On my fourth load of laundry and I am tired. I want to go back to bed. Tired of fighting those who put the bags under eyes because they want me to look ugly. Still drinking coffee because Lord knows there is not enough coffee in this world for me.
My head is a mess and tired. My face is a mess and ugly. My body is a mess, filthy, dry and scaly and sagging from lack, hard callouses cover my feet and hands. The cuticles of my hands and feet are overgrown and need to be pushed back, trimmed and cut off. Fungus on my toes that I have yet to get rid of instead of nail polish.
I need to be polished and glowing again. I need my heart-shine back again. That heart power that keeps the world in awe.
Can anyone tell me how it would be possible to write and get paid for it?! As I am dreaming of the day where I have money to pay for a house, for things, for supplies, for clothing, for vitamins, for beauty supplies, for utilities, for food of my choosing all on my own.
Brakes squealing, yeah, I saw you. My guess is that vehicle would not have been your first choice. I remember it was my brother who first shared with me LA Song by Beth Hart…Hang on, I am off and must stop writing for a moment…another load of laundry. UGH! I hope everything stays clean until its worn this time…Fuckers…wait…back again.
When I was taking care of my mother in the middle of the night I used to go into our garage which was pretty sound-proof and sing. I would find songs and artists that were singing in my key, so I could sing along with them. I’d only had a few singing lessons when I was just a child. I’m guessing my mother figured she should get me lessons since I used to take my portable record player into my room turn the volume up as loud as it would go and sing along to all the Disney albums and other records for hours.
I was hurting so much while taking care of my mother mentally, emotionally, physically my mind and body were screaming for relief – I call them sailing notes. Those notes where you sail along high and loud. Those sailing notes where you fill your diaphragm and empty it, then empty it some more. That’s freedom to me. Letting it out. Freedom. So, I used to take to my garage and sing.
I don’t remember the exact time frame of this one, but I remember this one time driving in my car. I knew the driver in the car in front of me was following me. I had a CD playing in my car. The song started, and I sang. And, I saw him. The man in front of me. It was only the back of his head, yet I saw him. He was impressed. He was deeply impressed, amazed, he couldn’t believe it – impressed. For I sang it perfectly, on pitch, on key, on time, with feeling – perfectly.
So, I have always enjoyed singers and artists that I can sing along with. It’s a way I’ve found freedom in my life of work and toil and drudgery.
My mother, I think, told me she thought I should sing country which I did not like because it was not popular at the time. But, it’s true my voice lends itself to country and the Blues. To the growl. To the blow the roof of the stadium seating. Which is why when Kelly Clarkson sang Up To The Mountain on American Idol I downloaded it immediately because I knew I could sing it.
Now, I write about this because I am sick of these fuckers!
Women – you do not belong in my bed! Gays – you do not belong in my bed! I am so sick of writing about this! I have a right to my own body! I have a right to say who I share my bed with! And, it will NEVER be women or gays!
Can you believe I actually have to write about this?!
David Wolfe – you do not belong in my bed – EVER!!!! I will never be able to forgive you for what you did to me! For years! There is no way. You may not believe this, but I do have self – respect. What you’ve done to me cannot be undone. Courtney was the last straw for me. There is no going back to you because of it – EVER! There is no way I ever want to me your friend after what you did with Edison – EVER! The past happened, but it is OVER for me. Believe it or not I am OVER being your second choice to every other woman in the entire world. I will never WILLINGLY speak to you EVER again! EVER! I will never love you in any way ever again!
James Franco – you do not belong in my bed – EVER!!!! You are a slave-owner and nothing more. I was never in love nor in like with “Edison” ever! I never had moments with “Edison” that could ever last a lifetime, or years.
“Edison” – you do not belong in my bed – ever again!
Now, does this mean for one single second that I do not believe in equal rights for every individual?! NOT FOR A SECOND! Not a for a moment! You just don’t belong in my bed! Jesus Christ! How does this happen?! UGH!
Another load of laundry…
I am writing and listening to music at the same time, I am hearing about Beth Hart’s sobriety and I am reminded of Colin Farrell at Home Depot. He was looking at his phone while shopping at Home Depot. He was so nervous. Colin Farrell was nervous?! There was more I said to the Bluetooth at the time, I do not recall anything else other than the nervousness. Why would Colin Farrell be nervous?
These two remind me of the years I spent caring for my mother, I never drank. It was impossible at the time. Because I am very aware of what I am and am not capable of. There was no way to drink while caring for her. I was so over-tired it was just not the same anymore.
See, I’ve forgotten most of those memories of my mother anymore. It has not been my doing. When I arrived back here after driving to the west coast back in 2014 all I wanted to do was write about it. I had to get it out of my head. I was not allowed to write. I was not allowed to write about my mother. I was TOLD not to write. How is it possible to unlive the past? Which is what they were asking of me. It happened.
Then came the moment December 2014 when I was so over-filled I had to let it out. I had to find the sailing notes. I needed freedom, so I took to my Shuffle and soared on the notes. I don’t think anyone knew I could do that, but I did.
This music has me thinking of Michael Wayne Brown. We went to Jannus Landing in St. Petersburg, Fl. to hear a concert. I do not remember who it was. We must have looked an unusual couple this man who was 14 years my elder. I was so careless then. I remember it being after the concert, the middle of the night, Michael is no where around me, I am lying on a brick bench waiting to go home. I never understood Michael. His way of thinking was never something I could get a hold on. I was careless because what’s worse than being with a man who doesn’t look after you, who doesn’t care for you, who kicks and torments rather than loves you. A part of me was hoping to die.
I don’t write about Michael much. I don’t write about my abortion. I don’t write enough about my pain. I don’t write where there is so much – words fail me.
What kind of man would love me anymore. After being used by so many men virtually and otherwise. What man would want me now that I am thin, but ugly and scarred over my whole body.
I guess that’s why I am left here alone without the possibility of ever having a man in my life again.
WE - DO NOT AGREE! 