if sex is man’s way of getting revenge on the world, then it is woman’s way of controlling it. if she is wise… but this is purely speculation. i suppose many a woman has had great sex, brought many a man to his knees, and still flailed about in her personal affairs, losing sight of all that matters, all that could have made her matter… or is that really so common? is it not more common for women to exist in bad relationships, having bad sex, with bad man after bad man, or worse–one bad man for all time? or am i bitter? no. i have love in my life. oh wait–that delves too deeply into specifics. what i mean to say is, one or both of the following are true: i know too many women who suffer needlessly. AND/OR i need to meet some new women.
i’m not sure what is with me at the moment. i’ve been more wary than usual. intolerant. “relentlessly judgemental,” as my mom-in-spirit would call it. i reconcile this some by acknowledging that it is happening, but it doesn’t feel good nonetheless. a part of me fears that the older i get, i will have spent more time on carving out this tnx-to-be while not really catching how swiftly the hands are flying over the clock, over and over again until we all turn to dust. and yet, i yearn (i yearn) to live something else before my expiration date. maybe when my child is grown i say, maybe when i write (edit) the masterpiece i think, maybe after i settle into wealth (i wish), and all the while 21 has turned to 31 and though i still have my looks (smile), i notice that i’m not as limber as i was 5 years ago. i get sore from lying on the floor in awkward positions (ahem), from impersonating beyonce on the dancefloor, from painting my shitty apartment… sometimes when i look at myself in the morning, i don’t see anything at all. not beauty, not youth, not age, not wisdom, just a tired brown face and chinky eyes that need more sleep. but when i lie down, i toss and torn wondering about everything that i must do before i die. and isn’t that absurd? is it any more absurd than writing my narrative and posting online for free? maybe this is my own brand of porn. so let me bend myself over and give you a different view:
i keep reading people’s criminal records from my hometown online. how is it, i wonder, that i escaped prison time, battery charges, cocaine, death, and hell, all those speeding tickets? after all, ___[fill in the blank with any number of things i did between 1992 and 2002]___. i shouldn’t dwell on this, but i guess, this is my outlet to dwell. i’ve never tried cocaine, i’ve never slept with a man for money–and yet. i’ve lied, cheated, stolen and hurt…am perhaps hurting someone now with my silence (delusions of grandeur)… unfortunately, i’m in the mood to digress. there are more pressing things on my mind and cassandra wilson is permeating me as i type. i know for a fact i am not yet participating in the other world i belong to; the closest thing to existing in sync with it is for me to at least record that fact. a week from today a new partner meets an old ex. and i work on 32. wondering what i’ll be doing in 5. in a daze because in a swift 10, my daughter became HER. surprised 2 will have passed in just a few minutes. unenthused about 31 and remembering vaguely, the feeling of 27. full. round. free. poor, but in demand. pithy. lustrous. off.
things could be worse.
i don’t go to church. i don’t pray. i try my best to mean what i say. i usually say too much. tell too little. in reality, this is all practice. i rarely go back and read what i’ve written for fear of flailing. falling. failing.
i loaned my vacuum to this chick who has not returned it. wow. i’m putting that in my blog. it’s madness. i don’t appreciate it. i talked to my mom today. she said she’s working somewhere earning $30 every other friday and my dad is scheduling biopsies. my brother is learning about cornel west after having served almost 13 years behind bars and last quarter, my baby girl made the principal’s list.
let it flow…
confessional: sometimes i really love wine. ugh. probably NOT good….
Nonfiction Woman 