You office workers will understand when I type the below:

Today was like a day from the damn ER.

First, let me tell you that I live with about nine personalities. At least three of them are mine. Four of them are Yaze’s and Harlem the dog gets two. Today, I woke up with mellow Tara with the period cramps…mild though, nothing like a toddler kicking you in your tummy. Not like that. So I was good. I got up early. Walked the dog. Had coffee. Lamented on the lovely sunrise….life was nice and easy. I even thought that Mellow Yaze woke up too.

Except he got switched with Cranky Yaze in the elevator when I wasn’t looking. Cranky I Hate Working Yaze drove me to work and we sat in a silence. I was Mellow Tara which also means Oblivious Tara. Having one’s period sometimes makes you about four steps behind the flow of things, you know. But you’re okay with that. Because you’re mellow.

First bee in my bonnet: cranky boss. My boss is a nice guy. He reads. We talk about books. He’s young. He makes jokes. Except when he’s cranky. And then he’s like a fussy baby. But Mellow Tara doesn’t get along with fussy babies. Because Mellow Tara like to stay in bed, drink wine, eat cheese and flip the remote seven hundred times. And that’s all. Nothing else. Cranky Boss likes to sigh and be exasperated. And Mellow Tara ain’t having it. So Mellow Tara turns into ‘Tude Tara. Which is fine considering what’s about to happen next.

In the midst of my scheduling a very very very busy executive’s calendar with about four million people who NEED to speak to me and him at that moment, Cranky Yaze writes a blog about our morning seen through his eyes which ‘Tude Tara hates for a few reasons: 1) He IM’d me about it like he was saying, “Hey baby, I just planted a tree…go on out to the yard and check it out.” 2) Some girl done already commented that it sounds like me and him need space from each other from what he’s writing. 3) I have never ever kever wever sever tever lever liked it when somebody puts me naked on stage. Dude, this is a plublic BLOG! That means everyone can read it. If you want a diary, write it down like the old folks used to do it. I mean do we think Jimmy Baldwin would write about his love life on the internet? NO! He’d be like, “Angela, if they come for you in the morning, then they’re coming for the rest of us at night!” (If you don’t get that, google James Baldwin and read his open letter to Angela Davis–edumacation section).

It gets worse. We fight. On IM. Which is the worst place to fight. Because one of us might as well be typing Greek and the other Korean because NOBODY understands a fight over IM. I’ve been in plenty of them. All you do is curse your fingers for being too slippery/fat/fast to type what you really mean so you type like an illiterate chamber maid trying to craft out “Beloved.” At some point, I give up. Because you can’t win on IM. I’m too busy trying to point out that I’m not demon woman who wants to put a bandaid on Cranky Yaze’s mood swings and he’s too busy telling me that I’m not brutally honest enough. I mean seriously. We’d have more success if we talked about whether or not those were dynamite sticks in North Korea.

I am not sure when the tide shifted today. It could have been when this assistant in New York asked me to come to a meeting instead of my boss so we could eat all the cookies out of the conference room or it could have been when I told her that I love her like cake without calories but either way I laughed my ass off and life became good again.

Then Cranky Yaze turned into Afternoon Yaze, who’s one of my favorites, I have to say. He’s the one who’s sending me music and telling me he’s not leaving no matter what and that he knows the solution to all his problems so therefore he’s finally prepared to hustled up, make music so we can live in a mansion. Fine by me.

THEN, I go downstairs to get this really big time non famous music person for a meeting. We lement on how crazy it is the UPS literally delivered him an EMPTY damn envelope that I sent that used to contain a book we wanted him to have. He then tells me this great story about how he tried to ship some expensive rare albums by Fedex. By this time, we are at the conference room. Bosses are all around. Famous Music Person will not stop talking to me. He wants me to hear his story! He ignores bosses who shuffle around him. HA!

What is the point of this tirade?

I EXIST…DAMMIT!