DIJA'S SECOND ACT

Dear Lorenzo, When I was 18 years old I was dumped by my high school sweetheart, sending my world spinning on its axis and my entire sense of self-worth PLUMMETING. It was a despair I'd never before experienced and I had no idea what to do with the pain. One day, during my first summer break home from college, I sat in the living room listening to my parents chatting amiably and without warning, began to SOB. My parents looked on in shock while I ran to the bathroom to pull it together. A few minutes later my father knocked on the door. After allowing me time to cry in his arms, Daddy said something to me I've never forgotten. "You're going to get through this, Baby, you're going to be okay. Living well is the best revenge. Never forget that." And I never have. It remains one of the best pieces of advice I've ever been given.  (Side note, many years later I shared this story with my sister who replied, "Fuck THAT . Daddy was wrong about that one, REVE...

Dear Lorenzo, It's Friday, August 13th, 8:09 p.m. and I'm in bed, listening to music and half-heartedly watching an episode of BBQ Brawl on Food Network. I'm exhausted.  For the past five days I've gotten an average of four hours of sleep per night and I've finally figured out why. I haven't smoked since Sunday. That may not seem like a big deal to you but to someone who's smoked damn near every day since the pandemic began... It's a big fucking deal. For the past few months I've been telling anyone who'd listen that I was going to cut back. I'd make half-assed, haphazard plans to stop smoking that I knew damn well I wasn't going to keep. And by the end of each workday my black ass would be out on the back porch, blazing up.  But on Sunday night I just decided to do it, to detox for thirty days. And after months of agonizing about how hard this was going to be... So far I haven't missed it at all. Not the weed, not the alcohol, not ev...

Dear Lorenzo, It's 12:28 p.m. August 9th and I'm sitting down, eating my lunch (a big salad with blue cheese, walnuts, and two tablespoons of light balsamic dressing; only 10 WW points total!) listening to Tank and talking to you. The listening to Tank is the problem. I've been listening to Tank since my I'm-Ready-To-Move-Forward Memorial Day meltdown and haven't bothered listening to anything else since.  I'm stuck. I've been stuck. This is what I do when things are really bad. I freeze.  When I am hurt (or scared, which is the case here) I do my best to keep everything in my life exactly the same as it ever was. Monday through Friday I wake up, workout, put in my eight hours a day as a contract administrator and my twenty-four hours a day as Amira's mama. When work ends I walk my dog, cook and clean and watch TV before falling into a deep, Benadryl-maintained sleep for the rest of the evening. And my weekend routine is just as predictable. I clean my ...