I am exhausted and fighting illness. I’ve been drinking echinacea tea, emergen-c, popping zinc pills and doing the absolute minimum at work today. Taking care of Bean for the week she was sick stretched me to my limit. And it’s not like she hasn’t been sick before. But it’s the first time in a very long time where I had to devote so much of my energy to taking care of her, working my full time job from home, working my side job from home and keeping the house clean so the germs wouldn’t spread. All by myself. Where is Calgon when you need it?
I’ve worked since I was 11 years old. The events that took place around my 14th birthday forced me into adulthood. I. Is. Tired. And it feels like whining to express it. Cause who ain’t tired, yanno? And tired or not, life, work, obligations . . . it goes on. It never stops. But this week, more than anything, I just want to leave it all behind. Work, motherhood, endless violence against my people, giving a fuck. I want my island with the blue house 2 miles from the ocean and my loving partner who lives next door and the local village market that I can walk to for breakfast lunch and dinner every day. I swear I was born into the wrong social status. I keep telling myself to start playing the lottery, but I’ve seen my grandmother and aunts spend their last dollars on improbable hope and it just aint for me.
I feel so alien. So alien. I want to sleep and never awaken. And not in the since that I wish to die, but I want to Rest. To dream endless Afrofuturistic dreams on location in outer space and under the sea. Writing helps – and I have to recommit myself to do more of it. Writing and music. I find myself searching for new artists to give me that familiar feel that comes with new energy. Revitalization. I’m not depressed – I know what my depression feels like and I have been there many times, but this is not it. This is…something else.
Pause to celebrate the fact that I have not had suicidal thoughts in over 10 years…
I am trying to get comfortable with the nagging loneliness that comes from, well, life. I am trying to get comfortable with the work that goes into being my own greatest love. I have a lot of internal work to do, and I know that when I am partnered I pour into her, and too often do not receive reciprocity. I love spending solo time, love my reclusivee ways, love having the bed to myself and not shaving my legs and acting out in silly ways that I only do when it’s late at night, and no one else is around. In many ways, that’s when I’m happiest. But there is something in a kiss from a lover who thinks you hung the moon and would do anything for the solar brilliance of your smile. There is magic in the love from a woman who, though knowing it may not last forever, just wants to see how far we can go. There is liberation in a good fuck steeped in devotion. I am a woman of fairy tales and imaginary worlds where you can find soul-piercing love, and I used to antagonize myself about it. But I realize now that my way, my desires, keep me from drowning in this world that is all too real, too practical, too full of irrelevant obligations. So alien.
I spent my 36th birthday with a group of magical queer Black women who made me feel submerged in love and light. I’m so grateful to have them in my life. They’ve made Atlanta much more bearable and I don’t know – don’t even want to know what the alternative would look like. They hold me up even when communication is down. They stretch me in new, different, healing ways. Challenge me to gently uncover old childhood wounds and breathe life-giving, forgiving breath into them. I love them.
Pretty much on cue, I’m feeling that my style/wardrobe will be changing soon, and not just because of the changing of the seasons. I hate wearing pants but those jogger/hammer pants that are loose in the crotchular region? oh honey, they give me Liiiiiiife. with an oversized sweater (or crop top w/a cardigan) and my fave brown boots. I’m excited just thinking about it. It’ll be a slow shift, because minimalism. And the freedom and simplicity of dresses & skirts is profound. But I feel like I’m leaving my Lisa Nicole Carson phase and entering my Lisa Bonet/Cree Summer phase. Hippie, mother goddess who listens intently and only speaks when she has something of importance to say. Time will tell, I suppose.
If I know nothing else of myself, I know that I am resilient and I have an overflowing abundance of love to give. I am a mermaid, a daughter of the sea. On days like today, these are the truths that hold me.