Song of the Week- You Got Me

I'm not sure if I have adequately conveyed how much of an impact music has on my life. I've had a love affair with music since I was a child. The first song I remember loving was Toni Braxton's "Seven Whole Days". Ah, the memories. And still today, everything around me can change but my love for music has always remained a constant. I know I sometimes link to a song here and there but I thought I would start regularly memorializing some of the songs that I love. This is kind of a big deal for me because I like to keep songs that most people don't know about as my own little hidden treasures, but I am willing to share....a few.

This is a song that I listen to at least two to three times a week. It's from a live show that was obviously unbelievable. Each time I listen I wish so bad that I had been at the show. I respect the song because it also speaks to the politics behind the music industry. Erykah badu got the privilege to record the studio version and take the credit but Jill Scott was the one that wrote the song. The politics. The politics. Which version do you prefer? Erykah's or Jill's?

Hello, Lover

Lets start with the obvious--It's been over half a year since I last posted. And with that, I might possibly be the worst blogger. Ever. Yet, whenever propositioned, and yes its a proposition not just an inquiry, of "Ericccca, when are you doing your next post?" I feel an imminent and powerful surge of guilt but just as quickly as it comes it quickly dissipates. Simply, I knew that I had nothing to say, even answering inquiries of my negligent posting as being the reason why. I had nothing to say. I have been in this awkward dichotomous place of being silent but still in continuous states of speech. I speak--but with every word feel a looming "Is this true? Do I know what I'm talking about?" I could reason that my disability with speech comes from both this metaphysical and literal place of transitioning I find myself in.

One friend told me to write about having nothing to say. Write about having nothing to say? I considered it. Still, I likened that to all the times I ever called exes to tell them that I would never be calling them again. And just like the times that I did that--if I wrote to say I had nothing to say I would be doing exactly what I was saying I would not be doing and at the same time trying to create an opportunity for something to change my mind. I would have been looking to use this cathartic place to miraculously help me articulate what I was feeling--instead of using this space to articulate what I already knew to be true. But that was just it, and still is, in this place of transition a definitive stagnant truth seems to be unattainable. So--I comfortably say I have no clue what I'm talking about. No clue. I think I can comfortably sit in this place because I am in an environment with such dogmatic people that I have grown tired of arguing just for arguments sake. It's an exhausting pursuit to be right all the time. Ironically, I think the same people that bark the loudest have the loudest internal voice saying "Is this true? Do I know what I'm talking about?" Or maybe, I am just projecting my internal voice onto them.

When I blog, all I know to be true is that the words I write are my truth and a product of where I am within the very second that it sparks in my brain reaches my fingertips to type and appears on the screen. It's a fleeting few seconds--and then that truth is either irrelevant or in the process of evolving. So, I come here only to say:

"Hello, Lover."

I say it in the same way that I first heard it. Carrie Bradshaw, of my favorite television series Sex and the City half sang it as she stood outside a store window looking down at some shoes she admired. I say it in the same way she did, whimsically, coyly. And I say that to all my readers who have missed my random musings. It's good to be back. "Hello, Lover."