I can’t imagine a world in which I am not moved so deeply, so intensely, by music. In the nature vs nurture framework, I vote it’s both for me. So thanks to my dad for always playing music in the house, in the car, everywhere. I love you, best guy.
“Don’t let this darkness fool you / All lights turned off can be turned on”
The way I gave June 2024 such a bad rap because I was caught up in attempting my first “hoe szn” but still attracting (much to my dismay) the lover boys is laughable. Albeit, not much laughter was being had on my part because the persistent residue of people pleasing rearing its ugly head at every “hey, just checking in… you haven’t responded for a while” text from boys 2, 3, and 4 simultaneously drained me. And not in the fun way.
If you choose to misunderstand me at this point and write it off as another opportunity for Losa to braaaaaaag ahout all the pull she has and how the men folk just can’t get enough of her; I’m not going to correct ya. Cause it’s not like you’re entirely wrong. I mean who else writes pages and pages of words about their own life and sends it off into the internet ethers to exist forever in her digital footprint, if not someone who wants a little kudos for changing her ways? Or maybe you’re just projecting. Who knows.
Any way you slice it, the first nine days of July 2024 were spent with an array of not-lover boys. Precisely how I planned it— truly. If it’s not already glaringly obvious, I don’t do much without intense thought, anticipation and strategy beforehand. So of course that energy is kept when I’m in my discovery channel mode wherein the fun, sexy data MUST be collected. I don’t make the rules!! (I do, I just love exclaiming that I don’t with a girlie shrug and kissy wink).
My best friend had this to say on the week or so of debauchery: “well, the life of a hoe has many seasons”. As we cackled about my adventures that had me coming home with the sunrise every morning, I felt proud. Proud of myself for doing exactly what I wanted to do, precisely when I wanted to do it. Because as we all know, the body keeps the score. So I knew that mine would be having a tough go, filled with tension and ready to snap between July 1-July 9. So whaaaaat, we scheduled some… tension relief? It’s called being prepared, baby.
“Oh, dear, don’t be discouraged / I’ve been exactly where you are”
The first week of July last year changed everything. I’d booked a trip to DC to visit some friends (read: seek refuge in a completely new place because my favorite coping mechanism is escape in the form of geographical relocation). I saw friends I hadn’t seen in a gazillion years, ate delicious food, tried yummy drinks, and watched a concert on the Capitol Steps (shout out to my girl Mo, thanks for the hookup sister! <3). I sweat my body weight wandering around in the blessed humidity, reverenced the National Museum of African American History & Culture (only museum I visited LOL), went to my first club with a complete stranger, and bought my favorite hat at a bookstore I declared my second home.
It had been a couple months since we had sat side by side on our bright blue IKEA couch, in the house we (I?) bought and filed for divorce online. You can do that when you don’t have (living) children. Technology, what a gift.
When I got back from my trip, I felt the humidity reluctantly leech out of my body. The dry heat sucked the remaining life from me as I hopped off the plane and into my car to drive home. As I sat in my silent house (read: mausoleum), I checked my email for the millionth time to see if my inquiry had been answered.
“Throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason”
I stopped wearing my ring months earlier, so it wasn’t like I finally had to take it off in July when I read the single line email response. There was no stark line on my finger that stood out against my recently tanned skin thanks to a few summer days in DC. There was no announcement to be made online. No RSVPs to send like at the start of it all seven years ago. Just a text to notify him. A reply to ask about getting the hard copies. And an empty house, void of sound but somehow the loudest place I’ve ever existed in.
It’s funny, there are so many books directed towards women in the breakup/relationship realm. I believe that black hole is called “Self-Help” in most bookstores. I didn’t read a single one. Instead, I read at least 172 books in 2023 (I say “at least” because that was only the kindle count. No idea how many hard copy books I read).
Here’s my book rec list if anything in this week’s essayette tugged at a heart string, rang a bell, or generally had you sobbing on the floor of your empty living room, having crumpled into a heap of emotional exhaustion after realizing you set your life of fire because the arctic tundra you lived in was burning you from the inside out:
And the book that inspired this here publication:
To you, to myself this time last year, to me in the future if I ever read this again:
Oh, honey, this too shall pass.
Rooting for you, always.
x losa
ps, Noah Kahan has been the soundtrack of my emotional rollercoasters for years. I’m soooo happy to see him everywhere and doing collabs with everyone. The song I quoted in this essayette is titled “Call Your Mom”.