It is February 6, 2024. I woke up this morning after not sleeping next to a white woman who calls me nigger. It is a good day. Today’s entry is from the year 2015:
And now we get into the writings post incident. Whew
This was after a trip with B and my spoon. Shit I fucking miss my spoon. I don’t miss a lot of my old lives, yes plural because I’ve done a lot of living, but her I miss. It was one of those things where time kept increasing between contacts and the things we needed to do kept us from consistency. On my shelf in my bedroom though is one of the gifts she gave me. It is one of the first things I see when I open my eyes. I did that deliberately.
I would pick up the phone right now but we’d be on the phone 22 hours just coming up to speed and then we’d have to have a real conversation. I do want that, I just don’t know with all that is going on right now if I can manage that. I am waiting for an update and there is a conversation I have to have that I want to avoid but know that I cannot.
I have regular work. I have content that needs to go out. I have to plan for next weekend. There are only 24 hours in a day and it feels like I am trying to use all of them and not with sleep.
I got an unexpected offer yesterday that brought a tear to my eye. It didn’t drop because well thug I am, but it was a reminder that I am loved and appreciated and who doesn’t like those? I am unlikely to accept the offer but the fact they give enough of a fuck to offer it means more to me than I will say.
I have empathy for people who don’t have friends in the way I do. I hear people talk about how amazing their friends are and I want to ask but would they ____? I don’t ever ask that question aloud though. I can think of one person in particular and hear their voice now as they speak on those they call friend. This person didn’t have a lot of friends when we met and that was a concern for me. I was happy to hear that they’d finally made connections. I actively encouraged those connections because I understand what the alternative means and wanted better for them. I think about what things look like now and inherently understand they’ve allowed those connections to drift, but unlike the drift I have say with my spoon, this drift is both unhealthy in origin and unhealthy in experience. I see the photos and witness all the progress eroding. I hear them speak and know that who they were a decade ago is reborn and it makes me sad. They were on the road to better.
Their road is not my own, and I have to walk in a different direction. Even though the historical post is about experiencing something that I’d seen before, not unlike when I wrote it, this is still ‘different’.
If there is a lesson from this series? Nicole is Black History but she is not destined to repeat her own history. I can alter my trajectory. I can improve the process.
Some of us are complacent and refuse to move beyond the mundane. I’d heard it once that it was a sign of wisdom. Perhaps, yet the person who said it ain’t wise.