Notes from my Black
That cork in water thing
I don’t know how to describe it. This time of year holds my best memories and also is my most lonesome and distant. So, because I feel I must put words to emotion, I call it a cork- a cork in water.
She has been insistent that I’m different. I have a hard time hiding my dark caverns. I move through the day and last through the nights. I bury my blacks deep and remember and participate in life’s joys like watching a fish, in a tank. A tank I can’t touch, a fish I’d rather not hold in a room I don’t have access to.
I found myself tearing down someone’s accomplishment recently. I went so far as to justify it because I know something she was talk about but felt they missed the mark. Facebook messaged this woman and kinda laid it out there. For a day I wondered if it did any good or would do any good. Then I got some perspective and went back and deleted my message to her. She hadn’t picked it up. I was kinda grateful. She didn’t deserve that… and we don’t actually know each other anymore, so I had no business commenting on her podcast. Let her do her thing. Live her happy life… even though she kinda turned into this LA pompous person. I much prefer the person she used to be. She’s doing good things, but could use a nudge. Maybe that’s how you have to be to survive in LA… who knows. Never been there. Won’t ever go.