20 years ago.
Flatlined for 20 minutes.
Point blank range in the back of the head.
Exit wound behind left ear.
She was gone.
“No more mom”, they said.
“She probably won’t make it”, they said.
“It’s probably better this way, as she’ll be no good if she comes to”, they said.
She texted me this morning: “Today marks 20 years since I was shot. 30% hearing loss to my left ear ain’t half bad.”
You better get your life, mama!
Most of my laughs are brought about by me and are at my own expense.
My jogs have saved a lot of lives.
WHY do I keep doing this?
My hometown hosts the longest running festival in Arkansas. It’s called the Pink Tomato Festival. I think you can imagine what that entails just from the title.
Let’s see, we have a tomato eating contest, a kiddie carnival, horseback riding, mud riding (ATVs or what we just call 4-wheelers), local food vendors…Shit, it’s pretty much what happens every damn day, just four days out of the year people decide to do it together. And can you believe people come from all over the state to attend?
But let’s get into Ed’s first year going. Ed and Dukes had purchased matching cowboy hats. We (Dukes, Shaun & myself) kept warning Ed to wear something loose and to put the hat on to keep from getting burned. Nope, Ed didn’t listen. He wanted to look fly to match his wife. This Negro put on a long sleeve, country Coogi-looking button down, some blue-black Levis and some cowboy boots.
Fast forward to the parade. Dukes left her chair in the truck and we’d parked about 3 COUNTRY blocks away. Her friend had extra chairs so she offered her one. Dukes accepted, but Ed was adamant about going back to the truck to get her chair.
“Baybee, yo’ chair soft with that cushion on it and stuff. Let me go get it.” Shaun was like, “Naw, she good. The parade only ‘bout 10 minutes anyway.”
The parade starts and ends. In that short amount of time, Ed vanishes. Now, Ed is a tall ass husky man, there’s not enough magic in the world for him to disappear that fast. We were all over the courthouse lawn looking for him. Finally, I decided to go get water from the truck.
Yall, as I was walking up, I saw Ed’s legs dangling out of the backseat.
Ed: Ohhhh laaawwdddd! Yall tried to tell me. I ain’t listen. LAAAAWWWDDDD!
Rine!: *pours water on his head*
Ed: Yes, baptize me! It’s too damn hot out here. I don’t know how yall do it. Yall kept tellin’ me, say “Eddie, don’t put all them clothes on. Don’tDoIt!” What I do? Put all these damn clothes on. Out here looking like a damn Messcan. I’m finna pass out.
Rine!: Mama lookin’ for you. She wants you to try the onion blossom.
Ed: It’s too hot to be eatin’. I ain’t gone make it Rine!. Let’s drive ‘roun there.
Rine!: Ed, you can’t park up there.
Rine!: Mt. Carmel has BBQ chicken plates.
Ed: *strips down to t-shirt, jeans and boots* Aight, let’s go.
Whenever I’m in a hype mood, I fire up the keyboard and make a 2 Chainz-esqe beat to match my mood. Then I sit there for 2 minutes with my arms folded and shakin’ my head to the beat.
All of this happens in about 20 minutes.
I must have rehearsed my lines…*triple spin*
uh thousand timesssss…*flops on Tumblr couch*
til I had themmm mem-oh-rized *throws head back and props feet on coffee table*
This is the life I live.
This is a cry for help.
I woke up this morning and the first thing I thought was “Why?”
My life currently has too many unanswered questions/seemingly unsolvable dilemmas.
The first question I need to fulfill is why I ain’t got no blunt.
It dawned on me on my way home from work that today was the cutoff for that “dream job” I semi-mentioned awhile ago. I had a feeling things wouldn’t pan out as hoped, so the impact wasn’t as profound. (Instead of drinking a shot of bourbon and watching ratchet TV, I’m eating 270 calorie dark chocolate Tahitian Vanilla Caramels.)
Then I get to the house and I had done got a medical bill for blood work. Chile, that hoe was $525.90. Do you hear me? This is in addition to the $98.15, $135.26, and $85.94 balances I had paid something on. Now, having bills ain’t no thang over here. That just comes with the territory, but I read that part up under all them big ass numbers: “Patient is not covered by insurance.” My alter ego Chris beamed down and put fire to the flame.
Honey, I work in the medical field and can’t afford insurance. Naw, let me put you on the real deal. I work in the medical field and I pay dues to a union of which I am not qualified. This same union offers insurance where they have met the cap enforced by the provider, so they do intake based on seniority. I ain’t got no damn insurance.
Hell, for $525 I could have did my own damn blood work and had filet migtofu and imitation lobster tails with the change. So nah I (See: Chris) done got mad and decided I ain’t payin’ nobody a muthalovin’thang. They can go join the cocktail social around my credit report. Better yet, I’m going to send them a dollar every month. (Because just in case you didn’t know, in most cases if you’re paying something on your medical bills, there’s nothing they can do/say.)
Sh*t if I didn’t pay the $98 bill, whotheyfinnathank gone pay a $525?
I haven’t felt like doing anything lately. “The holiday season” is still touchy for me and I find myself anticipating mid-February and trying to pump the breaks at July.
I have quite a few rainchecks out there and a lot more to hand out…
I am not about this life.
I’ve just finished and turned in an assignment given to me that could lead to one of my dream careers. The assignment wasn’t due until Friday, but my OCD won over my ADD, thus that joint got submitted today. It was an assignment to prove I’m dedicated to the cause and would be a lucrative investment.
Now that I’m sitting here taking a breather, the thought of being rejected is creeping upon me. I don’t have a fear of rejection but when it comes to art, well “…I’m an artist and I’m sensitive about my shit.” -Erykah Badu
Aside from that, I have Rine! on the other shoulder saying, “I wish a motherfucker would reject me after I done typed up all that sh*t.”
There seems to be balance…
I told a lie today. *shock and awe*
In the midst of me dropping a melee of emotions off my chest (because this passive aggressive act is over), I said if I were to ever get in a bind here in NY, I’d have to fend for myself because the most dependable people I know are thousands of miles away.
Lies. I took a lot for granted with that.
I have Antiganee, who has the sweetest demeanor I’ve encountered since I’ve relocated. Don’t get it twisted though, she’ll shank-a-heffa on sight for messing with her friends. LoL! It feels good to have someone you can talk to about anything if you wanted to. And I know if I ever needed someone to testify on my behalf. #pause Not that I’m going to do anything..I’m just saying.
Then I have Jay. As much as he gets on my first and last nerve, he always has some of the best solutions to trivial bs. Better than that, he always holds me accountable when it comes to what I’m passionate about. Did I mention he gets on my nerves? He’s definitely one of those friends you know your boundaries with. Shady ass…
Now, if I did the opposite end of this post with the people who can depend on me, you all would be mad that I flooded your Dashboard with that nonsense.
Things to ponder on…
Sometimes you get tired of feeling like the wooden stool. The one used to step on when people need to get ahead. You get tired of feeling like the bat being blamed instead of the guy who took the swing.
I’m guilty of placing myself in situations my gut (Olivia Pope) told me was wrong from the start, but I’m also guilty of trying to make the most of those mistakes or lapses in judgement. I mean, once you’re in the shitter you might as well flush. Or something like that…lol
What I’m trying to say is, I’m tired of being the toy box for people who only care about me when I’m doing what they want me to do. I’m tired of taking on the “bad name” when I’m the one getting his leg pulled. I know it looks good on me. The guy with the chestnut eyes/sexy lips/bad guy image, but I’m not about that life.
Passive aggressiveness has gotten me nowhere fast. Especially when I keep hearing “..you’re making it seem like xyz.” Back are the days where you frenemies don’t have to go on what it “seems like”, rather what it really is because it came from yours truly.
really because I need not be line stepping or strolling when Atomic Dog comes on and I’m the only one on the damn line.
Party hoppin’ and slappin’ my own damn hand.