Satori Shakur

Last year, May 2011,

I'm sitting on my couch, clutching the remote, stressed out, and codependent with Congress over whether they're going to vote to extend my unemployment benefits.

Now I'm surrounded by boxes because in two weeks, I'm moving out of my loft of nine years into a bedroom in my sister's house.

And I'm trying to figure out how to pay for the U-Haul,

and the storage unit.

On top of that, I'm menopausal.

I'm having hot flashes and mood swings every five minutes.

So when I hear myself screaming at the Congress, lazy my ass, vote you constipated bitches!

I vow that I will never let Congress or anybody else decide my destiny in life.

I sacrificed for years to develop myself, to become who I am so I could do what I love to do.

I'm an artist, an actor, a storyteller.

And I've temped in offices from Brooklyn Penitentiary to Hostess Cupcakes factory in Detroit.

I cleaned toilets in LA and catered in Toronto to keep my schedule open for auditions and other opportunities.

And it paid off.

I was fairly successful.

My investment portfolio looked healthy.

My 401K was growing.

I was bouncing back and forth between two hit shows, traveling, performing, winning awards.

Life was good.

Until 2005, when it all fell apart, when I lost my mother to ovarian cancer.