i realize now – i can’t be the only one – there must be others who love children so much that they support abortion.
well. a revolutionary road (rv rd) it is i walk. i hope. i strongly advised my man (i’m so done saying boyfriend) to watch rv rd tonight. i had no idea where it would take me before it was done. i watched notorious last night and i teared up a bit as ms. wallace rode through bk with biggie’s casket in tow; the fans screamed and i mourned the loss of a talented mc and tonight i sat wide-eyed staring into some cinematic truths of womanhood. i don’t know if you’ve seen it or not, and i don’t know if i’ll ruin it for you or not. hell, i don’t know if anyone even reads this joint, so what does it matter? the thing i need to say here is that women sacrifice. a lot. and sometimes, we choose when we have no choice. and men neglect. and miss. and don’t get it until it’s too late. currently, i’m in love with a man who i can’t fathom missing the point. but then, women are a hopeful breed, aren’t we? you see, i too, dream, just like april. i earned the mfa, i wrote the words and walked the walk and did the things to evoke emergent alumi to evolve from the woodwork of facebook to inquire about my current projects. ha! i laugh bitterly, crying inside; i’ve completed nothing and i hold dearly to this catechistic, cathartic blogspot for fear of falling into the abyss of suburbs, carpools, conferences, coupon cutting, and regularly scheduled haircuts and pap smears. i’d much rather mingle with the parents who smoke a little dope after they put the kids to bed, i’d rather go to the art galleries on september gallery nights, drinking too much wine, and laughing too loudly with people who care about things like gestalt, composition, content, and critique… i went to a registrar’s annual conference last year with a woman who wanted to groom me to become someone who registers shitty freshmen and seniors alike several times a year, stockpiles immunization records, and files photocopies of health insurance cards for dis eased student bodies. i quit. i would have died in slavery. plotted, killed, given myself abortions too, lest i birth a descendant into certain hell and so i boldly salute the women who choose, and i boldly salute bad timing that ends well because maybe there is such a thing as divine intervention, for some of us who never even make it here…
have you ever cried while washing dishes? i find the shower, and to a lesser degree, bedsheets, equally (mathematically impossible, right? lol.) therapeutic places to let all that shit out. i can’t let pain last too long, though. i’m not programmed to tolerate it. nor am i wired to be complacent. i am too hot blooded and competent, i think, to just let shit like. my. life. slide. other people have money; why can’t i? other people publish; why can’t i? people with less do more, why? can’t? i? and so, rev rd resonates with me. i don’t endorse the ending; it was a bit of a copout, i think. but all the things throughout, the moment where she says, “fuck who you like. i don’t think i love you anymore,” (or whatever. i always get shit like that wrong.)–that’s the stuff of real life and real people and real dreams deferred. white or black or purple or golden – all raisins shrivel up and die in the sun. and then, even your sun sets, you know… the curtain drops. you’re snuffed out. so let’s keep it moving people. times a wasting…
Nonfiction Woman 