I scribble at work, on an ordering pad, usually later on in the evening when trumpets are blasting from up above, latin music, and the disco ball is turning. I read my pages for the day, wonder about the quality of the image I see, as the guru believed that the future writes the past, so, still, at times, I can read and feel that I’m trying to focus on some future point when I’ll be looking back at this moment. I pause, let that go. That brought me nowhere. All the same, “the key to success,” a Masterclass promo says, “is struggling well.” Is that true? I don’t know. I have no idea.
Now, I look at nice houses, and I want one, I didn’t in the past, I don’t understand it, but I keep letting go of it. It’s the sensation of having these characters return in my head as I’m thinking that’s so awful. I grab onto my heart, because that guru is mixed up in all that type of thinking, and it’s not pleasant. I keep separating from him, these thoughts, because I don’t know what to say there but I hated that guy. Wow, that was a very confusing person.
Now, luckily, I’m getting my whole self back, let’s say, so that’s my sensual self, too, as that’s taken years, but my entire operation was hilarious to me. Why I would hang out with some older man, when it’s not sexual, I don’t know, but I always liked having different friends, but not so much anymore. I got into a guru-pupil thing, when that was kind of degrading, belittling, and if he cared about me like…a father, or something, I grain away, that was literally, for me, the worst relationship I ever was in. He thought, reasons aside, I was Alexander the Great, he, the teacher, as that’s how he acted, he didn’t act like a normal, real person. He has that side, but to be frank, I got freaked out because he was manipulative, so I couldn’t tell what was a tactic and what wasn’t… strange.
He believed I could have a Lamborghini, he believed it was in my power. I, personally, wanted to know if I was “a Lamborghini girl,” meaning, my old professor I used to hang out with (and why???), he said, that when we walked down the street together, he got “the Lamborghini look.” I laughed, I was in my twenties, “what do you mean?” Apparently, in Europe, especially, when we walked down the street together, men gave him a “good job” look, one of these, he must have a Lamborghini if that girl is with him, when he was gay, first of all. I was so struck by that, because I never took myself to be that girl, and so I asked the guru, “am I,” just because he’s wealthy and I assumed he might get girls because of it, I’m extremely honest, I can be, I don’t have time. “Am I that person?” I wondered. It was sincere. Because I gotta get a makeover, I’m laughing, and rearrange my life.
In his guru tones, and I guess this guy was unsexual, he didn’t seem to have a sensual bone in his body, he said, hands behind his back… full of knowing. “It’s your…Lamborghini.” He believed, on Santa Monica Boulevard, that I, myself, could get a lamborghini, but I had money in the bank then, which all these wealthy men missed, not enough to buy that car, but if I thought about THAT right, just THAT, and nothing else, I would have been in a better position than I am now. Forget the dream—?—of being a writer, or whatever, as the guru and slytherin were both seduced by. I peer through this, like, I was a woman, I might have been shy about my upbringing, but I hate I played into traits that kinda weren’t really mine, it was a boundary issue. I ended up hating the way I dressed and styled my hair, now it’s longer, and I much prefer it, because the bob of curls ended up bringing me stupid, precious, shit. Being cute — sucked ass. I hated cute. So now I feel better, and hey, I look at some “older women” out there who found love in someone cool, so why not me? Like, I think I have a lot to offer, as a person, actually.
The lamborghini —you could have one, yes, I get it, but doing what? Not to say I couldn’t be Harry Potter, you know? But again, if he even called his financial person and set up a fucking appointment for me, that would have actually helped me. IF ANY one of these so-called gurus, geniuses, shamans, I mean, set me up with ONE meeting — that would have done me better than, oh, I don’t know how many dinners and stupid lunches this stupid guru and I went on, you know what I mean? Where he just wants to be a dick, sort of, you know? Cool, nice steakhouse in Beverly Hills, mate, in the Australian. This is what I mean about help, you know? I would have so so appreciated that, I really would have. I would have even offered to pay him back. One day. That’s a nice forward thinking thing, again, I would have said, “girl, I still don’t know why you don’t have a job,” and truly speaking, “why wouldn’t you get one?” This idea that I would write and find success over a book about a sex scandal, sure, it’s not like I couldn’t make it big, but there’s a whole world out there. I hope it goes well for me, but I really got sooo sucked into his dark obsession with reality creation, to the point where I’m meditating and clearly losing a grip, clearly. And he was so cruel, crueler than I can handle sometimes, this was cruel man. Cold, unfeeling, selfish.
I do like Christmas in Naples is a Sport, that’s a fun idea, I just had no idea what that was, and meditating on a book was a horrific idea. I suppose that could be a tool, but I still don’t know — gaping hole, as I felt devoured, WHY this man got involved, for one, and I don’t know WHY he did what he did. That was a psychological thriller, basically, that relationship. In any case, I thought, that book ended up causing me WAY too many problems, as I had no idea what I was doing, and I thought it might make a better stand-up or something, so we’ll see, I keep on envisioning my forties as my golden age, something. Evidently, I went through a rude awakening, as this GURU was obsessed with me being FED, literally, and royally fucked me up, and obsessed with these people… writing a book isn’t therapy. This guy was so dark. He was so creepy, looking back on it, yikes. Apparently, my friend said that their sister thought maybe they shouldn’t introduce me to him because she thought he might fall in love with me…now, all things considered — that’s practically demonic. That whole thing. I’m getting past it, I got into a scary relationship, and one that killed me, really, I am not the same person, but again, I don’t know what to say about the past, whether there was abuse there, as this sounds abusive, and he was, abusive, he took his brothers hand and punched him with it, which his brother thought was wise. So there’s a bit of that in him.
And thinking about Barbara Harris, it was all because, “I was touching,” I have to laugh. My cousin in Naples shrugged and told me I was a touching person, first, that’s all. And even looking at his parents, what happened there, look, I couldn’t say “she accused him of being a child rapist?” After fifteen years. Like I give a shit that you’re “family” supposedly, which is already BULLSHIT. My cousins in Rome would stand by on that one. I cannot say that, be real, looking at this idiot, sick guru with an obsession with problems, he had a problem, literally speaking, with problems. He should really look at himself because he found a vulnerable girl and harmed her, helped her harm herself, he can put it in whichever way he wants to, because I came from a background that required respect. This is not your wheelhouse. The fact he took himself to be a gifted psychologist was — practically juvenile, man, this guy’s father was supposedly some prominent psychologist, and did that man ever scare me. He couldn’t keep it in his pants, literally, so they have like 15 siblings, they keep getting phone calls, literally. Well, he was a lot like him, and I doubt his FAMILY would agree that THEY wanted him to sleep with all these women, hurt their mother, as they are creating the reality, no? Each of them? I doubt it. The mother divorced him, as in, I do not want this reality. Enough of his boyish obsessions. Anyway, I should have seen that MAJOR red flag, and I didn’t because of the way people could get WEIRD around my STUPID story. My cousins, the male, especially, he got all tangled up, wanted to play father, didn’t really believe me, what a fucking mess. After 15 years, you see, as I had to WORK THROUGH this stupid guru’s take on all this, I come back to reunite with them, and I CANNOT HELP WHAT THE FUCK THE STORY IS, ASSHOLES, AND I GET TOSSED TO THE WOLVES, not true, here, not true there, and I can’t SEE the disrespect, I can’t SEE any of it. I can’t get ANGRY at innocent people. It’s not THEIR fault. You see, ANY recognition that someone ELSE is IN A RELATIONSHIP, idiot guru, my demon, wasn’t possible. I assumed all blame, all fault. I am not the ONLY one there. So they blast me to outer space, I start doing a song and dance, trying so hard — with this goddamn story — needing to channel a goddamn woman to be believed! And all I had to do was leave. That’s it. “Nope,” not doing it. I felt it was “my duty” or something to go through this with people????
So it was a “fuck you,” really, and that’s from the best therapist I ever worked with, one of my regrets, because I couldn’t hear her. Fuck you. That was my therapy. A big big one. Like, was this fun? I had to ask myself, wake up, how the fuck could these relationship be fun? So then, I had fucking parents on my fucking back, and one of the hardest realizations was, oh, looking at this father coming around — someone I can’t trust, looking at his WIFE, because don’t play dumb, asshole, I ain’t your kid, she’s my cousin, so what do I know? About what this might trigger? I don’t know. You think Angela, her sister, is letting me go alone to a farm with her husband? Nope. the world is cruel, hunny, that’s the way it goes. He would never even do that. You see what I mean? But now I got parents, she, too, is acting like one. All the same, these people acted appropriately, at the same time, in that, he got UPSET, like wtf is this story? CHILD MOLESTATION. Just to hear the mic drop, silence, and that’s where I could smile, stuff like that. Oh, am I making your uncomfortable? Good. Can you imagine what this was like for me? How utterly horrible it was? Not being believed? In the midst of the PG version? Like I can’t even get to — and honestly, why would I want to get to the sordid details? My mother coming over with her BREASTS exposed? Come on.
So I went through a lot of hard realizations with the stupid guru putting this behavior on a pedestal? Like I deserved that? Deserved to be disrespected left and right. What the guru did — disrespect. What they did, disrespect, mixed in with a real response, which I never got. I got cowards left and right. These are Neapolitans, so they don’t give a shit, they’re knocking DOWN your door, I wasn’t prepared. My father didn’t act uspet, he didn’t give a shit. Ouch, that one was tough, looking into the eyes of this man, and thinking about that total jerk. That guy wasn’t a NICE guy, in my opinion. He was sick, for sure, because this man, my cousin, wasn’t, he didn’t have dementia. He didn’t respond to me in the same way my father did. So, I’m here, I have surfaced…as a person.
I mean, come on, it’s moving, as a movie? I liked Christmas in Naples is a Sport as that, sort of my Big Fat Greek Wedding, but a whole other level. I can’t say “child molester” at Christmas, I can’t tell them, but then, you see, at that point, I wasn’t even there. My parents weren’t even there. Imagine? They didn’t get it. It was so hard writing it, and coming to wake up. I said it, just the rage I felt, I said it DAY ONE, he got diagnosed with a disease when I was ten, but it changed, DO DEE DO, I’m tap dancing for these people — and they’re loving it at the same time — and SHE, the WOMAN, my mother, “go Meri!!”, gave me to another person when I was four, you see? I didn’t have the phrasal verb, “gave me away.” But we got there. I just thought, people would INFER? Like there’s a story there, one to be sensitive about. And that was ERASED. I was in all these families, entangling an “adoptive narrative” in HILARIOUSLY bad Italian. Hilariously terrible Italian in a Neapolitan accent. But I decided, why? I would USE this as an opportunity, lol, to learn, because I was four, you guys, so I will learn, I will be positive. I had to be positive about everything. Even this ordeal. So I’m firing at Carmine, “WORD, goddammit!” And was it fun??? THEY, my cousins, think so. And guess what? SO DO THE GODDAMN BRAZILIANS. Was it fun? That was a real Christmas story right there. This father cannot STAND the story, CANNOT STAND IT! What the fuck are you even saying???
All these families, just a mess, I got adopted… sort of, all these times. And my Italian cousins, they are SO CONFUSED. “Why????” And I said it, day one. So I went through the adopted narrative with them, and when I was writing it with this STUPID guru getting obsessed with whether or not I was fed, just absurd, a total dick with some WEIRD sexual even fetish with this story, I mean, enough! Enough. I have this person just making it worse. And idiot psychologists getting enamoured with my style? My fashion style? You MUST be joking. And then, everything goes royally wrong with this slytherin. Just a catastrophy. So I came to wake up, really, through Christmas in Naples, and adopted family narrative, all the adopted families, they looked quite garish, unnecessary, and royally unfair. That one goes to my second surrogate mother — royally royally unfair. Sorry, in a psychologist setting, I would call her a real white bitch. That was some WHITE lady, I’ll tell you. I have those teeth. Even if I am very white. She angered me on this level. This, sorry, might silence a comedy room, but in a good way. “Sorry gang,” laughing. And here, Dave Chappelle appears in my mind, “you should keep going…” I gotta clean my apartment today. But it’s 8 AM. Sorry, I had a particular experience. And everybody’s got shadow. She was a great lady, it’s not that, but this idea that I was acting maliciously, when I SAID — the man had a DISEASE for TEN YEARS. I told her that. He had a disease the whole time, and no offense, but once he starting getting sick, and I was unable to even understand what the fuck happened back there, this whole “house play” between us looked real scary. What am I doing here? I have another family? You know? They were my cousins, but I didn’t understand why I had another mother. Please understand, and at eight, nine years old, I could sound like an adult, just ask my Big Sister of America, who was amazed. Never seen anything like it. “I came from a sex scandal…” okay? “My mother is Dr. J… she wrapped a Brazilian woman up in a sex scandal over me, and it went awry,” to remain dry, British about it. AND THEN, I came here. My cousins, the Neapolitans, they ended up, like so many, getting into the story…
And look, that was messy, really messy, and confusing, but Giggino was totally worried, but not like that, he hated that — as they could read me, too, they could. He hated that I was worrysome? There’s nothing wrong with you. What the fuck is this? He was concerned. In any case, a totally confusing situation aside, they got pulled in. They believed I was Dante, it was as simple as that. I was Dante and I went through the “USA Family Inferno,” it was clear to them, and they were resolved about it. I laughed, and they got defensive. “Is there something FUNNY about Dante?” You can get attacked in Naples. I couldn’t stop laughing. I was laughing because they called me Dante. “IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG??? WRONG WITH DANTE??” In any case, that ended up being true, you know? Especially around this house, and they wanted me to DESCRIBE the house, DESCRIBE it, okay? Giggino was like my personal coach, as Neapolitans aren’t trying to get to the point, they’re trying to SEE the SCENE, Maria, they need DETAILS, descriptions. There were bright spots in hell, it was true, as the house was so American, “and what does that mean?” A development, plush carpet, she was a decorator. I liked how comfortable it felt. So I suppose that affected me, my Big Sister of America backing me up that I would tell this story like an adult. A real adult. She would leave me the space. She saw ALL the families. She knows they’re real.
That was hell, too, and they agreed, they thought that was a good Dante move, that, of course, there would be bright spots in hell, of course. It was a nice house. So, ever get in serious touch with a child? That you were one, succeptible, vulnerable. But the whole, “how nice,” a woman wanted to be like your mother, all that was a destructive direction, sorry. It wasn’t the end of the world, for some, the end of the world would be not becoming a mother yourself. Just because, this whole, Maria doesn’t have a mother routine, it was practically treated like a syndrome, with Aunt Jane claiming me as hers, like I’m not a fucking ornament on a fucking tree. And I tried to tell them at this point, as I was deeply confused, was it nice? I don’t know. Everyone treated me like I should be grateful for getting involved with a mother, when I didn’t really want to. I came from a situation. And how was this going to help me, really? Being seen as if I lacked something? That you felt sorry for me? I get people admired me, and even that didn’t fucking help me. People ADMIRED me, and that was something that weakened me, imagine? The guru did it, he couldn’t even admit he admired me, so he’s just a coward, and so what? I was different, and? Go look at yourselves. Unbelievable, this story, looking at my stupid father. Looking at Chris, my cousin, imagine? I mean, come on, you come home from a goddamn work trip and your daughter is living at someone else’s house, and you call acting like an idiot, like a total moron, acting guilty, for the love of God. And you request to visit?? You request to VISIT a stranger’s house, some stranger who is KEEPING your child? Now, look, to my asshole friends, ex-friends, it’s like that in Connecticut, you see, which is where my second surrogate mother is from.
The Neapolitans were AMAZED by Connecticut, truly, a mythic place, I told them. EX-FRIENDS. My father’s throughline through that sex scandal was outrageous. Outrageous. The man acted like it wasn’t! He blamed me for his lunacy. I was in an act of lunacy, please. And now, I’m going to be misunderstood every step of the way… every step of the way…. so I sit with myself at eight years old, you know, not eighteen, and I feel a lot for that person. I look at the fucking guru as this person, this disgusting man. The ghost of Barbara Harris there the whole time, lol, truly. “Thank you.” I was aided by an actress, for sure, I know who they are. They can haunt you, it’s true, it’s something we all know. I needed an actress, I really did. So, thanks to her, I have a shot at life, thanks to a lot of people, but I appreciated her spiritual support, let’s say. Maybe she could relate, differently. Her family was tough, blamed her, too. Mine sucked ass—Will Ferrell, that’s what he might say. “THEY SUCKED ASS.” I needed that voice. As I said, comedy really saved me. So, was it true about my father? A devastating question. When someone is acting like that, making phone calls, acting like nothing’s happening, okay? And then, requesting visitation rights? To stand at this Brazilian woman’s WIDE OPEN DOOR.
The good witch went NUTS— when he requested to VISIT? Imagine? In her words. imagine?! Maria! Imagine,” she gave that to me with sass, though my father’s throughline was conveniently erased, thank you very much, as I was so young when I conducted the investigation. The point is — I had to put this together, and SHE wasn’t sure, and how could she be, please! Okay, that was my whole life. Like these people gave a shit. Standing at this woman’s door, he stood there, he didn’t even try to walk in, and NOTHING was SAID, think, Aretha Franklin, literally. THINK. She’s not BRINGING IT UP, we’re NOT TELLING HIM WHAT WE KNOW, because WE are PLAYING A NICE GAME WITH THIS MOTHER FUCKER. She wanted his balls bad, Angelica Leibowitz. I guess she figured he might CALL, no? How nice, to receive the call, in fact. And ACT like a total lunatic. ACTING NICE. VERY NICE. LIKE NOTHING IS HAPPENING, LIKE I’M JUST A NICE GUY CALLING YOU… TRULY. THEN, YOU SEE, he requests to visit. She told us, her youngest daughter and me, “it was time to put on a nice play, a very nice nice play…” where we THREW fists, YEAH! Ran amuck screaming our heads off, never been happier, that was the routine. And the man just stood there and watched and got the door slammed in his face, nicely. That’s the snapshot.
Now, bring me a person, fuck my friends, who’s going to look at that and not go, “uuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh….” Enough. That took enough time to just connect. Evidently, I had it in my memory, it just didn’t CONNECT. No, oh shit, what? So sure, he had dementia, later, his “secret illness,” which sounds like a goddamn joke, that he told no one about, but what was this? I thought I was looking at some mirrored reality? But after my experience, I don’t know, which is why I’m trying to talk to this specialist, so I can understand what the body is, and you know why assholes??? Because an ACTOR, Christian Bale, has spent 12 million dollars building homes for foster kids, this is what I mean about the goddamn GURU, like CALL him, can’t you ask your AGENT asshole to CALL HIS? And get involved? I cannot with this man. Ever feel like, I’m a goddamn person, first? Like, I could have ended up in foster care, or that’s the story people have, and kids come out of abusive homes and they’re even more likely to get abused again. Imagine? Imagine. So don’t talk to me like this is some UNBELIEVABLE STORY. It drove me nuts.
I had every right to be furious. I was furious. But I was eight nine, getting ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS, so it was funny. I was so furious at my father, my FURY was 24/7. Fury. And he’s acting all hurt and shit, acting all sensitive, like DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED SIR? ARE YOU THERE??? And this bitch, my mother, this fucking bitch, she’s wrapping me up in a sex scandal. Spending 11k in value a MONTH on this. On this. Please. She could have gotten a LIVE IN NANNY, a whole other HOUSE, and handled herself properly, if she was uninterested, just get the fuck out of my face with this lady. And these people, awwwwwwwwww, awwwww poor Maria, why don’t you call her? Truly. Patch things up. Look man, I don’t fucking want to. What she did — it bothers me she got away with it, frankly. That woman was insane.
So there’s another blog post. Needing to deal with a fucking guru, with contacts, like GO JACK OFF ELSEWHERE. He deserves it. A real slap across the face. Taking the BLAME for all these goddamn people, and guess what???? On the goddamn Eve of Christmas Eve, Giggino, bringing in BOXES AND BOXES OF EXOTIC FRUITS… he is a urologist, so they are like Gods here, in Naples. The food offerings just keep coming… and now, we moved into the fruit department. “There’s a THIRD family…” Giggino. So now, we were back in the ring, the kitchen, trying to figure out who the fuck these people even were. And I CAN’T TALK ABOUT THEM CAN I??????? You see. Secrets, you see. And they royally royally pissed me off. Like, BEYOND possible. Their denial, these womens ROUTINES are offensive and unhealthy. So, I’m in the process of uncoupling, consciously, with them. Finally, this story is over. Enough, I’ve been through enough, and if my daughter told me she didn’t know if she was abused, I reject my so-called mother’s reaction. With all that. My brother, my ex-brother… he can tell the world if he wants to, that a dog accidently bit the fucking baby. But he technically committed manslaughter, you see. There’s a real difference.
And the Neapolitans would…look at one another… “what?”
YEAH. Barbara Harris here, too. I’m laughing. “The line between life and death is arbitrary,” and they would call me “Dante, again, the USA Family Inferno.” There was so much I couldn’t say. Just so much. Family was a disaster. What my brother did — to me — he’s literally on my SHIT LIST for life. But — the Neapolitans were quick, “he was in love with you, no?” My cousin. Vico. The siren. He saw that one from a mile away. So, to them, how was this going to work? This is strange, Maria. You’re not supposed to be in romantic love with a family member, and you know what? I’m saying, “you’re right.” So all those delicious themes, right? All wrapped up in a goddamn wrap, a Ceasar Salad wrap. Ridiculous.
But now I am free.
I no longer am in the story, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still interact with it, deal with it, as I recently went through my catastrophic end, where NO ONE even fucking remembered the fucking story, which was unreal to me, I didn’t even get a fucking real phone call from my friends. So no, in the words of the shaman, though in this case, it doesn’t even matter, it doesn’t apply, forgiveness doesn’t mean you have to ever see them again. So don’t come up to me. Don’t look at me. That’s basically where I’m at with that one. My stupid friend getting stars in his eyes over a goddamn screenwriter, like I could find you a screenwriter by 3 PM. So what? So what if he made it, whatever, like I couldn’t stand the STAR BULLSHIT around some PRETTY GIRL with a stupid STORY — I couldn’t even get past a book without my closest friend having a problem with it? Wanting to be my ACTOR, MANAGER? This white boy. Sorry. Actor manager, “as your manager” he said, wanting to kill politicians, just stay away from me. Your little friend too.
I suppose I came to say a lot of goodbyes. I drew lines in the sand, “haha, hee hee,” smiles, Barbara Harris still here. Okay? An actress. Now fuck off. She can haunt you, an actress, and in my case, it was thoroughly appreciated, and she’s welcome any time. So again, I’ve had a rough time, um, but I have to believe that there’s some deeper reason to all this, I have to. I have to surrender to the course, that I came from a real mess, unseen, and you know, people have been through a lot—unseen too. People have been treated with utter disrespect, their family members killed, without any care or trace, women have been raped, I mean, and Manal Omar has had to fight for her community to even take raped women back, come on, because they get rejected. Um, you know? Terrible things happen to people, they can, what am I supposed to do? CRY — for you? This is why I plan to get a whoopee cushion, on the. comedy stage, because I came to find there IS a time and place for it. I got this TRAUMA crap, like play the violins, when it’s like, I’m so over the VIOLINS. Who gives a shit? There are other instruments.
This slytherin. He’s telling me to have an affair with an older man I do not know, have never spoken with, who I don’t even know is attracted to me, because he’s a sex person, lol, and he might call me at 3 PM??? Wanting to have SEX? EXCUSE ME? YEAH, sounds…fun. Idiot. I’m telling you. This man told me to THINK like Joan Didion. WHY this guy has a GURU problem, as well, I don’t know. I GET your all geniuses, I mean, I was UP to MY EARS in GENIUSES! This shaman, he told me, listen to this, another goddamn psychic: your mother was gifted, he said, whoopee cushion, she just didn’t have the tools to navigate her experience, all well. I became psychic why? Why was this necessary? You see what I mean? The trajectory?
So alright, again, I have to keep coming back to the higher perspective that the road was the road, and now, I finally got to a new road, okay? Looking at my second surrogate mother, like, your BITTERNESS AND RESENTMENT — an actress my backup, lol — is RIDICULOUS. Sorry, I’m going to let that go now. You can keep it. You didn’t have to do ANY of it. I could not handle it. I really couldn’t. I’m a different person today. But, that was too much, too confusing, and she WAS NOT my parent. My parents caused me nothing but problems. I’m letting that go, and now, I hope I get to reach success? I’d like that, now. It seems impossible, because of my age, just because I’m older, and I really really don’t have much. But life can flip on a dime, I guess. I hope. I hope I’ll be able to meet someone, buy a house, punch the guru, as he still pops up, and be able to keep on seeing myself doing well. I have to write out the whole thing, just because my friends SUCKED. They sucked ass. And they sucked, just like everyone else, for the same reason — they think they know everything. THEY THINK they know everything, when they don’t. They don’t at all. But they don’t even think of asking a question. I get “it” was hard. For you.
I gotta go clean my house. Get a coffee. I like my house, at least. My roommates are cool. Charles in charge, a black man, the way it should be. I could do a bit about how Black men, specifically, were part of how I got through this. I was laughing, Charles is bringing me coffees, sometimes,. He’s in charge, he’s good at it, so that’s it. Time to clean. And then, everytime I get into an uber, the white person is texting and turning away, but the Black man acknowledges my presence, simply, hello. And then, the Black comic, we’re talking on Instagram, he’s telling me to come back down, where have I been? IHe’s getting excited when I post something about me singing, lol. The first to respond. No attachments, no worries. Isn’t it great? So, the joke is, Black men were the silent stars of this new chapter. Common, also, by default.
Comedy saved me, no? It really did. I can say that, you can talk about anything, you know? It continues to. I feel so excited about getting better at it. I feel excited, always, about having gotten to the end of a whole saga. I get to start another story, and I get scared, I really do, because is that even possible? Just, I tried, I did, I felt like I tried to be open to people, I tried, I really did, I wasn’t a perfect person, obviously, but I tried. I tried to get myself help, too, like Harris, and it was — it didn’t make that much sense. I got help, too, I didn’t really need. So remember, I’ll pot an academic article about it, help is tricky. So I don’t know what I’m doing, but I just want to look around and go, I’m exactly where I want to be. I’m buying an apartment. I’m doing work that fulfills me and maybe helps others, something. I want to reach financial abundance and all that. So, time to clean. Charles in charge. A man who plays tennis.
Thanks for reading.