Black Girl: As Is

Writer. Creator. Shapeshifter.

XIII.

I was absent yesterday.  Did you guys miss me?  I missed you.  I carried you with me all day.  When I walked in last night at 11pm, I made a mad dash for the computer.  In order to keep my commitment, I considered fighting through my exhaustion and squeezing out something, anything so that you wouldn't be disappointed.  So that I wouldn't feel as though I had failed.  But then I thought, "What the fuck are you doing"?  The point of this exercise is self-care, self-reflection.  This is a journey of acceptance and love, not guilt and punishment.  I did my nails and passed out instead.  I consider that a win.

This morning,  I woke up with a plan.  If you've been reading my ramblings for any amount of time, you know that when I hatch a plan, The Universe makes a joke.  I was going to head to the park, the grocery store and come back to you.  Alas, I've spent the day assisting in clearing clutter and creating organization.  Lightness begets lightness.  So, I consider that a win.

The Lady called me useless the other day.  She was joking but I took it to heart.  I caught it, examined it and claimed it as my own.  Even as my chin lifted and my voice shot up, I knew that I was overreacting. But I've become so accustomed to rushing to my defense, I sometimes can't find the off switch.  I sometimes lose my chill.  Even now as my attention is focused on this, focused on you, focused on me, The Lady picks. 

The Lady...."You over there staring at that damn computer again." 

*stares at the computer hoping you guys get my S.O.S*

The Lady:  You always have an attitude

*says nothing but sighs deeply*

The Lady: Ain't no sense in even talking to you

*sighs but refrains from saying "Then stop fucking talking to me"*

The Lady:  What are you listening to?

The Tramp:  Radiohead.  This is my favorite band and one of my favorite albums

The Lady:  It's horrible. 

"See that's why...." "If it was me..." "I don't see why..."   Pick. Pick. Pick.  I wonder what would happen if I came bubbling out.  I wonder how long before I start to deflate.  I wonder if they'll put me underwater to locate the holes. 

Let me be clear, I am fully aware that these are couch questions.  I know that an impartial lady with a clipboard and poker face could do me some good.  But as I stretch my arms toward financial liberation, I have to check my own clipboard. I have to loosen my face.  I must identify all triggers and unload the weapons one by one.  But, that shit is hard.  That shit is Sisyphean.  That shit wears me out.

Today is the first day that my rage was tangible.  My skin vibrates and my heart palpates.  I close my eyes and I take a deep breath. Pick. Pick. Pick.  I look for dark corners and sun spots.  Pick. Pick. Pick.  I sing to the radio and remark on the sunset.  Pick. Pick. Pick.  I purse my lips.  Pick.  I sharpen my claws.  Pick.  I sharpen my tongue.  Pause.  This is how I lose her.  If I'm not careful, I will speak the thing I dare not say.  I must maintain my cork.  I must flip my fury over to look at the other side. 

The Lady is beautiful.

The Lady is gregarious.

The Lady picks up strays and loves the life back into them.

The Lady holds her own.  

The Lady loves truly. madly. deeply.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
— 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 NIV

I love The Lady.  Truly. Madly. Deeply.    So when patience fails me and kindness goes on break, I aim for protection.  I aim for hope.   I no longer aim to please.  But I take comfort in knowing that even if I miss my shot, I cannot lose.  

 

 

 

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