Schools across NYC have been having a daddy take your kid to school day clad with photo op sessions and what have you. “Wear your super hero shirt!” “Take a photo with your child in your super hero shirt.” You’re going to be offended but what the fuck? Are you serious? Do men really need a red carpet and a god damned photo op to take their children to school? Almost everyday out of the year, plenty of mothers walk their kids to school everyday or almost everyday and play even larger roles as the caretaker of their kids. I’m still waiting to see a mommy red carpet hall of fame for dropping your kid off at school. Its your fucking job. You helped make this child. Are we really fucking living in a society where we need to applaud the stand up dads like they just made wee wee for the first fucking time?
I’m sorry, I think its a nice thing, but at the same time, I find it slightly ridiculous. I know plenty of mothers that do it all and they don’t get a parade for stepping up and being parents, let alone a day to take a selfie with your kid for doing what you’re supposed to be doing. This is not to take away the credit from single dad’s, or great father’s that sometimes do more than mother’s. But it is an insult to everyone else that does take care of their children every single day and doesn’t need motivation in a day designated to take your kid to school, something you should either already do when you can or you should already be actively partaking..
Litterally, the weekend. I’ve been listening to his songs most recently the reminder. I love him as an artist. Yet.. it dawned on me that all his songs are fueled with cocaine binge references. Since I never did coke, it got me thinking about the people I knew sold coke and the ones that snorted that shit. The first time I saw someone bump a line I was 17. A popular hot new kid in school asked me to hang out. I invited one of my best friends. I just remember the night being a drunken stupor for me filled with cocaine and oddity. I didn’t do the cocaine by the way. But it was the first time I saw someone do a line. I wasn’t bothered by obviously I was curious why the hell anyone would put that shit up their nose.
All of that and the songs have made me wonder if there is something to be said about drugs and genius. Steve Jobs was an avid tripper, Weeknd used drugs to fuel his creativity to write or as he put it dibble dabble. Is there something to be said about drug fueled genius? Maybe just maybe because it lowers your restrictions and inhibitions it allows you to actually tap into the things/thoughts you would otherwise discourage yourself from. Not condoning drug use just saying.
Interstingly enough growing up around people that cooked, cut and sold drugs, I was never curious to try drugs or become involved with that life. Every now and then though, I thought that if I had been born in a different era, I might have tried to be a Griselda Blanco with a callous ruthlessness. But the times are different and my life choices are as well. But sometimes… just sometimes…
Today I was remembering some of my dreams or nightmares. Whichever you prefer to refer to. Once upon a time in my life I was spiritual. Not in a biblical sense but in a spiritual sense of knowing. I always knew things, when something bad was coming, I could read people much much better, and of course, I had the dreams..
I knew the end of my relationships before anyone knew. It was like a rule. If I dreamed about the relationship it was doomed. You could write it down. There was a point in my 20’s where I had dreams about the devil. Yes, Lucifer was constantly appearing in my dreams. Not in the sordid idea of a guy in a red costume. People think the devil is this cartoon image of a person, forgetting he was once called the most beautiful angels. He was a fallen angel… He appeared attractive and elusive and charming. Each dream over the years was a battle. A tango of the wills. His will to own me, to take me while each dream I called him out and rebuked him. We danced in a few of the dreams. Each time, me telling him I knew who he was and he couldn’t have me. One time though, the dream was violent. He manifested like a 6’3 man that punched me in the back and in places that when I awoke sore and bruised, it was impossible that I had bruised myself. I am not schizophrenic nor do I have any mental disorders, outside what I’m sure some psychiatrists may determine to be antisocial personality traits or full blown..
Its been a long time since those spiritual dreams. Either he’s left me alone, or he knows he’s corrupted the very core of me in some ways. Like a plague. I try to be softer as a person but yet, I find it impossible. You can’t turn on remorse, you can’t turn off sadistic tendencies. You can’t un-know what you know. Truth changes you. Life changes you, but more importantly pain changes you. There’s always been a lot different about me from others. DMX rapped once about the devil in a song called Damien, the question was the snake, the rat, the cat, the dog, how you going to see him if you’re living in the fog?
I was always a spark. For the most part I used my power for good fighting for the wrongs. On occasion, I use my skills to break people down. That’s the truth. In my relationships in all my years this has come up twice. I literally mentally broke someone down. I had no remorse, I still have no remorse. Today, its not the same, but I know how to hurt. I go for the kill if you push me. In my path, if I look back, I may have to one day look back at the faces of those that I crushed in my very wake the question is just how much remorse do I have exactly… at this moment? Not one bit.
Today while I was showering I noticed hair falling out. Instead of growing now, my hair appears to be falling out severely. I won’t lie I freaked. So I did maybe the worst thing possible. I hit google. Is this the medication? Is this the Sjogrens? Basically, people who have this have mentioned everything I’m going through. Its hard not to fret and worry. Now that I’m home I couldn’t get up off the bed. I literally hobbled off the bed. Its a tough silent battle. Silent? because I haven’t really told everyone. Some of my friends know what I’m up against. There are days, I am ready to take the world by storm and days like today that between losing my statistics text book and my hair falling off, I’m ready to just lay in bed if I could. The meds make me sick, nauseous, sometimes, I just pass out in exhaustion.
I’ve thought about shaving my head before, maybe I can pull a Sinead. I feel bad for my daughter who will be 7. She saw me hobble off the bed and barely be able to take 3 steps and she rushed to rub my back, and help me up. I’m 34. Can I imagine at 60? at 50? People are worried about killing it physically, I went through that phase. I outgrew it fast. I had a body that was envied, and I hated it. I had so much more to offer intellectually that it was always overlooked. Now, I just want to be okay to make it through one more day. To run, to get to the point where I physically don’t “leave” for moments at a time from fatigue. As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the lord my soul to keep…
Like all things in my life everything is exaggerated. I can’t be normal. Maybe it’s my screws upstairs that are missing or that personality disorder is traits that I often talk about. My daughters birthday is coming up. I’m big on birthdays, or was. I would show up to work in a full on bling not plastic tiara for my birthday. My celebration lasted a month. I felt like life itself was a celebration, another year, another day, another chance to change things.
For my daughters first birthday I celebrated with friends and family in New York and Florida. For her second birthday I did the same. Since my daughter is in camp I opted this year to buy a cake for the girls at camp. A friend of mine who’s motto is “the road to hell is paved with good intentions” comes to mind. I wanted to buy her a cute cake. Not a plain $20 cake. So I went with a unicorn cake. The problem? It’s massive. So much so that on a train during rush hour I would have pancake by the time I got to Harlem.
So I decided to call a lyft. The problem is that my driver is nice but he’s giving me anxiety as I sit in the back. He’s taken routes that I’m like what? So here i sit wondering what exactly the bill will be since I’m still in Brooklyn and this trip said it would take 30 min has now become 42. I’m trying to take things in stride. Life is short. I won’t always be around with my daughter. She drives me nuts and I probably threaten to spank her at least 3 times a day. But these are the things that I do to make sure she has a great time. It’s the details, the memories. Kids don’t need much, this I know. But I want her to always remember that I always tried to make her feel special.
Lately I have been commuting by train about 4 hours a day. Why, do you ask? Simply because the children are out of school and I had to put my kid in summer camp. Like most parents maybe you were equally as appalled by the prices. I know I instantly had a stroke when I saw 4K price tags attached to camps for 2 months. Yearly tuition for a private school yes, I can justify that. 4K for two months worth of camp not a cold chance in hell. So I found an alternative that was based on income and worked. Catch 22? It’s closer to my job but I didn’t realize how far from my house. So yes it’s about 30-40 from my job, but I work about an hour away, so do the pencil.
Taking my kid on the train everyday has been an adventure in itself. New York is quite vibrant and quite entertaining in and of itself. Things you’ve never seen I promise you, that here you will see. Case in point the first week commuting with the kid a homeless woman copped a squat in the tunnel on 14th and peed. Now I get and I’m not judging the need to go. But the fact she was bare assed in front of my kid was really something. The good thing is I used it as he moment I told her that’s exactly why I tell her if something falls it’s lost for life. You don’t pick it up. I don’t care what it is. Commuting is something for sure. Just a few days ago I was riding the train with Darth Vader. No seriously. I’m about 5’5 and this guy about 6″ was standing next to me. I don’t know if he had a nose issue or if he was just trying out for star wars but the entire ride to Harlem I felt and smelt his hot corn breath.
The evil part of me wanted to say something but then I opted for my own response of silence. Normally my response to complainers is take private transport, uber it. But that’s not an option so I held my breath, literally.
I haven’t been talking much lately because I’ve been trying to cope with my body telling me to screw off. That’s been quite a feat. I was supposed to get a secondary exam to decipher whether I had sjrogens or lupus. At this stage I just want to make it through the next few months. My work is slipping severely. Today I asked my boss for something she had clearly given me. I had no idea. The fatigue was so strong I litterally fell asleep sitting in my chair in the middle of an affidavit. This is despite the fact this weekend I pretended my legs were broken and I pretty much stayed in bed. My legs did feel broken. In fact the moment I stood up my feet felt like they had been holding an elephant and couldn’t. So I did. The minimal. Sunday I cleaned up a bit. Yesterday I called out sick because I was super naseous and just sick the night before. Truth is it was a combination of that and the fact I physically couldn’t get up because my bones felt like they were cracking like a wish bone.
Of course I don’t mention that. Because people don’t get it. They see you looking fab and the same outside and have no idea there is a war going on inside. One your usually losing. I was losing miserably. In fact I lost. So I stay quiet. What is the point of trying to explain to people when they don’t understand? It’s not malicious it’s just they don’t get it. The pain I’ve had in my hands the past 2 days is ridiculous. It runs from my knuckles down to my fingertips. From my wrists almost down. I haven’t lost my sense of humor or my ill manipulation skills if you think that’s holding me down. I’m just running at a slower pinky and the brain speed, that’s all. I proved it to myself today that I’ve still got it. So one win for a bunch of flighty moments.
What can I do? Life is short. At this point I just shrug my shoulders and call it a day.