Imagine? If someone said that about your father? That’s what the guru said. “There was nothing interesting about that guy,” imagine? It could have been my shitty ass writing asshole, and a kind person would have just said that. A kind person would have read the first page and laughed out loud. “Okay, I don’t need to read anymore… it’s chill, dare to be bad, no worries, just go and figure it out…”
Well, the guru’s father seemed like a piece of work, didn’t he? Disrespectful. But then, now, I don’t know what to say. I pray everyday that it wasn’t true about my father, and I wish I had just one person in my life who could understand the real emotional weight of that question — that I spoke to a specialist who said, “maybe something did happen, okay? Take it step by step.”
Like, my friend, right? She asked me the other day if I wanted to hang out. Hmmmm, I’m picturing how Dave Chappelle might “hmmmmm…” Just picturing his face. “Not really, if I’m being honest.” I wouldn’t have to explain why to Mr. Chappelle.
Imagine if you weren’t sure if your father was inappropriate with you…sexually. That’s a wrap. That’s a dark period. “How’s the Upper West Side treating you…?” My friend texted. “Hmmmmmmm…” I need a moment. “How are you doing?”
“Ups and downs, thanks.”
I’ve had a hard time because if my friend told me that she didn’t know, Jesus Christ, I would not act like they did. So I would rather be myself even if it stings sometimes, and I can’t quite bridge an “everything’s okay” gap, yeah sure, shrug. I’m trying my best, and I feel like I can’t totally see straight.
It’s less a problem with these friends, more so that in my personal life, I’m alone right now. I’m still setting myself up, so I’ll get to the specialist again, talk to him one or two more times, so I can ask him questions about the body of all this, just because he said, “yeah people can describe something in this range.” I only met with him once.
But there they are: the two major question marks: Dr. J and Nicholas J.
I’m clearing out my storage space today, and I’m just taking a break before I go back downtown and finish the job. I was moving these stupid boxes, annoyed, as I had a complicated way of operating. I just want the picking up the pieces period to be complete, I have what I have, and I don’t ever have to travel again if I don’t want to. I can move fast. I can keep that drive. But at least, as I’m still figuring out my employment situation, as I have side gigs, not a steady source of income and barely any savings to speak of… greatttt. Feeling great.
At least, however, I can start paying my mother now back, yup you heard me, my most recent mother, though I’m going to restructure that relationship. Regardless, we have a real relationship, and this bitch — and she would laugh at that, you see — gave me money, stop. Right? So I could travel in a state of agony. Terrible. She’s a bit of an enabler. She’s not going to say, “you should stop traveling,” you see. Have you ever found yourself in a place where you go, nooooooo, please, no. It was hard to admit that, that made it hard to come back. I was there.
Like this can’t be my life.
I have to pay her back, as I borrowed money from her, even to get into this apartment, but that’s done. And one month for that storage space is one session with that specialist, so I took care of that, now. I have a PT restaurant job, a couple of writing gigs, but I’m making peanuts, and it takes a second to find work. I have a meeting with my old manager this week. I don’t want to be here, on the brink of forty, but I just need to keep moving, establish ground, and take it from there.
“In the 15th century, you would have been the one to speak to animals…”
Yeah, cool.
I’ve reached a place of stillness, the road was the road.
I have to complete this storage evacuation.
I’ll leave you with that photo.