Wednesday Addams

Sooo what I’m boutta rap to y’all about this week? Usually, I come to you with some sob stories, but I don’t have no sobs for you today. I don’t think.


As I’m typing, my right lash is loose at the front. I’m a Broadway Wispies girl. 2.99 for the 3 pack! Gotta love the beauty supply. I thought about not fixing it, but I probably will because I can kinda feel it flapping on my eye a little bit. I wanna put some glue on it, but I don’t want my eyeballs to simmer into oblivion. I’ll have to figure something out. I really do LOVE lashes and I can’t believe I was ever living a life where I wasn’t wearing them regularly. Like. They’re SUCH a necessity now. Once I upgrade to mink, I’m changing my name.


Anywho. It’s Wednesday, my favorite day of the week. Why Wednesday? (Still funny). Wellll as I’m sure my Twidder followers are tired of seeing, Wednesday is my favorite day because you have the opportunity to be centered.

You can look back at Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday to see how far you’ve come. You can look forward to Thursday, Friday, and Saturday to get rest. It’s a day for clarity and preparation for newness. So many people just want to hurry up and get to the Friday of their lives when things are over when the most fertile ground is actually on the journey. I don’t wanna purge until I’ve gotten every gem that the week can offer.

Sentimentals aside :

After all, I’m not a regular mom. I’m a cool mom. Idk if I told y’all but I’m the only black person in my classes, cohort, and department. (I’m in grad school at GW in the Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies program. I’m bout this free black woman life).

Coming from where I’m from, black girl magic and community love is everywhere and you kee kee with your friends before class. You send memes and gifs in the groupchat during class. The professor is mad because everybody cracking jokes. And after, you walk to the caf together. Girls are asking each other where they got they weave. Complimenting one another on they nails. One girl actually DID nails (hey Toni!). Somebody inviting you to campus ministries (hey Ashley!). There’s the athlete in the back, there so they wouldn’t get fined. The militant Lauryn Hill type. There’s the student leaders, too important for their own good. The girl in class who did the ABSOLUTE MOST (that was me), beat for the gawds, with a heel on who quoted Trina lyrics in discussion responses. Because extra is life. Always arguing about “light skin/darkskin” because people just discovering colorism. It was amazing. The levels of black excellence in the room were unmatched.

I know, I know. Graduate school isn’t undergrad. But everyone is… well. Not Black. Lmfao. And I’m blackity black. Not just black but like, REAL REAL BLACK. They’re laughing at my jokes, but they don’t know why what I said was funny. They don’t know nan nigga. They just laughing because I’m the sassy, quirky, “real,” “honest,” black girl.

Before class, they talk about some gentrified event I didn’t go to because I’m actually from D.C. After class, they pack up and leave. With each other. I’m in this love affair with academe where they act like they love me, but much like my ancestors, my presence is a tolerable pleasure point. To be discarded post-orgasm. I bring provocative ideas. I cuss. I roll my neck and talk with my hands. I’m a credit to my race. I’m smart. I talk about how I’m a single mom who comes from generations of single moms but we overcome! I’m spicy!

But this is the Wednesday of my professional academic career. I’ve past the Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday of undergraduate study, at an epicenter of an HBCU. Aggie Pride, rude people in financial aid and all. I was cultivated and raised to speak up for myself, show up on time and dressed, and don’t let nobody turn me into no cripple.

I’m on my way to the Thursday, Friday, and Saturday which will be doctoral study, tenure track, department chair, professor emerita. When I’ll get to rest (I know it’s laughable, let me dream). When I’ll get to love on my babies, have office hours that feel like Oprah episodes, and ask about ya mama ‘nem. I may be here now, but one day I’ll get to go home and be with my Lorddddddd.

The continuation of Thursday will come.

The relief of Friday will come.

The celebratory Saturday will come.

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭4:16‬ ‭- Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.

His mercies are fresh every morning.

Kiss the baby for me.

xoxo, Patty.

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