Today is Monday, July 4, 2011. Independence Day. Not my favorite holiday. The fireworks make me sad. The booms and sparkles, the pops and poofs make me imagine families, women, elderly, men, children, animals in countries where bombs are going off. Shooting out, falling down. I imagine the frightened faces prowling for housing, scrounging for food. I imagine towns blown up. Dreams, parties, lives ended. I don’t think of America’s independence. I think of them. The nameless and faceless who are living this life, right now. Booming and popping every day. At our hands. America’s hands. But then I am a writer, a poet, a mother. A rememberer of yesterday. A soft spot carrier for the under militaried.
I am not sad right now. I am in a good mood, which has a definition that changes moment to moment. It is 9:33 and I am at work and like I said, in a good mood. Which right now means that I am not thinking of any particular worry. My Facebook me does not like to admit it, but somewhere not too deep in my mind is a worry about something. I am my mother’s daughter. But for now there is no concern being featured in my psyche.
I work as a home health aide. My client’s needs vary and my work with them depends of course on the need. Often I do body and mental exercises, cook, clean, listen. I talk. I care. I don’t. I walk, empathize, laugh. I pity (I shouldn’t. I do.). I clean bodies, wipe faces, asses, massage feet, clean shit, wipe piss. I pray. When all of that is done, I care. Again. And I’m good at what I do. Oh, and I lift them. Transport them from chair to bed. From bed to commode. From front door to van. From van to wheelchair to hospital. Wherever. My friend Lynette noticed that I had lost a lot of weight since we saw each other last and said “That must be from bench pressin’ white ladies!” We laughed. But it’s true.
Today I am working with my favorite client, who for the purpose of this entry will be called Debra. It is only appropriate to change the names of my clients because I know myself enough to know that at some point these journal entries will end up in my blog. Probably sooner than later. Because that’s how I roll.
What’s cool about me working with Debra on the 4th of July is that she lives in Pasadena and I live in South Central Los Angeles (“where bustin’ a cap is fundamental” Ice Cube), where the fireworks are likely to be real or at least much more dangerous and the festivities last too long for my sensitive, poetic taste. Also the time and a half pay aint bad and neither is the Law and Order marathon. And no, she’s not my favorite client because she has cable, but it does help. It is peaceful here in her Pasadena condo community. Flowers, swimming pool, sparkle and poofless sky. Cats (too many though.)
I have issues to work out right now. As always there are life issues. I look at my bills and things to do list like a puzzle. I find space and room for creativity and breathing in “puzzle.” No room, only suffering in “problems.” I need to create some cd sales or photo shoots or art sales or something. I am working a kazillion hours with the agency and don’t want to increase my work time right now. I need a break as it is. This month I have to pay rent where I am as well as a deposit on the new apartment that I don't even move into until the 15th. I get paid on Friday and still there are needs. But thank God for Fridays and paychecks. I have shopping to do for my son and a host of other things to do that my ego is resisting being put into this journal entry (because it and I know this will soon be in the blog).
The Universe is always working everything out for my highest good. During my valley seconds I repeat that to myself. While I am trying to figure it out I know that God has already worked it out. I believe, just, Lord, “heal my unbelief.” That was from my favorite song by the Winans back in the day. No, “Tomorrow” was my favorite song by them. Anyway…
On to another subject while I have these moments to steal away and write. I’m not dating now. I’m working boocoo hours and while that’s a good excuse, the truth is I am just not interested in anyone right now. Which is weird for me because I’m usually at least interested. In someone. But, in the grand scheme of things, I think it’s best I’m not (dating or interested.) I am in the process of peeling layers off of my psychological onion. These peeled layers, I am hoping, will expose why jerks find their way into my life. But then that’s too easy and leaves me victim and powerless. Do over, these peeled layers, I am hoping, will give me space and freedom to make choices that honor who I am as human, woman, spirit, as artist.
As life is unfolding today, I am just not interested in any man I’m meeting. And I’m meeting my share. At poetry readings, at the light, on the street, at event shoots, and so on. Each one though is the one before. That’s a judgment and unfair (and untrue). (But so what.) I am older now, in so many ways. And find myself unimpressed. Find myself unwilling to impress. The idea of a man, just because won’t due (anymore). All or no thank you. I am patient and peeling. A man will come. That is what they do.
Time to get back to work.
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