There’s a new issue of my newsletter, off the record, out.
This is a follow up to last week’s piece, “I’m ready to be a ‘Soft Black Girl.'” I talk about the process I’m going through right now, dealing with both my depressive episode and the thing that triggered it.
This is where I tell you that if you haven’t already subscribed to my newsletter, you should ASAP.
But there’s more…
Prepare for the TMI.
This morning, I had an appointment for a pap smear. I want you to know how traumatic this was for me.
The appointment was first thing in the morning at 8:45. Who wants to start their morning like this? Absolutely no one, but that was the only time available for this visit. So fine, I went.
Let me just say that things have changed at the doctor’s office. Instead of a cotton gown, I got this paper…cape? I don’t know how else to describe it. The medical assistant said, “It’s like a t-shirt. The opening goes in the front.”
Girl. Between how small the shit was and these big ass titties, it fit more like a cute little paper capelet. They also gave me a paper, “blanket” to cover the rest of myself with, and um, yeah. No.
Anyway, my doctor tried to be as gentle as possible, but there is no such thing as “gentle” when a speculum is involved. That shit hurts — and not in the same way good dick hurts either.
Once she got it all the way up in there and spread me apart so she could see my cervix, everything else went pretty easy. I’m alive. She didn’t see anything visibly wrong, and that was a good sign.
I told her I am definitely over the heavy periods, and I would like to explore my options for bringing that shit to an immediate stop, and she gave me her thoughts on which options might be best for me. She wants to wait and see what happens when my results and bloodwork come back, but I think I am going for an IUD if it is still an option. Yes, the insertion is invasive and painful from what I’ve heard, but give me some pain pills and a person to drive me home, and I’ll be fine. Seriously.
This is my jam right now. As I said on social media, it appeals to my inner ratchet hoochie.
I’m keeping my eye on GloRilla. She is so damn Memphis. I appreciate her cockiness on the mic, because when you see her with other people, there is an honest humility about her. I like her.
I hope Megan Thee Stallion is somewhere being loved on and cared for. I hope she has some semblance of peace.
No pictures. It wasn’t that kind of day today.
*I was freshly waxed, and I was happy. That pap could have been so much worse.