Monday the Ninth

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I got wrapped up in helping a friend last night and forgot to post this. Mea Culpa. Here’s yesterday’s post:

I’m trying to stop saying things like, “I can’t believe the day has finally come” because I do believe that what I fully and completely believe is made manifest. I am delighted to flying to New York tomorrow to pick up where I left off a year ago.

I’m sad to be saying goodbye to my loved ones here in Alabama. In fact, I’ll be back in March to drive my pets and whatever furniture I decide that I want there back up to New York. Up. To New York.

I’m sick of hearing about American Sniper. I’m sick of the fucking bigots who oppose my equality as an American citizen.

I’ve not packed anything. I’ll probably pack for this first month and a half in New York like I packed for Sundance Film Festival. I’m going to wake up at 05:00 tomorrow morning to pack.

I’m continuing my recovery from underearning. I’m just taking baby steps right now, trying not to debt one day at a time, pushing through my fears, reaching out for help, asking questions of those who’ve gone before me in recovery and— well, I won’t lie, I’ve not been tracking my time. It’s seemed so weird to try to do so while I’m in such a state of transit.

The picture attached to this blog is the beautiful painting that my friend Jin Swafford, a gifted and talented artist, gave me as a going away present. You may envy me now.

Either God is everything or God is nothing. When this New York thing happens, it will be because God. That’s why. Because God. And even though I abhor most human concepts of what that word represents, I refuse to surrender it. Honey, God didn’t make Roy Moore do that shit to me— that was something else. I will succeed because God. I will succeed because Love.

See y’all tomorrow.


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