Herself

She’s not herself anymore. I checked. Somehow, she’s gone.

So maybe I’ll be her, instead.

But then who will be me?

… … …

 

Sleep is becoming an annoying thing. It’s always either too much or too little, too soon or too late. I’m sitting here awake at 12:17am with no intention of going to sleep in the next ten to twelve hours. It’s really 1AM – I’ve been on Eastern time my entire life and I’m having trouble letting it go.

My head is always an hour in the future, an hour in the past. It’s tomorrow when it’s today.

It’s amazing how something as simple as hair can create a new attitude. Or unleash an old one. I haven’t felt so normal, at least normal by my standards, in years. But having these sides cut somehow makes me a real person again. It makes working easier. Even makes thinking up stories, reading, and enjoying solitude things again. Real, livable things. I like it. My weight may be way up there, my posture shit, my teeth eroding and dying in my mouth, but I am as close to being myself as I’ve ever been.

Age and hurt and lots of clippers, yeah?

I’m trying not to be so afraid, though. It’s stuck in me. I fear having the headphones on at night sometimes. That I’ll take them off and Urijah will be gone, snuck away by some unavoidable circumstance, some selfish person. His organs sold and his life meaningless. I literally worry about that, him or Rajesh being killed and having their organs sold. I don’t typically worry about myself. Not that I don’t find myself valuable, but I’ve lived.

Tons.

I’ve lived as a black American, at that, which is culturally the best you can be, though not emotionally if you really want to get down to it. A black woman, which definitely hurts emotionally but is such a win. I’ve been on the outside of a lot of fences.

Why am I listening to something as smooth and lulling as FKA Twigs right now? Sleep is tapping at me, poking, and I find myself wanting to slowly crawl over to chaturbate or something and distract myself with bodies. r/jacking or something. Obscenities and the people who love and share them seem to make me even sleepier, though.

 

This world is getting smaller and smaller for Urijah, for me, but it’s also getting fuller. I guess.

 

One would guess.

Trust

I don’t trust the world. Not to love me. Not to entertain me. Not to keep giving me chances.

Not for anything.

… … …

 

Three of my windows are broken. They have simple cracks, but deep enough to shatter the whole things if pushed. They sit out there, reminding me of the fragility of this world I am building, and I worry about them. Cracks. That cracking sound.

I’ll call maintenance tomorrow and try to explain how it happened, but I honestly don’t know. Tai pointed them out and I looked and said, ‘oh’. I really don’t pay attention to much lately, honestly. If it’s not something Urijah is learning (or not learning), one of our moods, our hair, our stories, or Rajesh’s texts, I’m blank on it.

But I’m back in the mood to watch and write things. To vibe. The daydreaming has been kept at a minimum, and it’s mostly lesbian stuff – I’ve managed to keep all the white celebrities out of them (very disappointed in le whites lately and, honestly, I think I want to stay that way). I had another heartbreak from ANOTHER racist gamer, who I thought was amazing and grand and beautiful right up until, and it really just…it kicked me in the stomach.

It led me to watch some Black girl gamers today and they were so fucking REFRESHING. All the ‘BIIITCH’ and ‘YEAH GuRL’ and all the sarcastic responses. All the mixture of accents and levels of hoodness – from trill to blerd and everything in-between. I loved it. So I’m going to make that a practice from now on. I notice that a lot of black girls don’t show themselves but that’s okay – I like the screen being fully dedicated to the game.

 

I’m procrastinating. I have a PowerPoint to complete and I hate doing that shit, but not as much as I hate Marge’s work. I’ll do it, and keep at it, and go from there. And I understand, today of all days, that I’m amazing and I’ll get this (and so much more) done. That I’m worth the suspense, the wait, the love I’m giving myself. That I’m worth this funky ass hawk that dropped a white woman’s jaw at the Piggly Wiggly today.

That I’m worthy of Urijah and Rajesh, of Chris sometimes, of a future that isn’t linear and isn’t regular and isn’t really all that planned out. That the Earth could crumble around us and I’d make something beautiful happen, somehow. Some way.

And even if I wasn’t, I understand that nothing fucking matters anyway.

 

I’m procrastinating.

 

Deep sigh.

Stories…

I’m out here sleeping and working on stories and nothing else.

Which isn’t really too bad. I’ve needed to get back into my own stories for quite some time, right? But I have to work or I don’t get paid and we die in here. WE DIE.

So I’m still trying to find a balance. But I like working on my stories – it’s what I was made to do. What I trained myself to do as a young scrappy dark baby thing WHATEVER.

And I really needed the sleep – it just seems like it all piles up at once and I end up sleeping for weeks instead of just sleeping at night. After that I’m just up. Really up.

But Astrid is living healthy. And Chaunce. And Kelsey. And Paloma. And Noah. And all o’dem, gyal. So that’s a start.

 

Getting somewhere slow, slow, slow.

Boxes.

I shaved my head again. Well, the sides. Cut this hair, this hair that is longer than it’s been in years, and shaved in down to the lowest point possible without being scalp. Just the sides.

I didn’t leave my tiny sides this time. And now I have this odd samurai puff on top of my head.

… … …

 

I’ve been writing a lot lately. Just not in stories or any sort of fiction, really. No, I’ve been writing for work and in journals and on here. I’ve been writing about me and my life and my thoughts, writing email campaigns, writing press releases. I’ve been writing any and everything.

I’ve been researching as well. Reading about the past and present and future and never. All from my l-shaped desk. Or my bed. All from my back ‘porch’. All around this house, in this house, over this main floor. I’ve been existing a bit more.

In that existence, I realized I wanted to shave my sides again. And I realized I am pretty good by my dolo. And I realized I want to approach Urijah’s education a bit more…realistically. A curriculum. The one I want costs around $600, but it’s an investment I will make to ensure he learns both what I want him to and what he needs to.

I have narrowed my vision to the people in this house, these two intricate humans: Urijah and Mashu. Dude Ranch and Trey.

I have narrowed my goals to writing and business. Writing and skills. Writing and learning. Writing and writing.

I’ve become a person on the outside of the box. The beautiful outside of the box. The details are swarming me and I’m ready for it.

So here I am, outside this box, in this box, with this little boy, with our futures, becoming something new. With the sides shaved off my head. With the scale finding less and less of me.

 

I’ve been writing a lot lately, you know.

Oi.

Tornado warnings and wine. I’m for it.

Right now, I’m a bit buzzed whilst watching David Mitchell’s Soapbox (the youtube series) and finishing off a bottle of wine. I started this bottle earlier today and knew I’d be done before bedtime. Any time I indulge and decide to drink wine, I finish within the day. So this isn’t terrible, it isn’t new, and it isn’t worrisome. I’m not exactly sad about anything, so it’s even less so.

I do feel like watching Submarine. I’ve been using The Mitchell and Webb Look, and That Mitchell and Webb Situation, to lull me into a pleased and hilarious sleep for the last week or so, so I’m good on that. But Submarine-type dark humor is what I’m into at the moment, and so I’ll probably watch it tonight.

I’m in a inbetween mood. Not happy. Not sad. Not up. Not down. But very amused and very in the mood to succeed at something. I figure I’ll write a bit in Astrid, The Devil or The Circuit before the night is over, as well as get these two blogs for one of my clients done. Shit, I might do even more than that, who knows. I might actually get business done – CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT?

Submarine is not on Netflix anymore. So I’ve opted for The Fundamentals of Caring. I’ll probably end the night with a bit of K-drama if I can.

The Fundamentals of Caring is interesting because, when I first started watching it, I was on a business trip. It was the absolutely worst time to watch it. And yet, it was the funniest thing I had seen in quite a while. Too heart-warming for a business trip where I was having God and Jesus and religion thrown in my face a lot, but not exactly hating it. It was a woman thing – lots of older black women there who may have been more religious than me, but were absolutely more experienced in life and into trying to get me up to speed.

I don’t experience women being more experienced in life than me a lot. Not at all. The stories they told around the campfire were enthralling and full of terrible experiences. It was amazing.

Note: Slim Jims are actually awful, no matter what any character in any movie tries to convince you. Absolute yuck. And ill-humored people aren’t actually interesting, they’re just ill-humored.

 

Today was not anything special. It’s nice, though. The panic of a tornado, the thrill of being slightly drunk. The normality of today.

 

We’re functioning.