When Will Smith made his way toward Chris Rock and struck him from a satisfied smirk in his soul, that was a signal for me I’d be getting rid of my infatuation with the swagger that was Will. Knocking the wind out of Chris’s sail, for only a sec. Pleased with himself, I’m sure. Willy walked away from the encounter and took his same seat at his same table and proceeded to enjoy the remaining Oscar goings on like the rest of us wanted to.. Including hearing his own name being called for Best Actor award. Denzel leapt. I reeled What the fucks? for a good thirty minutes. Will -looked the man with seven swords from any Tarot deck. Intelligent. Cunning. Went home with a prize, even. But was the five of swords in the flesh. A scoundrel, tricked by his conflict with a domineering person. That joke was not that fucking fatal, and Willy mindfully overreacted. Eager to humiliate and hurt. Chris was stellar like his tux. Jada was definitely domineering as she watched it all happen... see
An invisible thing called Post Concussion Syndrome makes the simplest of tasks require more effort of me . More effort to process your spoken or written words. More effort to formulate thoughtful words of my own. More effort to listen intently, and more effort to patiently contend with your challenges, let along my own. I’ve had all of this and more going on for two years since my head hit the bricks, and I've still managed to squeeze in some love for myself about the new condition of my temperament. Before TBI, I was a no none-sense kind of woman. I’m still her, with a sharper Third Eye that jumps right to the heart of things - as a matter of conservation. B.S., contradictions, confusion, trickery, deception, micro-aggressions, drunkenness, foolery, intimidations, egoism, sarcasm, racism, technicalities, and even innocent misunderstandings trigger protection of my eco-system.. Telling me do not engage. And I don’t (most times). Move on. And I do (most times). Results? Sola