Unrequited Love-The Set Up

She had forgotten something.  It was a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.  She couldn't quite place it. Afe placed the key in the lock, tried one more time to remember what she had forgotten, then turned the key to the left, opening up the door to her flat.  There he was just as she left him this morning. He really was going to have to start pulling his wait around here. She couldn't bare to bring it up again tonight.  It had been a rough day at work and the last thing she needed was an argument about him just staying on the couch all day.

"Hi, I'm home."
He didn't even look around.
"I'm home." She said it more like a sigh of defeat then a greeting. She set down her work bag and put her keys on the hook.  She had been so distracted lately she seldom could find her keys on the first try in the mornings, even with the addition of this strategically placed hook.

"Afe."
"Yes."
"Afe."
"Yes, yes, I'm home. Are you hungry? I am going to heat up some of that veggie lasagna we ate last night."
"Afe."
She crossed over to him and snuggled into his large arm.
"This has to stop. We have to stop. You are. . ." he trailed off.
"I'm fine. You're fine. Why do you want to start again tonight.  I just walked in the door.  Can't we at least eat first."
Afe walked over to the refrigerator and put the dish into the microwave and turned it on.  She noticed him slump his shoulders. She walked back over to him.
" I know, I know this is hard.  I'm really willing to do my part.  But you have to do yours too. I love you so much. I can't bare thinking of us a part. You have become habit, more than habit." She wrapped her thumb and pointer finger in his locs and tugged playfully.  She pulled him close and kissed his near cheek. She loved the fat in them.  He would swear that there was no fat in his face, but there was no denying the give that she felt anytime she patted them or kissed them.  "I know it's been difficult lately. But I promise it will get better.  Just give it a chance. You promised me you would try.  Promises are IMPORTANT. It's your WORD. I can't have you go back on your word. It's just like lying.  And we both know where that has gotten us."

Afe felt herself getting upset.  She got up and went to the kitchen to pull out the lasagna.  She took the knife out of the drawer.  Before she cut into the lasagna, she touched the blade with her finger.  Slowly she then pressed the knife onto her thigh. Flat at first, then she pivoted it ever so slightly until the blood came. She had become very good at this. It was an art really.  The pain and release it brought came as quickly as she saw the blood.  She put the knife in the sink, and got a towel to contain the blood that was coming faster than she expected.  After using the towel Afe went to the drawer to pull out a bandage.  She exhaled slowly.  She felt much better. She went back to wash and dry the knife, cut two pieces of lasagna and placed them on their plates.  On his portion she grabbed his special seasoning and  parmesan and shook copious amounts of it.  It's amazing what lengths she'd go to to keep him happy.

She took both plates over to where he was sitting.  "Here," she whispered. "Let me feed you." He looked at her.

"It'll be okay. I'm fine."

The corners of his mouth turned up in a half smile.  He closed his eyes and let himself be fed.

Unrequited Love

the trace of his lips. My fingertip turned holy

wanting to crawl inside him; hide there until the pain comes.

Living in the rejection. Familiar. I don’t know how acceptance feels. A strange place that.

Crawling from the tips of his toes to the top of head.  Entangle my fingers in his hair. Losing myself just under his skin.

"Maybe we should stop. I don’t want to hurt your feelings"

"It’ll be okay. I’m fine"

I need this

Just to feel something

Something

Even if it is pain

These tears aren’t for you

I’m mourning the love

I never had for myself

This is horribly delicious

And Awaaaaay We go

Weight: 156 (yowzers)
Medications: prescription vitamins and vitamin D Supplement
Drinks:  Beringer Red Moscato (life changing)
Food indulgences: nothing in particular just too much of everything

Hey y'all,

Haven't blogged in a while.  Just wanted to give a bit of an overview of 2011 and a preview of 2012.

2011 was pretty darn good.  I have a great job at Capital City Public Charter School .  It's been a long time since I haven't looked for another job after 6 months of starting a new one.

I have been in two magazines both Marie Claire and Essence.

I was in one production (...and you're just not good enough) a performance piece about rejection.  I also have done stand up at Slim's Comedy Show and a couple of poetry open mics.

My boys are doing well.  Damion is taking piano lessons and is just beginning to learn to play with two hands.  He is becoming an avid reader, which I love to see.  He also is getting to be quite the procrastinator and his school work has suffered.  I know longer can leave him to his own devices in regards to homework, I have to be on him to make sure it gets done.  It's such a drag for us both.

Justice is good.  He got drums for Christmas and we have been doing lessons via youtube.  It seems like he is a natural.  Here is a video of him doing beat boxing.

He is definitely a disorganized and scattered kid, as is his mother.  I am going to focus on helping him developed good structures and habits that will help.

I have been dating pretty regularly I guess.  If someone tells you there's a shortage of black men out there, dey is a lie! I never have problems finding them, it's just a matter of finding one that I want to date more than once or twice.  I have been pretty good about separating myself from folks who don't make me feel the way I want to.  I just recently had to do that.  It's a scary thing to go it alone, but it is better than being with someone that you know isn't good for you, or isn't respecting you as he should be.  I'd say more but I'm saving it for my stand up routine (this Thursday! Jan 5th at the Red Lounge).

Which brings me to the preview of 2012.  It promises to be a blast.  Damion has first piano recital in January.  I may have something for Justice to show off his skills for the family in May at the house.  Drums aren't something that can easily travel.

I am in a new performance art piece called "Night Sweats". I play The Moss Lady, a swamp thing that feeds on passersby in the swamps of Florida.  I just had my first read through tonight. It is going to be so horrifying and beautiful.  Here take a look see at the production group the EMP Collective and to find out more about the production.  Click here.

I'm going to continue to do stand-up at least monthly. It's the most difficult, scary, yet exhilarating thing ever.  It's not something I'm innately good at, so I am pushing myself through the fear and mediocrity to make myself better.

I am also applying for the principalship of my school.  We'll see how that goes.  I know I am ready for it, and have learned how to balance my school life and artistic life.  So here goes nothing and everything at once!

Writing wise, I will post here every now and again.  I am going to work on a script.  I am going to start January 15th.  I think I am more visual and the story I've been trying to write will translate better on the stage.  It might be a one woman show, i'm not sure yet.  I will continue to post here intermittently.  I am also going to do a 365 photography project.  My friend Laura did it and I think it was wonderful. It will encourage me to write a bit everyday and take time to take in my surroundings.  I'll probably do it through tumblr.  I will link it when the site is up.

thanks for listening. I'm off to bed as I need to start up my exercise regimen again.  Gotta get below 150. Man listen, my thighs have gotten right indignant and are just growin' all willy nilly.

see yall in person or on the internets.

On Divorce and Dating

So she told me, “he just got divorced and is dating…heavily.” 

My sister says that probably means he has the “herps”. (yes, I spelled it like she said it).  But I know the deal.  When you get divorced you feel like you must date the whole world to confirm you are not a failure.  See look how attractive I am, people think I’m fun, people want to have sex with me.  So I decided I would let him alone. Well mostly. I am a flirter so, yeah.  We had an awkward conversation once at a party. I couldn’t shake the words, “he probably has the herps.” out of my mind.  Thanks alot darling sister…

When I dated the other and he ran for the 2nd time, I realized this “herps” is a real thing.  This I am super scared and I’m gonna date and sex myself whole again.  I’m gonna protect my feelings at all cost just in case this one means to burn my feelings already turned raw. I will protect myself from you at all cost.  Wrap myself in insecurity and dare you to try to love me through it.  This is my new definition of the herps.  

And as falsely brave you are it just keeps coming back.  It comes back because you want it to.  Because it is important.  Sometimes you need yourself protected.  You don’t want the heaviness that “relationships” or “caring” brings. Sometimes you just aren’t strong enough or ready enough.

Sometimes you want them to get so wrapped up in your perfectly shaped ass that they don’t go around looking for your heart.  (and by “you” I mean of course “me”) Which is just crazy talk, because what perfectly sane, perfectly whole person doesn’t want someone to search for their heart?

It just keeps coming back

It just keeps coming back until one day it doesn’t.   The one day when you find yourself looking for someone’s heart so intensely that you forget to stop hiding yours.  That’s when you’re free

Early Morning Daydream

Arriving at Penn Station after a lovely train ride to Manhattan. I grab my vintage pink suitcase and look around to see if I see your face.  Not seeing any recognizable smiles, I head upstairs and out the doors, taking care not to use the revolving door because they scare me.  I set down my suitcase and sit on it to people watch and do my best Audrey Hepburn impression.

Finally, I see you rushing through the crowds of slow moving tourists and fast-moving city-dwellers.  You reach me and take my hand and give me a huge hug as you apologize for being late. We hail a cab that takes me, you, and my suitcase to Harlem.  The streets are awfully wide and I try not to look very small town and I look at all the buildings rush by.  I tell you they remind me of the fronts of the buildings I recognize from the Cosby Show.  You laugh and tell me I watch too much TV.

We reach your apartment and you take my suitcase to the back room.  I go to the bathroom to freshen up, which means I wash my hands and face, reapply my lip gloss and perfume, and shuzsh my hair.  

When I emerge from the bathroom you take my hand and give me another big hug.  You ask if I’m hungry and I look at you crazily because you know very well that I am always hungry.  We grasp hands and walk together down to the street. We go about five blocks as we talk about whats new and my train ride and about your morning and afternoon.  We reach a restaurant that you promise has delicious food. We sit down, order and short time after begin to eat.  I am relieved that you were right. You know how bad food makes me angry.

We finish our food, pay the check and go back out onto the street. By this time it is dark.  Strolling through the city you suggest we go to one of your favorite bars.  It is a dive bar with good strong drinks and a very “urban” atmosphere.  I chuckle at your use of the word “urban”.

We get to the bar and sit down on deceptively comfy barstools. I order a Jack Honey neat, and you order some beer I’ve never heard of.  We begin to drink and talk.  We tell stories about each of our worlds, some funny and some tragic. This talking is easy, which scares me and delights me all at the same time.  I want to know everything about you…

Before we know it, last call is called.  We head back out and walk back to your apartment, laughing and talking and still holding hands.  

Mimosas, Comfy Japanese Seating, and Revolutionary Suicide: my weekend in 4 Acts

So this weekend I had a lovely brunch with some lovely ladies. We talked about boys and colonics, not necessarily in that order.  Oh yes, there were mimosas as well.  Look at how pretty we are:





Oh here is another one with more of us:



Then I went home to take a bit of a nappy poo.  Alcohol, even mimosas, are a depressant, dontcha know.  When I woke up I texted the bff.  I told him I needed to see him today, he said he had a shoot in an hour, but I should come.  Psssh! really? But I didn't have any other plans so I went for what I thought was just going to be a short visit.  We just hung out, he on the computer me drinking a smidge of Jack Honey on one of the big round circular chairs.  (What is it called? a papa san, piesan, well something with a p and a form of japanese suffix *shrugs*)  Played some cards, video games; it was very comfortable . . .This isn't a picture from the actual time, but it captures my mood.




He never went to the shoot. Maybe he meant 9 the next morning. Or maybe he was so enthralled with my company, that he decided not to leave. Haha! For my ego sake I shall believe the latter.  I'm getting very comfortable with him... Anyway, good times were had.  The next morning I saw a great movie about Huey P. Newton.  Produced and Directed by Spike Lee. It was a biography, one man show type thing. Roger Guenveur Smith was brilliant.  He wrote and performed it. It was every. possible. thing.. Inspired me to get back to writing.  I love when art inspires art...now I just have to follow through.

So I leave to go pick up the boys and go to my sister's for Sunday bbq for my dad.  As we are walking to our respective cars I mention how hungry I was and that he needs to have food at his house.  He tells me he had food, and if I wanted some I should have asked.  I tell him that I am always hungry and he should note that for later.  He says that if I want something, I should ask, and I should remember that for next time.  Funny that was the same advice the girls told me at brunch...
Left in a great mood!

Went to pick up the boys.  Their father was in for the weekend.  The youngest in charge cried when we left. He is missing his father.  The only reason this is of note is that usually he doesn't react like that.  Usually its the older one that gets all weepy.  But the older one seems to be more cavalier, not to mention he wants to change his name back to my maiden name.  It's funny how I'm way more comfortable with resentment than sadness.  When I see Justice crying, it breaks my heart. His father promises to come back soon.  I'm not sure how true that is.  Why does life have to be so complicated? In the van, I offer Justice a cookie.  Then I feel instant guilt because I might have just taught him that food helps take sadness away.  If he becomes one of those morbidly obese shut ins you see on the TLC channel, I have no one to blame but myself.

It is my job to make sure these children are happy. That is super hard job when some not so happy things happen.  But I have to remember that staying with their father would have created much more sadness and violence.  Gosh, I need a cookie. Or maybe a colonic...

UPDATED: its totally called a "papasan" chair.  I am brilliant and also a very adept googler.  Here is a pic of the aforementioned comfy "japansese chair". You should get one, your bottom will thank you

The Death Of Gil Scott Heron or Why I can't get out of bed this morning

I don't know why I can't shake this weird feeling in my stomach.

I am not sad really. Not suprised at all, but I'm just feeling altogether strange.  My teeth clenched for hours. Woke up with my whole face hurting.

When I was young Gil Scott Heron music was played in our apartment.  I remember my dad playing his music. He had his album. The one with him with the funky shades looking straight at you.  He used to tease my mom about the revolution not being televised, when she was particularly caught up in some tv program.  He said the same thing to us..."The revolution will NOT be televised, so turn that tv off!"

I remember thinking that I didn't particularly want to see the revolution anyway.

Any picture of my sister and I that my dad took were of us with our fists in the air. We had no idea why he made us pose that way.  But there we were two little girls, 6 and 8 with one fist in the air, saying cheese for their daddy.

Fast forward to middle and high school.  I had caught the writing bug and was writing all sorts of lame poetry. In high school I refused to stand for the pledge of allegiance.  I was sent out of the room one day when we were in a different homeroom and the teacher took offense to my own private revolution.  Told me if I didn't like America I should "move to Russia". I told my dad and he said that that was ridiculous, you can love your country but hate what its done to its people.  You can want it to be better, without having to move to Russia.

Now that I think about it, that same teacher was forced into retirement years later after calling someone a nigger.  (For my BHS folks, Remember Mr. Replane)

Anyway Gil Scott Heron and my father were part of my revolutionary development.  He is the reason why I scoff at some of these wanna be revolutionaries, who look for all the conspiracies, spit venom on the mic, railing against the machine.  These so called revolutionary artist who reject love and reject patriotism and reject God because thats the revolutionary thing to do.  Gil Scott Heron was a critic of this country, but he loved his country.  He wanted it to be better. He wanted us to be better.  He wrote from his heart.  It was straight with no chaser . . .

Gil Scott Heron was also a musician.  And it has always fascinated me, this concept of mixing aritistic media to create one piece of art. Its why I try so hard to be good at trying different kinds of things.  Its why I write and play violin and want to learn cello and act.  I guess its like that part in The Color Purple..."it just wants to be loved"

No one is shocked that Gil Scott is dead. As with many artists, their desparate expression of their art is often not enough to quiet the voices, heal their wounds, not enough to make people understand . . .Its the addiction, the addiction, its like a pool you dive in to feel free, a pit to wallow in, to say goodbye for a while only to resurface after being hidden long enough to fight the pain just a little longer.  Its how you gird yourself agains the tragedy that is this world.  It's hard to be brave, sometimes impossible when you brain and heart allows you to feel things so acutely.   The gift and the curse . . . it is also that trait that makes the artist create so honestly

Many of us have worked through our own demons.  But I have my own revolution to fight. And I know that raising my boys, loving my family, and making a difference is the revolution that I must fight and win.  I am writing and creating and acting as though my life depended on it.  And really it does . . .