It’s someone’s birthday today and I can only begin to remember who.

I figured it was a good idea to come in and write today. Partly because I haven’t for a while, and when I don’t take the time to get out my thoughts I imagine (or at least am imagining now) that they are left unresolved and I tend to fixate on them, rather than progress through the reasoning process.

Second, I’ve been really busy. This is my first post from my new apartment. I have mixed feelings when I write that, so it seems really relevant to give into this. It’s simple and concrete, and maybe that’s good for once.

An effervescence flutters in front of the small of my back, and I know this feeling. I like this feeling. Subtle excitement, but different than anxiety (which is, as always, still there, weighing in heavily from the place where my collarbones meet. But this rises up to meet it).

I like this new apartment, I don’t know why, and a slight pressure in the temples behind my ears gives me the feeling that it’s too good to be true. Maybe it is. The pressure is as though two long hooks have come up under my shoulders, right on the inside of my armpits, like heavy metal rods, and trying to lift me. the hooks are long, so long that my head is pressed between the rods.

Side dude hurt his shoulder – that sucks, I know how that is. I do hope he’s ok. I am debating calling him to help me put furniture in place, as he did not help me move.

He volunteered to. I don’t know why I didn’t take him up on it. But actually I do. We aren’t anything to each other. It’s not fair to ask. Also, if he let me down, as he may very well have, now that I think of it, I would be shattered completely and irrevocably because I always believed that he never would, and I have done everything in my power possible to avoid ever testing that because I will not let him let me down.

Instead, I have let this random white boy let me down (yes, switching topics and going for the low hanging fruit, I guess that’s kind of the theme of the whole relationship thing generally… I paused and stared off into space, which is actually kind of interesting because I have a whole new pattern of stare spots around here) although I still haven’t broken up with him yet. I don’t know if I want to, but actually yes I definitely want to.

Because it was stupid to date him anyway (beginning a paragraph, not just a sentence, with a preposition. Bold!). Utterly pointless, there was no possible good that could come out of it. Except for a life that mattered to someone, a man that it made sense to be seen with, someone I could introduce my parents to, someone to come to parties with (at least the lame white people beach parties that I somehow keep getting invitations to, as the single Black person that is acceptable enough to be seen with around here… the more I write this, the more *done* I am with the whole thing. It felt trivial, but I guess it’s not). I rolled away for a bit to try and find the one person who might possibly have fully understood me, and could not find him.

Sometimes we just miss our chance completely, I think I missed mine. I very briefly knew someone, who I should have stuck with. Too bad I’m crazy.

The thought fluttered through my mind, like a scrap of paper caught in the wind from an open car window, that maybe one day I’ll look back on this and think the same thing. But no. He’s going to cheat on me, I just want to be the one to leave first. White dudes will go with any basic white bitch before they will date a Black woman, because it’s easy. And they’re lazy. And to be honest that is not what I want in my life.

My tears are hot today, just enough to veil over My eyes (sweet, power capitalization) and not enough to do anything to My face, except maybe congeal a little in the inner corner, which I can wipe away. It’s allergy season.

There’s a few people I have been with, that I should have stuck with (yes, my eyes slipped, I’ll blame it on feeling the physical sensation of the tears coating my eyeball), but I kept constantly choosing stupid condescending white hicks who trivialize me yet are just clearly fucking inferior at hickness to me.

I actually had to explain to my ex that green bell peppers and red bell peppers come from the same plant. This, to a man who proudly “grew up in the woods”. OMG America. I can’t believe I ever let his dick inside me, let alone had 5 abortions for it. I wish I had died, at any point, instead.

Even now. I’m done with that boy, and yes he’s not the same, but honestly, he might as well be. I picked him, honestly, because he was as much the same as I could find.

I cried so hard (probably less than a single sob for most people but for me that’s an awful lot. For me that’s a deluge) that I actually had to get up and get a tissue. It’s just past the point where I can step out on my new porch and blame this on allergies.

Thankfully, there’s still 2 sips of my coffee left, perhaps enough space to collect myself.

I’m just so sick in the pit of my stomach that there’s one more white dude out there that is going to say “I dated a Black chick once”.


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