Join Me for A Night Off (& not on the town)

YeeHaww

Welcome to DPP, a weekly newsletter about the real life trials and tribulations of pleasing, and how I leverage emotional intelligence for proper recovery. Letters land on Tuesdays, please allow me a first-class seat with your inbox?

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It’s the day before thanksgiving. I don’t capitalize the holiday for a reason.

I’m working, and the plan is to leave the house (I work remotely) by 4:10p to get to August’s pre-school by 5p. His school is AH-MAZE-ING, we love his teachers, he has friends…it is such a special environment- but there’s the minor bummer that it’s several miles away from home. So I spent a good 45m-1 hour in traffic to get to my boy T-F each week. And that’s only one way. After collecting him, I have to get back, with a 4 year old. In traffic. Good times.

Omar happens to be at school, which is conveniently close to Augie’s school- so I ask him to please grab the child instead of me wasting away on the road for the next couple of hours. 🤞

He complies. 🎆

Stoked for some unplanned, “Me-time” I drag my heating-pad charger from my desk outlet over to the bed. I am going to SNUGGLE UP and take a NAP. There will be no toes in my nose, no snoring elephants on-site. RADICAL.

I drink some water, grab my most cherished and cozy blanket that was gifted to me by A Real One, who passed. If you’ve been here a while, you already know I’m talking about Nez. ♥️ Inez Ramos was one of my best friends. Anyone who knew her, really, truly, enjoyed her. She was so loved. Still is. Today would have been her birthday. I’m wearing the earrings her cousin made, that she gifted me from her family’s pow-wow for her tribe (Tejon- from Bakersfield, CA). I am thinking of her. I’m also thinking of Barbie, our other bestie, and how she is doing today. I think of Nez’s mom. Her siblings, and the web of people left to be here. Without her. I drift off.

It had to of been around 15 minutes into my sweet, luscious, desperately needed nap, that I was woken up by the MOST shocking, least soothing to the soul ring tone blaring at me like a siren from my phone. *Note to self: change that immediately.

I squeak: “hello??”

August: “Hi Mom!!! Let me FaceTime you!”

Me: “ohkayyyy” 😭

We FaceTime. I’m looking up his nostrils from the angle at which he holds the phone. Omar asks to talk to me. I get passed on FT through their fingers.

Turns out that answering the phone was the best decision I ever made. BONUS ALONE TIME?!

They are going to visit the cousins for a bit.

HALLELUJAH & AMEN.

I lay back down to take my nap. I stare at the ceiling. I can’t sleep anymore. CURSES. I decide to shower so that I don’t have to worry about washing my hair tomorrow, I’ll just get that pesky little chore over with now.

I return to my PJs, which consist of Omar’s “vintage” black Nike crewneck, and my black & white checkered PJ bottoms.

I ponder: I have time to write. We don’t have a lot of time to do that. Let’s get to it.

I set my intention: “Hello Universe- thanks so much for accepting my prayer to connect with you. I would like to write a story about something real from my life tonight with your help. I want the story to be true. I don’t want to say anything that would hurt anyone in my life. I am willing to be vulnerable, and peel back shadow layers of myself for my own development, and to share with my readers. Thank you again. See you soon. Love you, bye.”

Before opening a Substack draft, I am blasted with a familiar song filling my mind. I’ve heard this song before, but I never paid any attention to the lyrics, or caught the name. The insturmentals are THE MAIN CHARACTER. I am captivated by the music in my mind and need to hear this song - on Spotify, before all else.

One teeny, tiny, microscopic problem: I don’t know the name of the song. Oh yeah, and also I don’t have a SINGLE lyric memorized to help me search for it. All my brain can muster are the instrumentals, and I am becoming FERAL. I’ve been on the hunt for this song for several months. My patience, and faith in finding it, are slimming.

I open Spotify. Rack my brain for lyrics. Nothing. Think about the genre of the song. Is it R&B? Voice in my head: Nope. Think again: Is it rap? Nope again! THINKKKK.

I got it. It’s hip-hop. And it’s older hip-hop. It’s… 90’s hip-hop?

I plug “90’s hip-hop classics” into my search bar.

An amazing playlist is populated in front of my eyes. Biggie is there. But the song is not his.

I’m studying the song names. Looking for one that could possibly emulate the instruments I am hearing in my head, without knowing the DANG-BLASTED-LYRICS. When I find this tricky little minx, I am going to ADD TO FAVORITES the shit out of it. We are NEVER being separated again.

I see a song called “93 till Infinity”. I stop.

I think about Mac Miller.

Do you remember back up at my Intention setting prayer where I had told the Universe that I would be willing to be vulnerable? Well, that’s kickin’ in pretty hard right now.

I once had a rather embarrassing iPod-moment-of-shame in high school. A boy (of all humans) took my iPod off my desk and secretly listened to my songs while I was at another table being a studious little nerd for a school project! Upon me seeing that he had my iPod, and was listening to it, he shoved it back into my hands as I approached my desk. I was told my music “sucked” and he pointed out that I “didn’t even have Incubus or anything…” 💀

Since then, I have taken pride in sharing with pretty much NO ONE what my taste in music is. If anyone asks (which they don’t- but if they DID), I say I “like everything”. Classic people-pleaser in me. It would be WAYYYY too risky for you to actually know what I like before I know what music YOU like. I enjoy my beats SOLO.

So, me telling you about Mac Miller is kind of a big deal.

You should feel honored. 🤣

“Hi, My Name Is Kaylen Alexandra, and I am fan of Mac Miller.”

I have the title of his 2018 album, “Swimming” tattooed into the sleeve on my left arm. Sometimes I feel like my fan-dom(??) needs to be a secret because I am getting too old to love his music??? **Do other people think that when they find out?! He’ll forever be 26, and I’m now 33- so, tell me, when does it start to become too weird for me to be a fan?

Then I remember: I have taken a strong dose of internal clean-up, to break that voice down. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. I am allowed to enjoy ANY music I please. 🙏

Snap back to the present moment: Looking at the song on this playlist called, “93 till Infinity”

Maclom had a mix-tape called, “92 till Infinity”. He was born 1992. I wonder if this is where he got the inspiration for his song from. It has to be, right??? Wow, thinking that this here is the song that inspired his tape- let’s see what it’s about...

DEAREST BELOVED.

My friends.

I kid you not. THIS IS THE SONG. 😭 THIS IS IT. The one my brain had been itching to hear. I AM ASTOUNDED. And FILLED with REAL gratitude.

93 till Infinity. I love the way you sound.

I am jamming. Alone. Snuggled up with my blanket from Nez, a song that I am now telling myself inspired a legend¹, the VERY song I had been yearning for under treacherous song-search circumstances just moments ago. I AM HAPPY AS A CLAM.

I close my eyes and nod my head in unison to the beat.

Communing. I feel connected to Nez. On her birthday, she’s showering ME with gifts. I feel how this song influenced Mac.

Just, wow.

This is what I want to write about. *This* is the story. Thank you Universe!! Thank you Nezzy. ✨

Feeling a little hungry, I venture to the kitchen to enjoy a snack sans sticky fingers, spit, or toddler tears, and the front door bursts open: “Hiiiii Mom!!!!”

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Thanks so much for spending my night off with me. 💃

Thanks for honoring not one, but TWO souls on the other side. 🕊️🕊️

This is what the evening of a working mother-wife-HR rep on her night off looks like. This is how I spend my moments alone. I hope you enjoyed some of the saga! 💥

From ‘93 till infinity,

K. Alexandra

1. Don’t you dare correct me if I am wrong. Let me have this. Plz!