091318 back with a vengeance, the snooze alarm jangles its pots and pans upside my face. how do you choose a sentence; how do you choose a lover how many sentences are there. how many loves. have i got left. a white pencil looks languid and sexy on my desk, its long smooth shaft jutting impudently through three or four dimensional space. taking up space is such an agressive pose. it might as well be that cowboy standing there, hard boots on the hard floor, hip cocked, thumbs tucked into belt, fingers making a frame pointing to his cock. my eyes are drawn, my girlish resistance is weak as a pair of lace undies blowing in the wind. i guess it’s that time again. why isn’t millie up? she’s always up by now. she gon be mad when she gets up and its later than she usually gets up. i guess i could go check on her but i kind of like the peace and quiet. i’ll get her up when i go get lib up. she’ll be ok. she’ll survive. oh god another day sometimes seems like the albatross of murky wet sand lurching through the alleyway towards a dumpster full of wet books. I mean. I guess my little spell of truly not knowing what to say has repeated itself. I guess you can’t expect to just have day after day of sleek revelation. I guess sometimes it’s going to be like this: slogging. Not knowing why you bother. Pretty sure you’re just “wasting your time.” A *waste* of *time.* How can you *waste* time. You can’t own time. You can’t possess it. You can’t put it in a beer glass and drink it or pour it down the drain. It doesn’t make you fat. It doesn’t make you rich. You can’t hoard it. You can’t have more of it than someone else. I’m pretty sure at least one of those statements is not true. Remembering when Bryan came into the living room where I was living and said he’d had five mixed drinks and something else. And I was like that’s a waste of time. And he went into this pseudo-philosophical rant. Always attacked, that boy. Always on the intellectual defense. I wonder when he gets out. Nancy said it was soon. Kind of weird the number of people just in our little gaggle of families alone that have been incarcerated. I can think of three. Three. Not a “big” number by any of the normal standards by which you might measure a number on, say, the playground. But kind of a huge number when compared to the mother goose version of reality we all teach our kids. Or I guess we do. From what I’ve read, there’s black kids all over the place that fully expect they or someone they know will be imprisoned. Like it’s so common, that’s just another place you can live. You live in this clapboard house by the laundromat. You live in this hot brick oven of an apartment between the railroad tracks and the weeds. You live in the penitentiary. Whatever. Different neighborhoods, different rules. Either way, you got to watch out or you might end up killed for breakfast. It’s depressing. The ugly red faced fat bellied sunglass wearing maga bastards assume it’s because they’re inferior and you can’t have different groups of people living together. “Diversity plus proximity equals war.” I still think that’s a cop-out. People like that have no comprehension of anything they can’t literally see. That’s why they don’t trust scientists, either. But then they cherry pick which invisible things they *are* going to believe in, and stake their children’s lives on, and their unborn children’s children’s lives on. I don’t know. I’m talking about “they” as if they’re monolithic. Sound familiar? Yesterday walking back from the cross country meet where Libby ran bravely and triumphantly for 2 miles without stopping, and she was so little and so alive and so vulnerable and Megan said she felt like she was going to cry while we were standing there at the cheering finish line waiting for her to come around that bend, little libby, proud in her t shirt, scared and doing it anyway, yeah, i don’t even want to talk about the guy who asked if there was any parking left. Fuck him. He was perfectly polite, except for wearing the maga shirt. Who cares. Libby came around that corner and she was still running strong and that’s all that matters.