Marriage – The Office Black Girl

No Job, New Content

April 20, 2020by The Office Black GirlLeave a Comment

Almost a month ago, I lost my job due to the massive impact of the coronavirus on the restaurant industry. While I was not surprised to be let go, it is inevitable repeat of history that causes me the most stress.

I never wanted to be a stay at home mom. In fact, my mom spent many of my informative years telling me not to become one despite her unfortunate fate of becoming a housewife.

Over the length of my child’s life, I have spent massive amounts of time being a stay at home mom. While I am eternally grateful to be able to spend time with my son when he was a baby/toddler, there are definitely moments when I felt I made a terrible mistake in becoming dependent on my husband financially.

I have no intention of arguing the point of feminism or what “real men” should do for their family. But from a personal perspective, I think motherhood creates sacrifices that we are often not prepared for mentally or financially.

It is those moments where you feel guilt for spending money that you did not specifically earn or when your value feels reduced to the cleanliness of the house. And that is putting it all mildly.

While I am thankful to still be able to pay my bills and even to have the time to focus on new things, there is a creeping anxiety of being reminded that I no longer work but my husband does.

As I try to pivot once again, I have decided to (try) and pursue my original love: storytelling. Since I know longer work in an office, I thought maybe I could change the direction of this blog for a bit to a story. We will see how this goes.

How are you doing during this pandemic?

Married Life, Office Stories

Turkey Basting With a Married Man

August 5, 2019August 8, 2019by The Office Black GirlLeave a Comment

In today’s post, I want to share the recipe for making a turkey baster baby with a married man.

Step One: take two lesbians who want to have a baby. Make sure one of the lesbians is possibly foolish and willing to bleed in her pursuit of securing the turkey baster full of sperm.

Step Two: have the foolish lesbian ask her coworker if she could have his sperm. For a little extra excitement to the process, make sure the lesbian barely knows the coworker, he has at least one kid, and is married to a woman who can come unhinged if provoked.

Step Three: abandon the whole recipe cause the wife will kill the lesbian and possibly the husband if any of his sperm makes it to a turkey baster.

Now, I have no moral or religious convictions that cause me to judge a same sex couple from trying to produce a child with a blood line tied to one of the parents. With that said, I have many judgments about my husband’s coworker asking for his sperm.

Now, my husband said no of course, but not before considering his mother’s feelings about the situation. The fact that his mother somehow played any primary factor in his decision making only fueled my annoyance with the the sperm request. But I’ve decided to (finally) let that go and focus my judgement on his coworker and not his incorrect priorities..

Women get knocked up by one night stands from all walks of life, so maybe his coworker figured she didn’t have to know anything about her sperm donor in order to get pregnant.

Maybe she thought negative stereotypes of black men abandoning their children would allow for her to have a child with a man and him be okay with not being involved.

Or maybe she must have thought that her working at the same job as him would somehow provoke the idea that she could somehow afford the sperm of a married man (trust she is not even close).

But all of that is irrelevant, because at the end of the day what it is comes down to is simple: that sperm is mine. Mine to disappointment my mother in law with when I tell her I don’t want to have more kids. Mine to fear when I forget to take my birth control. Mine to spit up, gag on, or fuck up my good sheets.

In conclusion…

This recipe pairs well with slashed tires, hostile side eye, possible assault charges, and crushed dreams. Wash it down with some hot tea and enjoy!

Uncategorized

Appearing Unbothered When You May Be Dead Inside

August 2, 2019by The Office Black Girl4 Comments

It has been weeks since my last post and that was not intentional. I have several posts sitting in draft status, waiting to share the depths and shallowness of my inner thoughts.

But like so many things in my life, I get overwhelmed by my own goals and dreams. Then sprinkle that with some personal drama and depression and I easily lose focus. However, it is my current dance with depression that is motivating me to blog today.

There is something about being a black woman in the world (office included) that makes you feel the need to put on any face that can’t be read as weak. Usually, many see the face of what some may deem as a bitch. But my favorite is the one that is hard to read. You can’t tell what I am thinking or feeling behind my expression and behind that face is my safe space.

After a long day of maintaining this face while on the inside I was breaking down, I am forced to put it back on despite a mini break.

I sit on the couch, alone, where the only sense of light is a lamp I am too lazy to turn off and the sound of the a/c drowns out the soft noise of my husband’s snores. But even in the near darkness and loneliness, I can’t take this mask off.

While sleep may have found him, she is somewhere beyond my current comprehension. Probably being smothered by the thoughts of my current marital and personal struggles. See I can’t go to sleep because she doesn’t want to fight hard enough to save me or herself. So I sit here typing while my thoughts turn into a poison paralyzing my body, preventing me from getting up and going to bed. A bed that tells me I am unwelcome despite the vacancy sign.

I’ve spent most of my adult life consciously and unconsciously training for this persona of unbotheredness. While depression has consumed me at times to the point of almost no return, I never let anyone see it who I didn’t want to see. My soul may have been dying, but on the outside no one knew.

I have no intention of opening myself up to strangers……well beyond the the anonymity of this blog. Or suddenly becoming a healthy, well-functioning adult, though my friends may argue my lacking in that department makes me a good story teller. But I am working on myself everyday. Baby steps.

That first step is finishing a blog post before the poison works its way down to my fingers. Because writing (blogging) is important to me. When I was young writing and reading were like my only friends. My husband used to tell me he feel in love with my words and that I was surgical with them. Though now it seems as though my precision is more of a negative in his eyes than a romantic notion these days, but that is a battle for another day.

It is almost time for bed, maybe a sleeping pill will help free sleep from its bondage. Guess we will soon find out 😉