Lives.

I’ve been so many different people.

Just like everything else, that’s been crossing my mind a lot lately. I’ve been so many different types of person, lived so many lives, experienced so many different emotions. I’m 29 but I’d been about twelve different people by the time I turned 21.

A whore.

A saint.

A liar.

A thief.

A lover.

A lesbian.

A bi-sexual.

Adored. Hated. Molested. Raped. Beaten. Cared for. A mother.

I’ve been all types of Shaquana, all versions of Trey. So many best friends and boyfriends and girlfriends and duties and jobs and everything. It’s wonderful when I really just sit and think about it without crying about it. It’s a lot, so much, but it’s perfect.

I sit now and wonder what I am at this second. You never know until it’s over. You never understand your place in the world (at least I don’t) until you fit in a different way. When I look in the mirror now, I’m happier than I ever was – even at a weight bigger than ever, even with no relationship (and a bunch of failures under my belt), I feel immense happiness. I see myself filled with life and love and honesty. And I find myself dangerously attractive, which is a giant change.

But what life is this, now? And where will it lead me?

I wonder and I smile.

29.

Then again, maybe I won’t. 

… … …

 

I already know I won’t sleep tonight.

Urijah is up and bouncing and fully energized from a deep sleep I woke him up from. Talking to Blu, I struggled a bit. He is in an odd place in his life, and me in mine, where it’s hard to talk about things we care about. It’s hard to form words around what we are and who we are and where we belong in each other’s lives. He struggles to latch on to the humor I used to have. I do the same.

In that struggle, I woke Urijah.

I’ve been sitting her the past…hour? Maybe two? Reading this comic book Bham Ael lent me. That’s the blog nickname I’m giving my current maybe-eventually-who-knows-what. Ael. I like that so that’s it now.

It has all these interesting, vivid, violent, grotesque, over-the-top horror comics from the 50’s. An introduction by R.L Stine. Pretty much everything I need in a book. I have a ten hour loop of a fire burning in a Christmas-decorated fireplace, the sounds lulling me into a brief calm. I’m sitting in my birthday gift from Tai, a beautiful round couch that has wheels and is huge and just swallows me up. All I need is tea but, eh, maybe later.

I already know I won’t sleep tonight.

… … …

There is nothing significant about 29. Nothing to cheer about or get weepy about. I look forward to 30. I like aging, believe it or not. I probably won’t once I hit those long years that bring more ends than promises, but for now I like it. I imagine myself gray and it’s interesting. In a way, I’ve been growing back into the personality of my youth. I’m the life of the party but also the cave hermit. I’m pulling out of my mind a bit and giving Astrid a rest when it comes to bland celebrity stories. She’s been wrapped up in a scenario with Chaunce and Paloma, which I prefer.

I’ve stopped talking to Alyssa. Again. I’m sure this time she’s over it and strolling along to the beat of her life. I have no idea how to keep up and that’s not getting any better, no matter how much I want to. I sit in a spot in the sun and look up and it’s a spot in the moon. No time to call, to text, to talk. I thought it was still January until I remembered my birthday.

Today. 29. I’m rambling a bit.

That’s okay. It used to be okay, so it’s okay.

… … …

There’s a lot I can say about how I want this year to go. And I will. I don’t want to stop saying things just because they might not happen. Don’t want to stop dreaming just because it’s all in my head. Don’t want to NOT date just because dating always fails for me. I want to live as freely, as unbound, as possible. I want to enjoy every inch of my life, happy or sad or failing myself miserably, and I’ll do that by making those promises.

This year, I want:

  • To write a comic.
  • To finish Astrid, The Devil and maybe The Circuit.
  • To get Dude Ranch on the damn toilet.
  • To read and read and read.
  • To do VERY well in my business.
  • To transform my business into a creative agency.
  • To rely solely on myself.
  • To love someone vividly.
  • To be loved vividly.
  • To lose the weight that makes me avoid mirrors.
  • To learn to cook better.
  • To collect: socks, graphic novels, figurines, notebooks, headphones, corsets, lingerie, art
  • To continue to support The Boy Chin Wonder in his art.
  • To create magic with my hair again.
  • To get a sleeve to cover the abomination – either a cluster of deep black flowers or bands all the way up.
  • To breathe.
  • To study.
  • To write in general.
  • To relax.
  • To build my personal brand again (and not delete it).
  • To grow in Birmingham and separate myself from Atlanta.
  • To better understand friendship.
  • To drink good ass coffee.
  • To be fucking amazing. Like I am. Like I have been. Like I will be.

 

These fireplace noises are awesome.

I worry about the thing with Ael. Because I’m very good at getting bored and burying myself alive. The smallest thing makes me panic – I don’t know what I want, and that should be okay, but I feel like it leaves a large target on my chest. I don’t want to want everything but I fucking hate wanting nothing. It’s confusing.

But I like it enough. I felt myself pulling back today but I caught it and decided, yeah, be quiet today but talk tomorrow. Stop thinking about it. Stop avoiding it. Just let it be.

… … …

I’ve checked out in a big way on world events. I don’t register them lately. It’s really like I’ve found that cave and I’m living in it, away from all the people and places and noises. It feels like I’ve been building a world, a tiny world, inside the bigger one. And it feels like this is the direction I always wanted to take.

I’m 29. The Young Sir is 6. The Boy Chin Wonder is 10. And life is going and going and going.

Wake up. Wake up. It’s me, the moon. 

I already know I won’t sleep tonight.

Have a good night, Shaquana.