i am dying.  how must it have for been for writers of long ago.  Real writers. i've had such series of emotions, of thoughts flooding me, with no outlet.  if you don't want to open your poison mouth, or poison your fragile skin...what is there, but to wait.  until there is an outlet....


it's Easter.

glorious, beautiful.  i spent the morning, precisely as i think i should have.


praise, reflection, life.








tonight...

a house full of srangers. saying hello hugging, smiling.  bringing a pot full of purple flowers i desperately want to take to my own proch, for the hostess, annie.


lots of delicious food,drinks.

sideways glances.


so odd.  first Easter with rap music playing peacefully? in the background with african clad mothers and grandmothers bobbing the babies, lulling themselves to sleep and chatting all the way.  it was just background.

oh.  i always forget.  in the course of hours, i was the white one.  not just the little cowering mouse, but bright pink sweater, obnoxious laughter, thrusting handshake..  trying.


the hostess calls me "jessica."  so hard for her to remember one strange name (mine), when i have to remember 30s?  fury boils.  she gives me a smug glance.  this is the the petite little afrikaan, haha, that i gave my flowers to.   i want to call her "abbie" and call it even.  instead, i bow modestly, and say "jenniffier."  as i leave, i say, hope you enjoy your flowers, but in reality in want to bash her arrogant little face in.

why i am angry?  why am i angry that she is arrogant.   she has the husband and the child and the white picket fence.  she is living MY dream, and mocking me.  i have spent 4 hours at her home.  but i am ever the stranger.  she can't be bothered to stand as i hug her own relatives goodbye.

perhaps i am just living (again!!!) the minority role.  ive done it often.  but the anger arises, because i have treated them, EVERYONE, the fat, the dark, the skinny, the light, the stupid, the educated, with nothing but the same genuine smile and interest.  argh.  this is where prejudice is born.  from the root of it.

j's sister, the spoiled "little"one....so ridiculously rotten, i have not words.  for whatever reason i have always been close friends with more than me.   but for her to josh about the epic 30 year old birthday bash she will be having -- either a club rented out "vegas style" or a bowling alley venue,, to be exalting her wedding like it's the next revival.  and all her family backs it up.  she is 30, fat and happy, lives with her parents, chats on her little phone like one of willy wonk'as abberations.  yet, i like her.  but i want to punch her.  the brat.  taking for granted, all that i have worked for.

like being a child, longing to order from that stupid to go menu anything i want, not just the 99 cent column.  if i was lucky.

then.  after forgetting my name.  she asks me to to point any eligible bachelors in her direction.....HAH!

here i am.  i looked at myself.  sure, chubby.  but cute ponytail, rosy cheeks, shiny lips.  not too shabby, and a doctor to boot, haha.  but,no.  to them....nothing.

i don't even know if in their eyes i hold any beauty at all.  perhaps my fair skin robs it all.  perhaps it is truly just my race.  perhaps i'm just not attractive.   but i see their cutting eyes glance mine aside, before i get too tired to even try.  and this is day 2.  a lifetime of this???

my ride home, i sigh.  angry.  then hot tears. then a hot point.  then resignation.  then waiting for a keyboard, a glass of wine.  if only i was someone else, with access to real escape.

the lips i wish i wanted to kiss, i despise.   his peaceful nature, weak.  passivity, stupid, --- passion, volatile.  i cannot win.  if i am to suffer so, it should be for love.  for the love of a family that would treat me the same...or worse....yes.

i walk in the apartment.  grateful for the plants i love, the animal that answer me.  then instantly feel stupid.    it is not love i have for them!  it's need.  it's the desperate, misguided love i wanted to pour on the baby bobbing on j's mother's lap tonight.  the children playing.  i so want this, my porch is overflowing with growth i force, my cabinets hold more animal food than human.  it is pathetic.  and sad.

rats.  then i want to starve myself of all of it.  to not risk seeing pity leak through the eyes of others when they see me with their children.  better to shut down, to shut off.

i know if i had children i would be too tired to read this, much less write it.  and there is studying to be done.  but not tonight.









where is the separation from weird eccentric diva and normal girl watching out for herself.