infinitely curious & painfully nostalgic.
send emails to: email@example.com
IT’S MY LONG WEEKEND
I’M GOING TO MARDI GRAS
YOU ARE NOT MY CLIENTS
YOU DO NOT EXIST
flew solo on the final custody hearing after all.
i’ve never felt more like a real lawyer than right now.
see also: i have sweat through my suiting dress and jacket.
EYES ON THE PRIZE EYES ON THE PRIZE EYES ON THE PRIZE
The O. Perry Walker marching band. #mardigras (at Napolean & Magazine)
if there is anything more depressing than my target retirement being 2060, i don’t know what it is.
She wanted you to know that Jordan Davis was an individual black person. That he was an upper-middle-class kid. That his ancestry was diverse. That he had blacks in his family. Mexicans in his family. Panamanians in his family. That his great-grandfather was white. That some of his ancestors had passed.
She wanted you to know that Jordan Davis was not from the “Gunshine State.” That he was from Atlanta—Douglasville, Georgia, to be exact—where black people have things, and there is great pride in this. She wanted the world to know that Jordan Davis had things. That he lived in a three-story home in a cul-de-sac. That most of the children there had two parents. That original owners still lived in the development. That she was only the third owner. That Jordan Davis had access to all the other activities that every other kid in the neighborhood did, that he had not been deprived by divorce.
And she wanted you to know that Jordan Davis had a father. That this was why he was living in Jacksonville, where he was killed. That she was battling a second round of breast cancer and Davis’s father said to her, “Let me raise him, you get well.” She wanted you to know that she never ever kept Davis from his father. That she never put Jordan in the middle of the divorce, because she had already been there herself as a child—placed as a go-between between her mother and father. She said that this had wreaked havoc on her as a young woman. That it had even wreaked havoc on her own marriage. That she had carried that pain into relationships, into marriage, and did not want to do the same. She wanted you to know that Davis’s father, Ron, is a good man.
She wanted you to know that what happened to Jordan in Jacksonville might not have happened in Atlanta, where black people enjoy some level of prestige and influence. That Jordan believed the level of consciousness in Jacksonville was not what it was in Atlanta, and that this ultimately played into why Jordan spoke up. That this ultimately played into why he was killed. I thought of Emmett Till, who was slaughtered for not comprehending the rules. For failing to distinguish Chicago, Illinois, from Money, Mississippi. For believing that there was one America, and it was his country.
all that stands between me and mardi gras
sharing my thoughts arguably brings me too much joy. it is the plight of the overly social. whether anyone can tell or not, i am often internally encouraging myself to slow down and listen but i’m just so excited to share/speak/write/contribute.
times i’ve almost thrown up over work anxiety today:
times i’ve been willing to cancel my mardi gras trip to relieve said anxiety:
The latest from Politico’s Matt Wuerker.