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Saturday, July 19, 2003
Tonight at work, a woman sitting at the bar with three of her friends said, "Do you also work on the floor?" I said yes, that I worked both the bar and the floor. She said, " You waited on us. Over two years ago. We've been back since a few times but not seen you. You were so wonderful- I had the tuna and my husband...." She went on, but the point was, she remembered me. Yes, she is a stranger, but for two years I've stayed in her mind, close enough to call upon the minute she saw me.
Say what you will, you black-wearing, black-feeling, black haired naysaying motherfuckers. There will always be you trying to make me hate me. You were more plentiful in Los Angeles, but you are everywhere I will ever live. Belive what you will- believe that I am full of shit, believe that I'm half a person, believe that I believe that the world owes me something. Believe that my self worth lies in the eyes of others, particularly men. Believe that I should "slow down", stop "doing so much in my life". Belive that I am an okay scratching post for your fears, your jealousy, your self-hate, your lost dreams. Believe also that you have the right to tell me exactly how you feel about me.
But know this: my life is richer, harder, darker, and more wonderful than your happiest moment. I don't waste my blackness on the void that is you. My blackness, my truly knowing myself, allows me to leave the dark side at home rather than share it with the negative, pathetic, self-loathing likes of you. My life is a hundred times harder than yours and it is because of that that I can look you in the face, feel your black mindless hate, and laugh and ask you how your day is, how you are feeling, what's going on. And smile and move on when you grunt because you can not bear my presence.
There will always be you. But better yet, there will always be me. Think what you will, breathe your poisonous dreams at night, suffer because you can't hate me enough. But... suffer more, because you WILL NOT GET ME DOWN.
Not for good, anyway.
Say what you will, you black-wearing, black-feeling, black haired naysaying motherfuckers. There will always be you trying to make me hate me. You were more plentiful in Los Angeles, but you are everywhere I will ever live. Belive what you will- believe that I am full of shit, believe that I'm half a person, believe that I believe that the world owes me something. Believe that my self worth lies in the eyes of others, particularly men. Believe that I should "slow down", stop "doing so much in my life". Belive that I am an okay scratching post for your fears, your jealousy, your self-hate, your lost dreams. Believe also that you have the right to tell me exactly how you feel about me.
But know this: my life is richer, harder, darker, and more wonderful than your happiest moment. I don't waste my blackness on the void that is you. My blackness, my truly knowing myself, allows me to leave the dark side at home rather than share it with the negative, pathetic, self-loathing likes of you. My life is a hundred times harder than yours and it is because of that that I can look you in the face, feel your black mindless hate, and laugh and ask you how your day is, how you are feeling, what's going on. And smile and move on when you grunt because you can not bear my presence.
There will always be you. But better yet, there will always be me. Think what you will, breathe your poisonous dreams at night, suffer because you can't hate me enough. But... suffer more, because you WILL NOT GET ME DOWN.
Not for good, anyway.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
True to form, I have once again not written when perhaps I really should have. The gaps in my journals, written since April 21st, 1979, always indicate a particularly difficult time. Perhaps it is because I do more talking than writing during times like this, but I also fear that not committing to paper keeps me from helping myself. Actually, I have no idea why, I just know that it is a habit to shy away from the written word when things get hairy.
I am in the middle of the battery of health tests required for the Peace Corps. I have now seen two doctors, one dentist and four nurses, in two different states, over the course of a month. And I'm far from done. I am still waiting for the results of my PAP and HIV test, and I have to get another urinalysis done since my test last week showed a presence of blood. They are thinking it was left over from my period, and I am certainly hoping the same. It is the only anomaly so far in all of my tests, and every inch of my body has been prodded. In one day, I had a hearing test, a vision test, a hemoglobin finger-stick, a TB test shot, urinalysis, and blood drawn for HIV, blood type, and RH-factor testing. The visit before I had a full physical and pelvic exam. In a week I get all of the results, the last tests, and I just might be finished. Two months of paperwork will go into my pre-addressed FedEx form, and then the real waiting game begins. I may not hear anything for months, my program, country, continent, and leave date could all change, and all I can do is be flexible and patient.
And I have to decide what I really want to do. Once I've sent the FedEx, I'm going to try my best to not even worry about it until I get my invitation, and in that week, make a choice to affect the next two plus years of my life. I don't want to live the next few months as if I will be leaving shortly; I want to live as though nothing is fixed and take it from there.
I have to send out great thanks to my family and friends, even those who do not even know that I write this blog, who rallied around me this last week when I was attacked by the dark side. Someone tried to break me, tried to make me feel worthless and foolish and as though I was totally full of shit. This person sat me down and detailed what she believed to be a list, a long one, of my faults, and in the meantime, also insulted the very way I live my life. I actually believed her for almost a whole day, until I finally started talking to some of my friends and family who were furious. And I finally realized that although, as Ian said, maybe 15% of what she said was true, the other 85% was horseshit and she isn't even worth a reply. Simply put, she is sick, and cruel, and insane with jealousy and anger, and she is not a person I want in my life.
And I am jealous of the millions of people in France right now who get a glimpse of Lance Armstrong and the rest as they fly by at 45 miles an hour. And jealous of those who have a TV, when I can only listen to the Tour on my computer. Turns out more people watch the Tour de France than any other sporting event, including the Super Bowl. If you've never watched these men in action, gentle reader, I encourage you to check it out. And I need to figure out why there are no women in the Tour de France. Hmmm.
I am in the middle of the battery of health tests required for the Peace Corps. I have now seen two doctors, one dentist and four nurses, in two different states, over the course of a month. And I'm far from done. I am still waiting for the results of my PAP and HIV test, and I have to get another urinalysis done since my test last week showed a presence of blood. They are thinking it was left over from my period, and I am certainly hoping the same. It is the only anomaly so far in all of my tests, and every inch of my body has been prodded. In one day, I had a hearing test, a vision test, a hemoglobin finger-stick, a TB test shot, urinalysis, and blood drawn for HIV, blood type, and RH-factor testing. The visit before I had a full physical and pelvic exam. In a week I get all of the results, the last tests, and I just might be finished. Two months of paperwork will go into my pre-addressed FedEx form, and then the real waiting game begins. I may not hear anything for months, my program, country, continent, and leave date could all change, and all I can do is be flexible and patient.
And I have to decide what I really want to do. Once I've sent the FedEx, I'm going to try my best to not even worry about it until I get my invitation, and in that week, make a choice to affect the next two plus years of my life. I don't want to live the next few months as if I will be leaving shortly; I want to live as though nothing is fixed and take it from there.
I have to send out great thanks to my family and friends, even those who do not even know that I write this blog, who rallied around me this last week when I was attacked by the dark side. Someone tried to break me, tried to make me feel worthless and foolish and as though I was totally full of shit. This person sat me down and detailed what she believed to be a list, a long one, of my faults, and in the meantime, also insulted the very way I live my life. I actually believed her for almost a whole day, until I finally started talking to some of my friends and family who were furious. And I finally realized that although, as Ian said, maybe 15% of what she said was true, the other 85% was horseshit and she isn't even worth a reply. Simply put, she is sick, and cruel, and insane with jealousy and anger, and she is not a person I want in my life.
And I am jealous of the millions of people in France right now who get a glimpse of Lance Armstrong and the rest as they fly by at 45 miles an hour. And jealous of those who have a TV, when I can only listen to the Tour on my computer. Turns out more people watch the Tour de France than any other sporting event, including the Super Bowl. If you've never watched these men in action, gentle reader, I encourage you to check it out. And I need to figure out why there are no women in the Tour de France. Hmmm.