bars. But behind her closed doors she’s so consumed by the hurt and pain of despising the man so deeply that she’d do almost anything to be rid of him for good. Almost anything…

And then Lisa remembers it won’t always be like this. Happiness is hers if she’s willing to fight for it. Life can be what she chooses for herself and not what someone else thinks she’s entitled to. It always had been. It always will be. And though her earlier choices may not have been the best, Lisa is now choosing to be happy. She is choosing a life without the drama and the tears. She is choosing love, no matter where that might take her. And she's choosing for herself, refusing to let Ralph or anyone else decide what's best for her.

Ralph believes he’s won each time he makes her cry. Lisa refuses to shed another tear for the misery she finds herself in. Ralph is right and Lisa knows beyond any doubt that Ralph doesn’t mean her any good. But she’s got a message for Ralph. It might not end the way she had hoped it would. But it certainly won’t end like he may think either.

Sunday, October 14, 2007


I was cleaning out some drawers and found a folder of "stuff" I've collected over the years. Clippings of articles, inspirational passages, and interesting stories that made me stop and pause. When I found this piece and reread it, the words resonated like they had never done before. I remember when it was being passed around, folks forwarding it from friend to friend, thinking that one day I would pass it on to someone in need. I needed it myself today and now I'm passing it on to someone else who might be in need as well.


by Veronica A. Shoffstall

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security,
And you begin to understand that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises.
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head held high and your eyes open,
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.
You learn to build your roads
On today because tomorrow's ground
Is too uncertain for plans, and futures have
A way of falling down in midflight.
After a while you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate
Your own soul, instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you can really endure,
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and learn ... and you learn
With every goodbye you learn.


The heart is truly a complicated beast and matters of the heart can be quite challenging. Despite the obvious euphoria and exhilaration associated with being in love, it is an emotion that has proven itself to be mysterious, complex, and overwhelmingly difficult to comprehend. To truly define love is damn near impossible but to experience it in all its magnificence can be life changing.

I think the pain we sometimes associate with love has more to do with the baggage we attach to it than to love itself. All of our “stuff” can truly give love a bad name. Negative emotions we experience with love come from our own fears, doubts, anxiety, perceived rejections, broken trusts, anger, jealousy, envy, and the like. That broken heart truly is not broken, just inundated with all the garbage we’ve made it carry.

I write about characters who are beautifully flawed. They unload their baggage between pages 145 and 175 to discover that when they allow themselves to truly open their hearts and feel, the love they discover can complete them and they were already whole before love came their way. Moving my hero and heroine past their frustrations and difficulties to their happily ever after ending comes with relative ease by page 299. Wouldn’t it be nice if reality and our own personal relationships could be the same?

Thursday, October 11, 2007


Jessica’s got a relationship dilemma that truly has her questioning her sanity. Jessica and West have been together for months now. Their romantic relationship developed after they’d built a dynamic friendship. Because both were coming off the heels of really bad relationships they’d decided to keep their attraction to each other a secret from family and friends as they made their way around your typical new relationship bumps.

And then they hit some serious bumps. Each one more devastating than the one before. So much so, that both of them were feeling overwhelmed, out of sorts, and seriously challenged. But Jessica was fighting tooth and nail to hold on to what she had with West and he with her because she truly believed in the beauty of what they shared together. And she loves him, heart and soul.

Family and friends could see the duo had become closer, still not knowing though just how close the bond had actually grown. And still the couple decided they weren’t yet ready to share what was between them with everybody else. Then West became ill. Ill in like confined to a hospital bed ill and Jessica was suddenly questioning her sanity.

Jessica didn’t learn about West being sick from West. An acquaintance called to share that news. West’s family appreciated Jessica’s concern but they didn’t consider her a part of his inner circle and so they didn’t think it appropriate to keep her abreast of his condition. After all, she was only a “friend”. Jessica didn’t have a clue what to do. Clearly, if West had needed her, he would have made sure someone had contacted her, at least that’s what Jessica wants to believe and then she wonders if maybe West didn’t want her by his side during a time when the person you claim to love should be there. Jessica’s ready to storm the hospital to go see about her man, but wanting to respect the agreement between them she’s pacing the floor waiting for information instead.

And now Jessica’s feeling crazy and questioning every ounce of her sanity. Pacing the floors, wringing her hands, trying to hold back tears crazy with worry about West and not having a soul who can tell her what’s going on or what it is she should do.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007


I am usually on top of my game, but recently I’ve strayed so far off the playing field I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to find my way back onto the track. I’ve been weeding out unhealthy situations in my life and that has included some long time relationships. One in particular has had me pulling my hair out and wishing I could stick pins in my eyeballs to divert the pain elsewhere.

While trying to let this relationship go, I recently made a major mistake. I truly believed that I could have a rational discussion with an irrational individual and as I should have expected, it didn’t work. Even after acknowledging all that was wrong with us, agreeing that apart was far better than together, the poor fool still didn’t have a clue.

And because he was clueless, he showed his ass. (My grandmother’s description of his behavior, not mine!) I didn’t know you could call a person as many derogatory names as he had the audacity to call me and then he wanted to know what the real problem was between us. I’m sorry, the problem is your total lack of respect for me and mine, you sorry son-of-a-…

I was so tempted to blow a few derogatory names back at him, but I didn’t. I bit my tongue instead and then I cried. Understanding that this person and this relationship bring out the very worst in me was why I needed to let it and him go. Toxic doesn’t even begin to describe how we can be with each other, the aftermath of time spent in each other’s company leaving me broken, feeling as if I am just a fragment of my true self. It’s taken some deep, deep soul searching to realize and understand that I don’t have to allow any individual to tear the core of my soul to shreds while doing it in the so-called name of love. Some things aren’t right, and tearing a loved one down to build yourself up is just one of those things.

And so I’ve let that go and I’m in a better place for doing so. I’m unpacking my baggage and getting it well out of my way. If it’s not working for me, it’s got to go from my life and it’s got to go now. So, that’s one bad relationship done and finished and sadly, I’ve got a few more that need to go.


I really wish I had the option of having a total and complete meltdown, forsaking every one of my responsibilities to wallow in my own personal pity party. I’d even invite other folks to join in. But I don’t have that option. Other people seem to enjoy the opportunity when it moves them, but I’ve never been one of those privileged to do so. Sure, I would like to spend a few weeks in my pajamas, hiding beneath the covers with boxes of chocolate cherries, Almond M&M’s, Orville Redenbacher popcorn and the television remote, bemoaning every bad thing happening to me, disregarding all the bullshit running through my mind and causing havoc on my daily life, but that’s not going to happen. It’s not an option for me no matter how much I would like to withdraw from the realities of life and just not give a rat’s ass.

I am obligated to keep standing, to keep smiling, to keep fighting for my joy because as a woman, and a mother, and a nurturer, it’s expected of me. Most women know that fulfilling such an expectation isn’t always an easy thing to do. I’ve placed an unholy amount of pressure upon myself and I am petrified of failing. I’m also determined not to fail and fall because if I do, then not only do I fall but those I love most may very well fall with me. And I just can’t have that happen.

I have my moments though. I had one last night in fact. I allowed myself to feel sorry for my circumstances. I let myself feel so bad about everything and about nothing that I spent hours crying like a baby in want of a pacifier. It was that ugly cry too, where you hyperventilate, throw up, and your face swells up all red and puffy where no amount of makeup can hide the truth of it. Then I got angry and I screamed and yelled and called people hateful names and for a brief moment I didn’t feel bad doing so. Once the rage subsided I crawled into a corner with a bag of potato chips and a half gallon of fudge ripple ice cream and I watched Tyler Perry’s new talk show. One hour of watching successful people talk about their success was enough for me. I got up, got over myself, and went to bed.

When I got up this morning, I stood up, I smiled, and I made the choice to keep fighting for my joy and happiness, no matter what it might cost me. I don’t wear pity well and makeup won’t hide the ugly of it. My reality is that having a meltdown isn’t an option, no matter how it might seem. So that pity party isn’t going to happen any time soon.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007


Jenny kneels in prayer every night. Sometimes she prays two or three times per day. Jenny is always praying the same prayer over and over again. Praying that God will bring her and the man she loves back together. I hated to do it but I had to tell old girl to get up off her knees. That was one prayer she truly didn’t want answered.

Her man is a good guy. In fact, he’s truly a great guy. And the reason he and Jenny aren’t together is because he’s busy loving someone else. He was also decent and honest enough to tell Jenny the truth and not string her along hoping against all odds that he might actually fall head over heels in love with her. I have great respect for the brother’s integrity.

Jenny hasn’t yet realized that her heavenly Father is doing her a favor to not bring them back together, most especially since her man loves someone else. Unrequited love is hardly the type of suffering the good Father had in mind when he said we’d have some tribulation in our lives.

Like most of us, we expect that the person we love will love us back. We expect that things can be fixed when they become broke. Jenny is expecting her man to come running back to her, convinced that she can make him understand just how much he’s loved. It’s those pesky expectations that become problematic. Jenny needs to remember that you can’t make someone love you, no matter how hard you might be loving them.

As soon as Jenny gets up off the floor, she needs to accept the fact that her man ain’t hers. She needs to accept that although she might love him, he loves another. Acceptance will be the first step to healing her hurting heart. As long as she keeps holding onto hope that God will change that poor man’s mind and bring him back to her, she won’t be able to move on with her life. And Jenny truly needs to move on.


Good old Mr. Ben’s up to no good. Again. Apparently the man’s been out and about visiting places he has no business being. Number one son had an all-points bulletin out after him yesterday, having not a clue where the old geezer had disappeared to. Finally tracked him down visiting the local massage parlor trying to get massaged. Unfortunately, Mr. Ben left home without his wallet and they don’t give you credit at the massage parlor. It seems that the massage parlor ladies know Mr. Ben well so they called for someone to come and get his old butt.

Once he found his way back home I stopped by to visit him, to ask what he’s been up to worrying folks like he’s been doing. The man was tight lipped for a quick minute, and then he let me in on his secret. It seems that Mr. Ben has himself a raging case of blue balls. Now, I can’t attest to that fact personally, but that’s what he told me, and rather matter-of-factly as he took a quick moment to peek over his shoulder to insure Number One Son couldn’t hear him.

Now, it’s sometimes hard to take the stuff Mr. Ben says seriously, but he was quite serious about this condition he seems to think he’s suffering from. Apparently, blue balls is not only uncomfortable, but life threatening. Mr. Ben said so. Which is why he needed them massaged so that the buildup of pressure in his lower extremities doesn’t’ travel to his heart and cause his brain to explode. Then he asked if I would oblige. Apparently you get points toward your heavenly journey when you lend an old guy a helping hand with such a life-threatening problem. After I told him he would have to massage his own balls 'cause I wasn't going anywhere near them, Mr. Ben told me I was going straight to hell, no heavenly journey points for me.

Now, I don’t usually coddle Mr. Ben’s moments of perversion because he really doesn’t know how to let some things go and his obsession with his penis is just such a thing. But I couldn’t resist asking him if his balls were a pale shade of Carolina blue or something more along the lines of a deep, dark military blue. I personally thought this was a valid question. The man looked at me like I’d sprouted two heads and a tail for being so ill informed. Seems his balls aren’t actually blue, just in need of some attention.

Like I told Mr. Ben, what the hell do I know! I don’t have balls and I definitely don’t have blue ones. It appeared to me that this was a personal problem the old geezer was going to have to fix by his lonesome. Seems I was wrong there as well. He asked for a ride over to Ms. Beulah’s house. According to Mr. Ben, Ms. Beulah is a specialist at fixing blue balls and I’ll never be able to look at the deacon’s wife the same ever again.

Monday, October 01, 2007


So, I go do that annual checkup thing with the beaverologist and I’d forgotten just how uniquely disturbing it is to bare all your private goodies for the good doctor to play with. Men complain about that one finger and the rubber glove, but that’s nothing like having your feet strapped in stirrups while cold gel and metal is being heaved up your nether-lands and a man is asking how book sales are going. And I won’t even begin to express an opinion about the bubbly med student oohing and aahing over his shoulder like she’d never seen such a sight before, most especially since she has her own and had been oogling other people’s who-who’s all day long.

Like most women I have my fair share of gynocologist horror stories. Thankfully they've been few and far between. One of my most memorable moments was some fifteen-odd years ago when I was being treated for a pre-cancerous cervical condition. I had to undergo an in-office procedure where they took off the top layer of diseased cells. The doctor was using a new piece of equipment. Suddenly he bolts from the room, mind you never saying a word, leaving the door wide open for the whole office to view me in my glory. The next thing I know every doctor in the practice is standing between my legs admiring the view. Seems the doctor was really excited about how well that equipment worked. Had I known we were going to have an audience I would have sold tickets and popcorn.

I've only had one doctor I was prepared to slap and he was only my doctor for that one visit. The man was past retirement, hands shaking, eyes glazed, looking like he was about to drop dead of a heart attack at any moment. I was new to the area and sadly, he'd come highly recommended. I didn't know speculums came in assorted sizes until this doctor. He started the exam with the wrong size and proceeded to test three others before he found one that fit. The moment wasn't pretty and I never went back again. Then I found Dr. Ira.

As beaverologists go, Dr. Ira is a woman's best friend. I swear he doesn’t forget a thing you tell him though I surely wish he would have forgotten one or two facts I’d been ill-advised to share with him over the years. Doc is quite the paternal figure with a keen sense of humor and a wealth of fatherly advice he dispenses along with his usual “lose some weight, chunky butt” spiel. Do you know that man even had the audacity to check obese on that damn checkout sheet they’ll send to my insurance company. And, why does my insurance company need to know that I’m bloated like a beached whale, anyway? Is that pertinent to getting them to pay the bill or what?

Now once I got past the embarrassment of having a relative stranger diddle with my do-goods, the doctor and I had a very nice conversation. And what I walked away with, besides a mammogram appointment to squeeze the girls in a torture device, was that I need to take better care of myself. The doctor reminded me that I deserve some of the attention I’ve been lavishing on everyone else. He reminded me that my health is as important as anyone else’s and this temple we call a body deserves some serious love and attention.

What I also took from the doctor was that my ‘situational’ stress was grossly impacting my physical health. The doctor told me to let my mess go or continue to suffer the consequences. Easier said than done is what I was prepared to say and then the doctor told me to get over myself. “Be well because you want to be,” he said. “Right now you have a choice. Next year you might not be so lucky.” He had a lot of other stuff to say as well and as I nodded and took it all in, I couldn’t help but think that if any doctor had to play with my goodies, I’m surely glad the good Dr. Ira is the one playing with mine.