Let’s Meander

I have a stress pimple.  It comes in the same place every time:  on my right cheek.  Of course, this is days before my baby’s son’s graduation, I can’t find the concealer that I use specifically for my pimples.  I’ll just have to wing it.

I found the CUTEST dress on Old Navy’s website.  Here’s the thing about cute summer dresses that I find on their site:  they’re irresistible, and I feel as though I look irresistible in them.  When I am in such an irresistible dress without a gentleman’s arm draped across my irresistible shoulder…well, that just does something to my spirit.  This is one of the downfalls of summer in my royal opinion.  Ugh.  Being a girl is fine.  Being so much of a girl works on my nerves sometimes.  Especially when it comes to relationship silliness.

I’m up this late because my mind is heavy, so I feel somewhat pressured to post something substantive, but I can’t bring myself to do it.  If I really broke down what was on my dome, I would send a few of you running and screaming.  The others, you’d just wag your heads continue to read to see how much of a raving hot mess I’ll actually become.  I’m not sure if that’s good or bad honestly. I do believe there’s such a thing as bad publicity, which is why there are certain topics I either do not cover here, or give only the skeletal (yet true) version.  Call me weird.  It’s like J. California Cooper said, I want Some Soul to Keep.

Or, maybe…

You ever feel like life as we know it is slowly chipping away at our humanity.  It’s as though the things we bear during our voyage on this plane occasionally conspire to strip from us all that we feel, know and believe.  I’m not trying to go too deep, but it’s just a little hard to breathe sometimes.  This isn’t the typical black girl blues (they’re valid, I just ain’t singing that tune tonight).  What I’m talking crosses race, gender, and spirituality.  The little things that make you wonder what the fuck you’re doing and why the fuck you’re doing it.

Within the last year, I’ve developed a hardness that has become hard to shake, and I feel it everywhere.  I’m not trying to be a superwoman.  I’m just trying to be human.  I want the life that allows me to be asleep at 4:30 in the morning.  Where I’m not trying to figure it all out for the trillionth time.  I want to have at least a few of the answers.  I’d like a sliver of certainty.

I’m rambling, and I know it, but that’s because I feel like even here, I’m beating around the bush with myself, because I refuse to show vulnerability.  Ugh.  This is too much.