I barely remember, but I often write when I’m incredibly tired or half-asleep. So, here’s what I happened upon today. I kind of like it. I kind of hate it. Constructive feedback is always welcome.
I know a chick who knows a celebrity who once shared pleasantries with Obama. I guess that’s what they mean when they talk about degrees of separation. And somehow, I’m asking for information about the pleasantries from that chick I know. I can tell she’s pulling shit from her ass to impress me but I don’t really care — I just want to make conversation. I stir my honeyless tea and sit there, staring blankly. I never know how to talk to people… I feel so unrelatable. My life isn’t quite the stuff of stories or pleasant conversations. People try to escape lives like mine but their guts simply can’t tolerate that amount of liquor. To forget is a marvelous thing. To start anew is a completely different task.
I paused mid-thought. You should be home by now and I trick myself into hearing the door slam. You’re never on time, but you’re never this late, are you? How many times have I asked you to please, just tell me if you’re going to be late. I get anxious about such things. Breathing now. I honestly hear your heavy-footed walk walk pounding towards me, but you don’t come. You’re always almost on time, aren’t you? You won’t let me down, will you? I nervously stir in a tablespoon of honey to my tea. Tea — sweet tea — is always a pick-me-up on a hard day.
And it is a hard day. I’ve come to terms with a lot of things today, except your absence. I know that kids can be cruel and I know some adults have the worst intentions. But what I don’t understand is why? I accept that they are, were, and will always be… but that doesn’t make me stop questioning it. Like, why does hunger exist to the point of starvation? Why are these things needed in our lives? Why do people abuse even the smallest grain of power? Why do we fatigue? All these, and more, plague my mind. How many more hypothetical questions can be posed before I really feel uncomfortable?
Discomfort - now that is the stuff of my life. Discomfort fuels debates and philosophical conversations in the early morning hours between and among pseudo-intellectual badasses who fancy themselves to be doing something great and meaningful. How often have I asked these very questions of my self and others simply for the sake of conversation? I honestly struggle to find anything of value from others simply because of their skewed, tired bullshit that I’ve always heard. The black-and-white right-versus-wrong debates that fuel shouting matches and carpal tunnel from furious typing. But Internet debates are the best debates.
Unsupportiveness is one of the top three most unattractive qualities, second only behind hypocrisy but before poor grammar. How many times have I weaved my intricate tales to deaf ears or showcased my artwork to blind eyes - even the eyes and ears of my loved ones… With little to no response. How is that love? How is that “having [my] back?”
