You know, I spent many years trying to figure out what happened to my mojo. It just upped one day and left. I was so perplexed it actually moved me to attempt to write a book about it. Working title - "Help! I've Lost Me My Mojo: A Memoir".
Needless to say, I did not get past the Foreword.
In case you aren't familiar with the lingo, Google it. Mojo actually has its own Wikipedia page:
"Mojo refers to a magical charm bag used in hoodoo, and in modern usage may also refer to sexual potency." Obviously, I refer to the latter, one's ability to pull.
So mojo left and I was left dazed and confused, and of course, very celibate.
I looked high and low for mojo - invested in all sorts of tools - light reflecting foundations, meal replacements, vodka bottles, lycra...mojo refused to be found.
It was a dark, dark place to be. At times, it felt like I was losing my worth, my measure, my very point of being born female!
I blamed it on hormones, on turning thirty, to being allergic to alcohol, on gay men.
Well, after a while, I just stopped looking and resigned myself to the fact that mojo was lost forever and I may as well make peace with a mojo-free life. After all, it was one less thing to worry about.
Then one day, mojo turned up again!
Mojo, I have learned, never actually left. It had fallen asleep inside my brain somewhere, where I had never thought to look. Now that I have learned this very important lesson, I have placed mojo in a box that fits its size (not as inflated as I thought) where it now sits in a very prominent prosition - where I can see it and always be reminded that it exists and always has.
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