i have about 10 minutes to write.
a couple of days ago i missed my studio session, because i just couldnt pull it together.
even know. i dont know what i should be doing, but i know i havent written - even if just
to feel my fingers tapping against the keyboard for days.
i have answered emails, set up meetings, completed lesson plans, taught classes, run lines, ordered dinner, scoured myspace but no writing. my last attempt was the ending of the week
for that recoloration project. it didnt hit me. the picture that is.
i felt so desensitized that i didnt know what the hell was wrong with me. i miss talking to friends
without having to wonder what next. or am i sharing too much. or am i not sharing enough. my friend's father is dying. and my heart bleeds for him. i know how he cares for his father, but he's the type that wont show any signs of pain until he's brimming over.
i know, and im sorry. that feeling is never easy. how do you console pre-death? the fact that it really isn't ok. and someone is going to leave you. the person that you've had in your life since you knew you had a life - is now passing. how do you tell someone, it's ok.
i dont think you can. i know i can't. when my grandmother passed. all i wanted was to be held. i would break into tears any given moment and it hurt so bad i thought i would lose my breath. but it lessens, the vice grip on your chest. and though when i think of Coco, now. im sad that she isnt here to see amari be Dorothy in her school play, or me running a business without going bankrupt (just yet) or my sister getting married. or my mother finally clean. i know she is watching. i feel that. sometimes, i ask for strength and out of nowhere, hear her "go ahead kiddo" and it gets down. call it over the top. i call it faith. but i wish she were her so i could see her face. touch her cheek. trim her halle berry haircut. hug her again.
and that's life. the regret. the wishes, the take backs, the do overs that never happen. we treat each other like disposable plates, carrying the load until we crack and are then expendable. still, i dont believe all life is that. Coco knew she was loved. even in the tough of it. and im sure his father knows his son is trying to portray the strength his father taught him, growing up.
i wish i could tell him i understand, and that be enough.