This shit is fucking exhausting.

I’m so tired I legit fell asleep mid sentence in a conversation yesterday. One moment I was talking the next it was 1030am.

To be a Black, Queer woman in the United States of America in the year 2020 is never being able to fully exhale before the next thing happens. It’s not all that different from being that person any other year except 2020 has a fascist in the White House, a virus snatching people I love, and my future 3000 miles away stepping on axes and refusing to get a tetanus shot.

The Daddy person and I are good, better than good actually. If I doubted it, and well by now I don’t – I still have curious questions about implementation – but doubt nope….this week put all that to rest. Everything that’s happened lately supports the course and nights like last night remind me that I might not be moving with the correct sense of urgency.

It is not like I don’t know what it feels like to be away from someone I love who needs me. I know that too fucking well.

The re-centering of that feeling in my generally happy current existence is unwelcome.

There is a voice in the brain which is counting minutes and hours and days and I cannot shut that bitch up.

One of the majestic things about me is that I’ve managed to endure the pain given to me to carry. I explain to current and future clients as it was explained to me that pain doesn’t make you special. It doesn’t make me special but it does make me capable. 2020 has a lot of pain. It has a lot of victory but also a lot of pain. My race, my sex, my sexuality all carries a lot of pain and the fact that I get out of bed is a victory Becky will never know. I know a lot of shit she will never know.

In the absence of my presence I have to rely on her to hold things down and her being the source of that fucks with me heavy. I don’t trust her. Perhaps I should but I do not. Perhaps I should reflect on 14 years, yet I know that I cannot because those 14 have not been the truth.

I know they are not true the way I know I am going to wake up on a Sunday in August and roll over and grab the phone and take the photo which is now 2nd nature. I know the way I know how to alter this trajectory and at the same time know that I will not.

I know her. I’ve seen her in action. Not that specific her but those like her. And that’s why I’m angry today. I’m here. I am not there. I am working my ass off to get there and I will but I am not there. This is not the fear of history repeating itself, this is knowing if I question this it chips the foundation and this is the strongest foundation I’ve ever had.

I also know how to expose this without chipping that foundation, I just ask myself on days like today if I have the patience to do it. I know that I do, I just don’t know if I want to, although not wanting to do something isn’t a factor these days.

I just hear that clock.

I think I’m getting my period again. This would be #4 in six weeks. Fuck