Today started out pretty rough. My sister likes to call me first thing in the morning to tell me about her drug induced revelations. Whenever I say “drug” I mean marijuana. She doesn’t think of it as a drug, but I do.
Whenever I smoke weed, I feel dumb. She says it helps her to connect with the most high and she hears voices that instruct her and encourage her. The more she smokes, the more she connects with these voices and she says they are proud of her and sing to her.
I don’t know about all of that. I don’t know. I listen to her because I want her to feel comfortable telling me what the voices are saying to her, just in case they say something that is not safe. They don’t. They generally tell her to get ready for the end of the world, to learn how to grow her own food and build her own housing and to pass this information on to her family. They have told her that she is going to win the lottery so she will never have to worry about money again.
They first instructed her that religion was bogus, especially Christianity, but have since changed their minds I guess because now she reads the Bible again. They have told her that the Bible is only half of the truth.
I’m worried, but I’m not. I’m hoping it’s just a phase. See, my sister never smoked weed before and she has been a stay at home mom for 3 years now. I’m thinking she’s just bored and lonely so this is her new passion. Her passions always die out before they are realized. I have yet to see her stick with anything she was super excited about for long.
Anyway, after she and I argued because I told her I think she’s on drugs and she needs to stop doing drugs first thing in the morning, I hung up on her. She’s the type to start insulting you if you don’t agree with her, and she gets so loud, it’s so annoying to speak to her. She thinks talking loudly means she is right and has authority.
I sat up in bed to finish up an article I was working on and I finished it within an hour before running out to the bank to deposit my check and then I came back and took a nice nap, foregoing a social activity from Meetup.Com that I was supposed to attend. I don’t regret it. I have another one tomorrow morning and I’ll go to that for a little while. Socializing wears me out.
It’s not the act of being in public, I can do that with no problem. What wears me out about socializing usually, is the fact that I used to feel like I have to control myself, my personality and I felt that I couldn’t. I Was so worn out from trying NOT to be who I am, to be more polite and talk about stupid TV shows and pretend to be interested in dumb conversations and pretend not to be disgusted by some of the idiotic opinions people have.
Just thinking about all that pretending is making my heart ache. I don’t want to do that anymore and I won’t.
I’m free now. I’ve mastered the art of having fun alone and I enjoy it more than I enjoy being with anyone else, except for my boys.
Speaking of my boys. My sugar pops. My love buttons. My honey bears. My SUGAR POPS had a party today. Wait- my Booga Bear called it a get together. Regardless, my 13-year-old had to ask his Dad for permission to have his friends over, call all of his friends and speak to their parents, clean up the house and get ready for his party.
I was so overjoyed when he first told me about the idea earlier this week. I encouraged him to hang up with me and call his Daddy right then and when he called me back he was excited to say that his Dad said it was fine and he would even cut his work day short to help prepare for the party.
My baby is growing up! Both of my sugar pops are! OH MY GOSH!
Wow. Anyway, after I smiled my way to sleep and woke up, I went to the grocery store down the street. It takes about 15 minutes to walk there and the streets were crowded with people selling their wares and milling about. I live in Westlake so it’s a neighborhood filled with Mexican people, so many restaurants and interesting things to see.
I don’t have a car and I really don’t want one. If I had a car I would miss out on an up close look at the interesting people in this city. I walk, I smile, I engage in conversation when I can. Most of the Mexican men offer me compliments and the older ones blow me kisses.
I was a bit disturbed today when a Black man I had seen earlier made it his mission to get my attention and avoiding him would mean going out of my way so I didn’t.
He introduced himself- again. I gave him my alias- as usual. He looked me up and down like he was seeing a Christmas treat and complimented my eyes.
I feel so disgusted when men approach me. Well, Black men anyway. If any other race approaches me I don’t feel disgusted, I feel like they are just curious about what Black pussy looks like. I don’t feel any emotion toward them so they don’t spark a deep emotion in me, but Black men, which I prefer, always make me feel like- Oh shit. Here we go again.
I don’t want to meet anymore men. Fuck. What the fuck is the benefit of that? I don’t get anything out of it. I mean, a nice screw is fine, but I don’t need them that often.
Anyway, I bought some ingredients to make spaghetti but by the time I walked back home, I wasn’t in the mood to cook. I began watching these installments of a tsunami video on Youtube which kept me occupied for more than an hour.
And now, I’m about to drink some milk before it expires and I’m thinking about a lot of things. Number one, how grateful I am to finally be back in the groove of blogging for personal reasons instead of writing for money. I LOVE the fact that I am a professional blogger but sometimes I just want to have fun, say nothing, talk shit and just be myself.
This allows me to do that and I am so grateful. I really am. I’ve been thinking a lot about gratitude lately. I’ve been feeling grateful for my children, grateful for their Dad, grateful for my life experience and the fact that I have two legs.
Anything could happen at any given time. My roof could cave in and crush me to death in 20 minutes. I could be walking up the street and someone could murder me. I could mysteriously disappear and end up on a milk carton. Anything could happen and it could happen to me.
I’m aware. I’m okay with that. In the meantime, while it hasn’t happened yet, I am going to stretch my legs and walk as much as I can, I am going to enjoy my freedom, my youth and what’s left of my beauty. I see my face aging. I still think I look cute but I see my face becoming rounder and more full.
When I take a closer look, besides the random chin hairs that I find, I think about how this shell of a body doesn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things. This body is just my transportation. I happen to have an outside shell that some people think is attractive. That has nothing to do with me.
My inside- who I really am, in the dark, with no clue about what I look like- is what matters. So far, I can’t find too many people in real life, who value what I bring in terms of wisdom. It’s okay. My lack of friends and love leaves me invisible and I LOVE THE FEELING of no one recognizing me or asking me for anything.
I love the beauty of no one caring who I am or trying to be close to me. I honestly feel that my life doesn’t really matter. Well, it matters to my sons, but everyone else isn’t much impacted by it. No, I’m not seeking attention or anything like that, and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.
I’m just- unattached to this world- outside of my sons. Now that I have experienced knowing and loving them, I don’t see that there is much more to want to experience. I have hopes, but they don’t compare to the joy I feel when I talk to them or hold them or think about how happy they are in life right now.
When I die, I want them to live on, but to be right there with me holding my hand, kissing me on the cheek and telling me, “I’m happy Mama.”
That’s all I want. I want them to be happy and satisfied with life. So far, I think they are getting it right.
That makes me so happy!