09.04: obligation

Today is the day that all people of West Indian descent, myself included, look forward to all summer. Its Jourvet Sunday & parade Monday. As long as I can remember that's always been the protocol for all us Island folk. For a lot of us New Yorkers the "West Indian Day Parade" on Eastern Parkway is the closest many of us will ever get to Carnival.
As a kid I was drawn in to going to see it because of the beautiful majestic costumes. They are truly transformative works of art. I always dreamed of being a butterfly in the parade one year. Maybe one day I will get my wish. As I got older I remained connected thru the music & food of my culture. And then one summer, when I was 15, I discovered Jouvet. The annual preparation/pre-party that happens before the parade. There's all sorts of antics. All of Flatbush becomes a street party leading up to the parade. in recent years it has become subject to the bullshit that some black people always wanna bring with them. Which over time has lead to a good time being over-regulated by law authorities.
This year for the first time, I had no actual plan on what I'd be doing for the night. I just knew that if I made it to P's house, we'd probably end up at Jouvet, but seeing as she never called, I just went to sleep.
When I woke up, I headed over to J's house to help with the laundry & have my daily dose of kiddy time. I'm glad I stayed through the night instead of wandering off with no particular destination. Because after out nightly walk & snacking ritual, his sugar sky rocketed to an amount so high the meter doesn't even bother to produce a number. It just read HI. I knew if I left, she'd freak out, call an ambulance
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09.02: self-affirmation (eliminating fear, lesson 1)

Today for the first time in a long time, I realized exactly how alone I am. Away from what I know, I am alone. But I'm not lonely. And although, all I'd like in the world right now is someone to go home & lay with. (Preferably a soft, yummy smelling female to stroke & hold. But at this moment I'm not picky. I'd even be satisfied by Rosa's ugly mean dog.) Instead of an empty bed again. What was initially an extreme relief, an empty bed, has become a void where I am sucked into my sorrows when I'm feeling down (like now). At this moment I have every intention of passing by my dad's house on my way home simply to delay the inevitable, being alone in am empty bed, and nearly empty room.
I'm sure though, that if I had a good book to read, cable, or more dvds I wouldn't be concerned in the slightest about who is and isn't in my bed right now.
So I write. I write out every feeling. My fears, doubts, anxieties, hopes, worries..its only by having the conversation that we can open ourselves to understanding. I fill my alone time with writing, I write out all the mysteries of me and am constantly amused by what I discover with every written word.
Its a hard thing to write, to constantly find inspiration when you have none. I find that most of the time, I don't even finish what I write until days later. There's just so much, its Digging through the recesses of one's mind is becoming harder than finding gold. But the rewards of emptying that which has been so cluttered for so long, is priceless.
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