Strange times. That’s for sure.
I woke up so late… It’s fine, nothing really matters, but I do want to get out in the daylight at some point.
I never thought I’d actually get to live through a plague. I have had so many dreams of apocalypse in my life, it’s been a constant running theme from my nightmares since as long as I can ever remember. Apocalypse preparedness is one of my top considerations when picking friends.
And here we are.
My boyfriend is not the kind of man I want to bring through apocalypse. This boy is not really ready, though he wishes he was. I feel bad for him. This world is a scary place to go through alone, and while I thought I was alone all of my life, I can see that I have more resolve of character than he does. I mostly think it’s because I am a woman – we know that we will never get the luxury of pack acceptance, or understanding, so self acceptance and self awareness is something we have to find within ourselves or not at all (a lot of women don’t).
I also think it’s because I am Black. Yes, shock. I’m so sick of people being shocked. At first, it made me sad. In my old journal, I actually listed suicide as my top goal for the year 1993, I was 10. Recently, my friend’s 10 year old cousin hung herself in the closet. I can relate. Then, I enjoyed being part of counterculture and loved my ability to shock people. Now, I’m sick of it all over again in a new, extremely bored way. I’ll leave this topic alone for a while, at least for a minute, as this is not one of *those* blogs either.
To be Black in white America is to constantly imagine an audience. Like an animal in a zoo.
There is someone, amidst all of this, and I have been writing for months, that I have not mentioned. I’ve been thinking of him a lot. I keep wanting to text him lately, and incidentally, he is Black as well.
And rather than say anything about him, I got up, went to the bathroom, considered having another cigarette, and checked how much was left of my coffee. Considered writing down another song tag, wrote the song tag, all so that I didn’t have to say what it becomes apparent to me now that I have to say.
He’s the absolute epitome of a side dude. Side dudes span several relationships, but always stay on the side.
What does it say about us, that we’re both Black, and yet we rinse and repeat through white significant others like paper towels, but keep consistent contact with the side piece, who always knows how to get right out of the way when either one of us decides to go hunting for some social standing.
It’s a stupid game we play… I’m checking the level on my coffee again. This is harder than I thought.
I think that’s an indication that it’s worthwhile to work through this.
The boy just texted me and I’m taking the out this time.