I've woken up at all hours of the night today, each time stranger than the last. In between consciousness I envisioned my future husband secretly watching me in the darkness clocking in more reasons to cry for divorce, an issue of which would surely cause his untimely demise.
"She's crazy" He'll say. "She wakes up in the middle of the night continuously for no reason what so ever" I'll look stubborn and jaded on the other side of the couch as our over paid marriage counselor laughs and says "Perhaps she's counting her wrinkles"
My husband and I will lock eyes and finally get over this little spat under the mutual understanding that we just spent $600 an hour on an insane white woman. In hindsight, although we'll never admit to it, her insanity would've saved our marriage. But really though? An Acolatse? With wrinkles? Pshaw!
Mutual understanding is one of the main factors of a healthy relationship anyways, not looking at each other but looking in the same direction. Of course this is all hypothetical. As are my possible plans for this day. Do I want to show my face in the city of Atlanta? Walk the earth like Kane, tone up these legs and possibly starve myself in the pursuit of something new and fascinating?
Or am I content to just sit here and write, read and wait for my long time obsession "The Movies" to finish loading?
Decisions, decisions.
America encourages a large amount of social impassivity in my person. I have my American loves, I am in no rush to make any more, I in fact don't care at all to and it's such a shame, but more of a shame because I honestly don't care about the first shame in the first place.
It's a cycle of general apathy, that looks quite good on me so I've never particularly been bothered to worry about it.
My cousin left this morning with a stern look on her face "Get out of the house" I cocked a smile and replied "I will" Possibly not.
It's a Wednesday, and I feel as though I've dreamt about this before, about this specific Wednesday, about her words, all of a sudden I'm hit with this huge noncommittal wave of dejavu and it excites me, because I'm pretty sure at the end of said dream I won the lottery and all was well once more in the house of Frankey Acolatse's cranium.
It's not as if I don't have anything to do, I'm not one of those friendless foreigners sitting in America desperate for love and affection, I in fact have an overload of the two in this city, all I have to do is pick up the phone and VIOLA Half Naked in the city again. But the fact of the matter is.
I could not be bothered.
And I would be just as not bothered if I actually partook in some sort of a social activity. The need that drove me before, the need to dance and party, and generally lose my mind in intoxicated disturbia has left me, I all of a sudden feel quite ancient, and in turn pompous in my growth, like I should be a equipped with a smoking pipe and monocle and say things like "Ho Ho there young man" "Cheerio young pip" and "Elementary my dear Watson" while playing golf, smoking pipe and monocle dextourously glued to my being as I swing and scream "FOUR" at no one in particular.
Because that's what pompous ancient British people do. Play golf, resemble Sherlock Holmes and smoke tobacco out of a decrepit pipe, oh! And let's not forget the pocket watch. Must not forget that pocket watch. Must be able to tell time as I sit and do nothing.
I would've once had an issue with my doing nothing in the present moment, but I've been doing quite a lot these past couple of months, none of my activities could've been cited as a vacation. Yes Dubai, Saudi Arabia, Ghana blah blah blah, but all of those actions were mentally tasking, difficult in some realm of my life, here I can just lay on the hardwood floor stare at the ceiling fan and just EXIST.
I haven't just 'existed' in so long. We get so concerned about the smaller parts of life, success isn't a job, it's a journey, you should always take time for yourself, for your life, because perhaps if you work to hard and miss those moments now, when that success finally comes you'd find yourself willing to trade in all your hard work and crisp dollar bills for just a few precious silent moments of your youth.
I greatly enjoy my youth, my speed, my beauty and my vigor, and I take care of them in these silent moments, as I lay down and reflect, lighting up every atom in my body, thanking the earth and it's creator for the gift of this day, of this serenity.
But perhaps that's just the untrained Buddhist in me, I've always been aware of time constraint, of wasted time, of depression over wasted time. And I'll be damned if I turn into one of those Sex and the City crypt keepers forever bitching about their lack of vibrancy.
Just existing helps me maintain the strength in my body and in my mind. I close off all bullshit and am content to just BE.
I feel lucky to be able to do this, it's something lost on this generation, in the age of multi tasking, everyone is always busy, even when they're not. No one just chills, lays down, TV off, laptop all the way across the room, cell phone so basic there's no point in it even being in the same room as you and just breathes.
That's when all my greatest ideas come to me, in those silent moments, that's when the greatest pictures are painted before me, when my conviction triples in mere moments of blissful tranquility.
The words "You look like a traveling monk" comes to me.
To which I reply.
"Bitch I AM a traveling monk"
Sun is shining. Weather is sweet. Make you wanna move, your dancing feet.
Amen.
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