in-ten-tio-nal

done on purpose; deliberate

"intentional wrongdoing and harm"

Have you ever said or were on receiving end of, "I didn't intend for that to happen?" Think about it for a moment. If that small phrase has never been a part of your vocabulary, count it a blessing. I guess its not drastic if you've said it after you burned eggs, or shrunk an article of clothing by mistake. We never intend for anything bad to happen; especially if its the misfortune of an act that directly affects me, you, or I. 

Intentional intentions are usually directed towards someone you subconsciously want to hurt, but didn't intend to. Hurtful words that have been rehearsed and repeated silently over and over, meticulously waiting for the right moment to intentionally shatter someone to the core.

Do we ever intend to assassinate a relationship? To the inner depths of its being? Yes.We.Do. We want it to be over. We want it to be done. Finished. Poof be gone. Still, the thought that settles in our mind after the decapitating blow is blasted, the thought that rises up and down like a see saw; knowing it will crash to the ground and cause pain to the person on the receiving end is, we didn't intend for that to happen.

I didn't intend to tell you I love you. I should have been more intentional and focused on the truth. Giving someone a false sense of belonging is an illustration of a malfunctioning character trait. A flaw. An intentional motive that results in you always being the benefactor is one of those, "I didn't mean for that to happen," scenarios. At least one of us is happy, right? And when it comes right down to it being happy is what really matters. It doesn't matter if that happiness if for self preservation within a relationship, right? Gotta take care of yourself first before you can take care of anyone or anything else. You have to intentionally intend to take care of yourself.

The domino effect is a prime example of intentional intentions. Hours or even days are spent constructing a design that takes a few minutes to fall. Think of the joy that's felt as we meticulously watch the design fall, piece by piece, continuing on until all the soldiers are at parade rest.

"It just happened," equals intentional intentions. "I don't know why I did that," equals intentional intentions. Making a choice equals intentional intentions. Big sin, little sin, everywhere a sin sin, equals intentional intentions. The flesh is weak equals intentional intentions. Is there a cure? Possibly, but most times we don't want it until the target is hit. 

It's easy to say think before you speak or put a plan in to motion. For myself I do, and still  orchestrate intentionally. A favorite line, excuse or half hearted apology is, "God is not through with me yet." Maybe so, but if you don't want it done to you, don't do it to anyone else. Will that stop us from hurting someone that we didn't mean to hurt? I can't answer that, I'm just writing out loud. It's something to think about, though. Intentional intentions...oooooooooooooweeeeeee...

I love you.

Does Not Apply

We attach and detach ourselves to life situations based on how we feel about them. Joyous occasions that we didn't physically participate in become a part of our narrative solely because the recipient of our fabricated tales become happy as we talk about it. We pick and choose which parts of our actuality to share, limiting the words that shame us and suppressing feelings that burn our insides like heated acid poured slowly on an open wound. Our friends and acquaintances view our life like an Oscar winning movie they wish they had the honor to star in. Lie. Deceit. Hmmmmm, harsh words indeed, but not necessarily needed to describe the art you choose to imitate your life. I chose art that I halfway interpreted. Many times I shorted myself and illustrated it one fourth of the way. It would seem if I was honest with myself that feeling of acid wouldn't have burned so long nor flared up intermittently. 

I never thought of myself as a victim of domestic violence. That's something that happened to other women. They got beat up. They got jumped on. They got cussed out, slapped and belittled. They were made to feel 100% less than the women they are. You're the pretty adjective woman that he fell in love with until that gorilla beast fist connects with your face. Then you become the adverb. Pretty ugly. Pretty dumb. Pretty insignificant.

Domestic violence didn't happen to me because it didn't happen on the regular. I got my first black eye when I was 21 and my second one when I was 48. Reading it sounds like I received medals. No need for flair or the description regarding the particulars, however one of my opponents did say, 

"The reason why you got punched in the face is because..." 

Negro, what? And that's negro with a short I, two G's and a short A. I will say that writing it and thinking about it doesn't hurt anymore. What happened during the years in between is not something I'll go into detail about, yet I remember the irregular, regular occurrences.

Recently I had a conversation with someone that opened my mind to my does not apply mentality. It wasn't that domestic violence did not apply; it's the hurt, shame, sick in your pit, shock and embarrassment that comes with it. How do you recover from that?  One negro, and that's negro with an I, two G's and an A, hit me in my face while we were at work and then walked off. My coworker walked up and asked me did he hit me. I said no, smiled and proceeded to work as if nothing happened. Sick in my pit and holding tears of shame. Telling yourself your truth enables you to not allow anyone else to assist you with their lie. You're still here and you're beautiful.

My realization has been a long time coming. Each relationship would be different. Better. Make it last forever. Girl...well, I'm divorced, single, and I'm still here. 

As you take self inventory check what does not apply in your life. Is it there or not there because you made the decision, or is it due to someone else's inadequacies? A black eye, a busted lip, and mental gymnastics that are not sport regulated do not define you. Forgive yourself. Forgive the who, what, where, when and how. Live my friend...live.

The picture I chose to accompany this post was taken by my mother when I was 18. We were in my brother's room waiting for my friends to come get me to go to the Monte Carlo club in Niagara Falls. My father kept this picture in a frame on the coffee table that was in front of the couch he sat on nightly. He looked at it EVERYDAY and said how pretty is babygirl is. This was before I allowed so many does not apply foolishness to suffocate me while still breathing. The girl in the picture is here and moving forward. The smile on my 18 year old face is now in the pit of my 57 year old body. Does Not Apply...oooooooooooooweeeee...Ain't God GOOD?

I luv you.