Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Time Change

Yesterday morning I woke up and picked the edges of hair by my heads temple. I did so for ten solid minutes though late again for work. Fixed in the mundane I had a profound moment. As a college student I dreamed of exercising just enough to have that flat stomach and collecting enough money off dining tables to buy the flyest BabyPhat outfit. Though I worked weekends and I had entirely too much homework to be at anyone's club, the desire to be the "baddest bitch" if you will, was ever present.
It's been some years now since college yet I have realized that such desires are hard to abandon. I have cleaned out my closet and am slowly replacing my denim outfits with wool-blend slacks from Ann Taylor. I have broken my relationship with the ever present two-packs of Zuri Ultra Yaki tresses, either sewn in or braided, in the hue of honey blonde because... Beyonce and I have two very separate professions. Clearly. Yet, when I turn on BET I still have this yearning that I just can no longer respond to. I cannot hold on the desire of being the baddest bitch in the club. Maybe my(non-existent) boyfriend's eyes will wander to that young dime piece in the "Juicy" shorts who doesn't have a well-salaried job to lose. Perhaps he'll dream, hell even try to run his hands through all that hair down her back that she paid $1800 of her Pell-Grant money to have fused in. I'm sure she's young and agile enough to "shake her money maker" until the club closes at 2am and still have enough energy to keep him up all night because once again...she doesn't have a well-salaried job to lose in the morning. And maybe that will just have to be okay.

I may have the cute little nightie with red "S" across the chest but I am NOT super woman. I do not have the energy anymore and it breaks my heart to feel as if there is something I CAN'T do. God forbid I am no longer with the times. And the gulf just grows and grows, between me... *sigh* and them. And it will just have to be okay...because times change. I've changed. I just kinda worry about those who haven't and won't.
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Monday, October 02, 2006

Hold the Phone...

Walking through the kitchen of my new apartment you've crossed my mind. Sure. Many times. And right now I just don't see the point. I would like to be removed from your periodic well-wishing phone-calling, frequent mass-fowarded email list because I have enough garbage in my life. But thank you very much. I don't need you clutering my various inboxes with foolishness of the kind that is oh-so friendly and well-intended but sure to later "unintentionally" break my heart. "You know I didn't mean to". Too angry to play in your sand box, to angry to answer the phone I'm just...

Too old to even try to believe that you are not being shitty, pulling my heart strings and referring to such actions as "being civil". To dwell any longer in the memories of your bed and you, and how I...
would replay your voice mails to hear you say my name just one more time or marvel at the natural shine of your hair and how your eyelashes were so long and how I only adored you. And I did. Yep. From the moment we met. Civil. Civilized Civil War...Words neatly folded and pressed no longer move me, or my panties. Trust me.

I 'm too tired. And I'm still missing the point as I continue to recieve your phone calls as if...I should not want more as if I am incapable of giving you more. Maybe I am just too tired to give you anymore than you've been allotted, and I am near dry. So to shoot the shit for more than 120 seconds exceeds my limit and makes me weary deep in my soul and I am too old to believe that I am just being sensitive and to pretend to be unaware that things will not change. Unaware that you cannot live with the idea that you broke someone's heart and it is your guilt that dials my number. But everytime the phone rings and its you it hurts a little and I can smell your cologne, feel the warmth of your smile...take me off your- just calling to see how you're doing, multi-text messaging- happy holidays honor roll, please.
Maybe I'm just a little too angry.
Maybe I'm just going to disconnect the line, on you.
Just after you say my name and I recall the scent of your cologne...
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