Blog

A Bedtime Poem

Once Alex is out of the tub, I turn off the lights, rub cocoa butter on her, put her in jammies then tell her why she should be excited about bedtime. I usually like to tell her she will have beautiful dreams with rainbows, bunnies, etc. You know, toddler shit.

It had been a long day, but Alex showed no signs of being sleepy. Then, a poem came to me, and I thought I would share it with you.

The moon is asleep

The stars are asleep

The trees are asleep

The flowers are asleep

The butterflies are asleep

Everyone is asleep, but your ass.

I think I have a future as both a poet and children’s author.

The 3 Deadly Ps: Perception, Perfection & Productivity

Disclaimer: I think it’s important to note that I am not dead dead. Do not write a thought-provoking post about how I was an inspiration when you know I didn’t like you like that. I will block you.

You are reading my obituary. Because I am dead, I didn’t get the opportunity to write my invite list so I hope I like whoever is reading this.

There isn’t one particular event that caused my death but most things can be tracked back to childhood. To make a long story short, I was about five when I decided I didn’t want to be broke. At that time and well into adulthood, I thought I would be an artist (although I did little outside of daydreaming about being one).

Like many others, Hurricane Katrina had a major impact on me. In addition to loss, it was that experience that made me take school seriously. I needed to be able to take care of myself and possibly others. If I was going to take something seriously (that I never really wanted), it needed to benefit me. After all, I got student loans for this.

I worked hard to secure both an internship then fulltime employment once I graduated. To ensure my advancement, I enrolled in graduate school and whenever I lacked experience in something, I joined a professional organization. I was an active member in several which not only benefited me but often its baby boomer leadership.

I didn’t completely hate everything I did but ran into a pattern of excitement for something new then disappointment for the usual reasons: management, coworkers, environment, lack of resources, etc. Of course, experiences come with lessons but I needed something tangible and when I didn’t get it, I became resentful, angry, and all the other fun emotions that make life a living hell.

Getting knocked up was another event that changed me. Besides the obvious reasons, it forced me to asked questions that can be summarized into three words. Spoiler alert: They are in the title. First, why was perception so important to me? Interestingly, the more I tried to protect my reputation, the more I would experience situations that drug my name through the mud. They include but are not limited to sleeping my way into subpar positions, nepotism, incompetency, sexual harassment, etc.

Universally, I think most black women are programmed to be perfect. That’s evident and how many of us are educated, underemployed, and turning towards entrepreneurship. In addition to education, my work experience, and extracurricular activities, I had to be cognizant of what I wear, what to say, when to say it, or if I should say it. Some people would be surprised to know that I heavily filter myself.

Last but certainly not least, I have to be productive every waking minute. Fun fact: I wrote this on my lunch break. If there is any free minute between work and family, I should be working on my dissertation. Obviously, that should be sufficient but I have all these side hustles, things that I have volunteered for or things that have volunteered me, and a laundry list of stuff that roll into the next week because I didn’t complete them the previous week. The audacity of me to want to take a break, sleep, watch TV, or skip a meetup, event, or conference (that likely features the same 20 people).

And, you know what sucks? No one told me to do this. Maybe someone told you but my parents and grandparents never told me to do any of these things. Interestingly, they have always advocated for me to lighten my load. So, imagine my surprise when I realized I killed myself. And, while there is a shitload of people that have wronged me (and will be featured in my tell-all), if I lived more authentically, validated myself, and sought happiness outside of my employer, you wouldn’t be wearing my face on a t-shirt with angel wings (which I strictly prohibited).

But, what can I do? I have wasted enough time on the past and am looking forward to thriving on the other side. There is better food here.

This Meeting Could've Been an Email

Disclaimer: I am a millennial and have realized that meetings are incredibly triggering and can lead to an instant level of rage. Please note I am an expert, always right, and am not biased. This blogpost is completely objective and is supported by my extensive research and evaluation of my own experiences.

Where was I? Oh, I hate meetings. They are often a waste of time and resources. Of all things in life, my time is one of the most important things because it’s something I can never get back but people are often inexperienced in: (1) Is this meeting necessary; and (2) If it is necessary, how do I make sure I am not wasting everyone’s time?

Meetings are not a time for bonding, because you desire human interaction, or to discuss something that’s already been discussed in the last ten meetings. You don’t notice the pattern of unproductive meetings so you schedule another unproductive meeting which makes me have to call my husband on my lunch break to vent but he’s probably agitated cause he just left his unproductive meeting. You are ruining our lives!

Maybe take the time to determine if a meeting is necessary, gauge the possible attendees. If a meeting is necessary for brainstorming, suggest brainstorming before the meeting, coming with ideas in tow, then making some decisions once at the meeting. If you are charged with something but think a meeting is necessary, think about getting input from your colleagues first. Email them, catch them in the breakroom while they’re sneaking their second glazed donut, or pop into their office. Is it fair for everyone to take an hour out of their busy schedules to discuss something that’s your job? No. The answer is no. A former boss once said “give me solutions, not problems” which means try to figure that shit out first. And, I live by that. Unless you work in IT. If you work in IT, I will not figure that shit out first. I will call you first, roll my eyes when you tell me to turn my computer off then on; although, in most cases, that’s the best solution.

Ok, let's say you do need that meeting. Set an agenda, send that agenda, ask if anything needs to be added, set a time, start on time, end on time then send minutes. Your agenda should include the next steps, the person responsible, and maybe a timeline to complete associated tasks. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

Side note: Meetings can be unavoidable. An unavoidable meeting is what triggered the inspiration behind this post. Do not get fired, I do not have any money. I am not an expert, am not always right, and am bias. This blogpost is completely subjective and is not supported by any research.

In the next episode of “What Triggers Ashlee,” I will discuss signs this phone call could’ve been a text.

When Life Gives You Lemons

When life gives you lemons, cut them in half then apply to your armpits to neutralize the sweat.

I experience the most random situations; as a result, I can’t help but use them as a time of reflection. Most recently, an eczema outbreak that covered my neck, chest, and armpits. Like, who gets an outbreak there?

Unfortunately, the area started to flare and became super itchy so to prevent from scratching in front of my colleagues and possibly being reported to human resources, I scheduled a doctor’s appointment.

After a quick visit, I was prescribed three medications then got the worst news of my adult life. Brace yourselves. I could not use deodorant for a week! Living in one of the hottest and humid locations on earth? The neighboring state to the fiery pits of hell? Obviously, I thought about suing the physician but didn’t have the time or money. I am not very liquid at the moment.

So, I left and set out to conquer this challenge. This challenge would not conquer me. I kept replaying this diagnosis over and over in my head but figured there were some steps I needed to take if I wanted to get through this.

Step 1: Forgive myself and take the medication, as prescribed.

Step 2: A moment of vulnerability even Brené Brown would be proud of. Anyway, I told my colleagues that I could not participate in outdoor happy hour because I did not want to be musty.

Step 3: Per my husband’s instructions, to stop sniffing myself. Worse, to stop asking him to sniff my pits. Triple worse, to stop asking my one-year-old (who doesn’t know what sniffing is) to sniff my pits.

It’s almost a week and I have come this far to serve as a testimony. Sometimes, we as humans need to know we are not alone. I am not alone and you are not alone. Obviously, I am now a better person, better listener, and have even limited how often I roll my eyes. I hope you’ve learned something too.

Small print: It’s highly likely that my outbreak was triggered by stress and gluten. I have not learned my lesson. I will not change. I am a thug.