I don't want to talk about relationships today.
Belle needs meds. I've been having mood swings lately-- and no, it's not PMS. I was depressed as hell for two days, a horrible bout of self-loathing. I wrote, but it's too damn depressing to post. Oh, I haven't partied in 2 days. That should indicate to you the depths of my discontent.
Part of the problem is that I'm homesick. I love New York. I mean LOVE this city. But as of late, I've been noticing how filthy and inconvenient everything is. I forgot to go grocery shopping this weekend and around 8pm on Sunday I realized I was starving since I'd only had brunch hours earlier. The grocery store and every decent take-out within walking distance were closed (Kennedy Fried Chicken is not decent food. I wanted something with vegetables.) In order to hunt for food, I would have to get on a train. Wasn't going to happen. I went back in, watched The Wire, then fell asleep on my couch so I wouldn't get any hunger pains.
Yesterday morning, I go down into the subway to take the train to work. Someone has thrown up multiple times where I usually stand to wait for the train. The whole damn station wreaks. I get on the train, transfer at Atlantic, and wait for the B or Q to shuttle me to Midtown. For some reason, I look at the tracks to see a shitload of garbage, like someone has just dumped out their entire, very large rubbish bin on the tracks. Rats are scurrying through it.
After I literally gag, I decide I am going home for the weekend since I now (temporarily) hate this city. I get to work and my Dad calls in the morning to remind me that he and my Mom will be here this weekend. Fuck! Jason's birthday is this weekend so I wouldn't have gotten bored in the pretty, clean, spacious suburbs. And Stars will be down there this weekend. Total 2-fer. And I'm trapped here. I love my parents. I want to see them (and eat a full meal.) But I want to see them in a clean space.
I'm moving into their Midtown hotel room as soon as they arrive. If all goes well, I'll have a view of the park. Wide open space tends to ease my homesickness for a bit. I'll stare out the window until I feel better.
I woke up this morning to the sound of the 7-year old upstairs practicing the piano. She's actually getting pretty good. She used to bang out The Farmer and The Dell and I wanted to tell her parents to get her another hobby cause a piano player, she was not to be. But she's kept at it faithfully and now it sounds pretty nice. She's got a way to go, but I can see the light in the tunnel. I'm listening to a child grow.
I put on Mary J. Blige's new album, a fucking masterpiece if one was ever made. All morning, I've been singing "just fine, fine, fine, fine!" and dancing in my chair. All was well until I went to lunch. Since I'm on this whole gym thing, I decided on yogurt. I get to the stand and they have butter pecan. I almost burst into tears. Butter pecan was my grandfather's favorite. He died 4 years ago, I think. So I got a medium cup instead of a small, put rainbow sprinkles and ate it in his memory.
Now I'm here typing to you. Okay, I'm done. I'm going back to work. I love my job-- it's like waking up everyday, getting dressed in my fashionable best and going to sit in the sorority house for 8-10 hours-- but like without the bulima (we're mostly Black).
Okay, I'm really done.
Talk amongst yourselves.