When they ask you how you're doing, tell them you're working on a master's degree on breath control. Tell them you've decided to start a religion collaged with meditation, masturbation and memory loss. When they want to know about your (latest) relationship, tell them the moon didn't return your phone call last night, but you are hopeful. When they comment on your skinny, swallow a piece of mandible and show them your indent.
been thinking about love. this weekend i wished i had a girlfriend. i haven’t wished i had a girlfriend since i had a fucking girlfriend. so, i had to pause. why in all of god’s green earth did i pang for a main chick? pang like ache like feel my soft stomach clench from wanting a thing kind of a pang. why would i want a girlfriend? i’ve been running from the ghosts of ex-bitch past for almost a year and change. got my heart toned, my kicks worn in and a whole lot of pavement between me and what used to be. so, why now? why did it hit me after the sun lit a path from my house to Orchard Beach, after my bike rolled into the crib, after i stripped off the sweaty under armor, why did i wish that there was a woman waiting for me? for a second, i was like ‘man, maybe i just wish someone had cooked’.
i showered, made myself dinner and still wished i had a person, like a main person lady friend who liked to kiss and talk. do those people even exist?
i’m not sure if I’ve ever had a healthy or functional relationship with someone. especially, not as an adult. my first love in college is on some other level. it seriously doesn’t count when i think of who i am now. we were just pretty babies in love. other relationships i’ve had with women were either on the super shady secret tip or massively codependent and fuckeddddd up. damn, man, i’m like a Lifetime movie right now…
But I’m healthy and I feel strong and ready to take on something good. I take care of myself in every way that I can. No one else is going to take care of me. Who even really wants to deal with someone who can’t deal? Everyone has their own shit. Swear to God, tell someone you’re sad or tired and they will turn around and look at you like that don’t mean shit. they’ll say “well my grandma just died. my divorce cost me $67000334832. I’m about to be evicted and I’m addicted to the Food Network. Oh and I haven’t had sex in fifteen years” and well…they’ve won the who’s got it worse contest. So, I take care of myself.
I don’t have time for random ass wishes. Wishing is weird. Wishes are bullshit. I’ve never seen a genie or got a damn thing from blowing out birthday candles. So I call bullshit on wishing and the idea of wishes. You say “I wish this…” and i feel like it pulls you out of the world you’re in and sets the tone for what would be a better place. wishing puts what is happening in this exact moment and shifts it away. then this pocket of unmanageable vulnerability cinches itself to a corner in your chest and sits, waiting for something to fill it. to fulfill a wish. wish fulfillment.
and I sound angry, maybe? But I’m not, just thoughtful, running into every opportunity that comes my way because I’m ambitious and also because if I stop, I’d notice how quiet it is.
why did i wish i had a girlfriend? there’s more there than just wanting a person. there has to be. it’s gotta be more like i’m not being reflective enough. am i not being wholly present in my life? i’ve always had a person. so it’s not like i’m wanting for something I’ve never experienced. i’ve had someone waiting for me at home, to go see a film with, to go do whatever thing people do when they’re stupid for each other. good and bad. it’s part of the experience of being with someone. this is my first real solid stretch of being single. intentionally single. and for like the first half of it, i was in a coccoon. shell shocked. unresponsive. apathetic.
this current half is me awake, moving, doing, no excuses or uncontrollable anxiety attacks. that shit is in the past. i don’t have to say ‘no’ to anything or make any compromises. i didn’t know life could be like this. that sounds mad corny but it’s true. true. i’ve never felt so capable of handling the things, even the fucked up miserable things. i used to just dump my shit on women and expect them to fix it. fix me. fix me. i’ll take care of everything else you need but can you fix me? terrible. i know better now. i feel better now.
i’ve decided that wishing for a person to fall into wasn’t such a terrible thing. it wasn’t a weak moment. wishing for a girlfriend was more like feeling good enough to be worthy of one.
– been gone for a minute. now i’m back in the jumpoff. –
google geeky blogger. image courtesy of innergeek.us
geeky blog feelings
haven’t written in awhile. been wrestling with the blog like it had a body and some headgear. one part journal, one part reality tv show, one part performance space etc. so anything done here is probs gonna be seen/read by whoever, by you and obsessively by me. that’s the point right? normally, i’m game but sometimes i’ve got to keep stuff in. also, sometimes i think about it way too much and am not sure what to say or believe in or give even half a fuck about. ‘hmm, that article about Monsanto crushing the world one seed at a time makes me so mad! should i blog…? no…i don’t know enough about that and i’m just gonna be one of those internet morons that goes crazy about something they don’t know anything about’ or ‘PUPPIES!’ or ‘all feelings need release. now. ahh, nm.’ shit is melodramatic. a telenovela. anyway, deep breaths. woosai. it’s fine. this blog is the best thing ever. thank you, charlie vazquez.
a few words about the N-word
spent 7 days out of Ahhmericcuhhh and man there’s some good shit outside in the world. taking a break from the Bronx is nice too. i didn’t realize how much shit I carry around with me until I had a few days to breathe easy. Yo, people in the Bronx (not everyone obvs) use the N-Word ALL THE DAMN TIME. From 149th & Grand Concourse to 241st and White Plains road, I could probs make enough money to retire in a month if I got a dollar for every time someone said ‘n*gga’. It’s a noun, a verb, an adjective: it’s an intersection of every single feeling. I’m not gonna get into its history because 1) ya’ll should already know and 2) I gotta get to work at some point this morning. Anyway, I hear that shit all the time and I didn’t hear it once while abroad. Not once. I didn’t even notice at first but then I was like “wait…people don’t say N here.” and in the back of my brain, I listened for that shit, wondering if it’d pop up when people were drunk or something. Nothing. It felt so good not to hear that word. I’m not overly sensitive about it. I used to use it cuz that was the thing but now it’s just a word that doesn’t have a place in my life. it’s heavy. every time someone says it, i hear it. you can’t not hear it. ever. so being somewhere else, somewhere that its usage isn’t even accidental, like the word doesn’t exist outside of crazy town usa was internally monumental.
i’m the roughtest, toughest
most days, I’m all:
least on the outside, i mean, inside i’m just a big old soft butch queen. anyway, one other random good thing about being away was that my guard got a break. i didn’t realize how much armor i wear or how thick it is until i wasn’t carrying it for a few days. no one shouted at me on the street. no one pushed me out of their way. i didn’t have to walk past pimps, bloods, prostitutes, crack addicts, dust heads. obvs there’s nothing inherently wrong with any of the people that fall into those categories.it’s just that being around that most of the time makes me feel fucking weird. it’s like playing hot lava at the supermarket. white tiles: sand. blue tiles: ocean. red tiles: hot lava. and somewhere in there some sharks. no matter what supermarket i was in it always felt like there were way more red tiles. so you’re hopping like a mofo, dodging all the reds without anywhere to land. so i feel like i’m always dodging some shit, real or imagined. i could live in a super hood hood and perhaps it’d be worse but fuck, for like seven days it felt good to just breathe. it felt good to not watch my back or ball my hands into fists while walking. it felt good to be left alone. maybe i was lucky, i’m not idealizing another country or saying where i live is the worst place on earth, i just noticed the differences. it felt good not to have to pretend that i’m unfazed by my environment while navigating it. it felt good to not use my inhaler 15 times a day. everything felt manageable for a minute.
what’s in an ending?
endings are bullshit. if it was up to me All My Children would still be on television, none of the Golden Girls would be dead, RuPaul would be the Pope/Queen of the World until forever and I’d still know some of the people that I don’t know anymore. also, just because i don’t know how to end this blog, here’s a list of unrelated semi-important things i wish would cease to exist since endings are a thing and i need to get used to them:
1) uplifting and/or spiritual memes. (please, just stop)
2) violent sociopathic musical odes categorized as love songs from male artists
3) creepy liquids to make water not be water anymore. (wtf MiO?)
4) Illuminati conspiracy theories, specifically about dumbass celebrities. (sorry Bey)
5) the TSA frisking my ass and taking my shit
