Week 11: Last Will

I, Patricia Anne, being of brilliant, but underused and misdirected mind and “gettin’ better every day” body, do leave behind to the last 11 weeks the following gifts: I leave behind fear for the sake of fear and “not doing”.  The last 11 weeks can keep that. Life is too short to hold back on something because I have always been afraid it or for some other stupid reason. I have already left behind a 27 year standing fear of bridges and bones. Hopefully, I’ll have a lot more to leave behind in the future . . . I leave behind being Agent T of the Bureau of CAN (Catch a Nigga Cheating). I am handing in my badge and gun. My skills and tradecraft at this job will be used for other, WONDERFUL discoveries or to come to the aid of my sisters who need it. But, otherwise, Agent T is dead. If I gotta stakeout, stalk, and survey your ass, you are not worth my time. Period. . .I also leave behind the messy girl I was taught to be by my mother. I have a deep love for cleanliness but no talent to make it so.  I leave behind the disorganized teachings of a woman who never got much right– why should I believe she is right on her rules for keeping a house? . . . I leave being the Great Black King Search to the women still looking and to the Tricia of 11 weeks ago. I am the Black Queen. What do I need his ass for? And if one can manage to protect himself from the opposing white army of hoes and pawns, maybe at the end of the game he will find ME. But I am done looking. In the end, the queen has to make sure SHE doesn’t go down herself trying to build the castle. . . I also leave behind the flab. I have left a sizeable chunk of it already and now it is time to trim the remaining bits. This means hard work and sweat. (I was dreading this part.) I have been trying to reach the final frontier for MONTHS. Enough already. This means fine tuning the eating, cleansing out the junk and moving this ass. . .  which will inevitably lead me to the next thing I plan to leave– the smoking. . .  In summary, I leave behind the bad thoughts and the bad habits and the bad choices to much younger women who still have the time to make them. This girl does not. And Finally I leave behind the Lyric of the Week: “Fue un placer estar contigo, per sueltame, sueltame, sueltame, ya.” (Sueltame, DLG) May I never have to sing it again.

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