The Glitch in the Space-Time Continuum ... My Time Machine Needs a Tune-Up
I'll admit it. There's something wrong with me. I'm a mistake. A glitch in the matrix, I somehow slipped through the crack in the space-time continuum. You'd have to know my family to fully understand the meaning, but it's as if my Granny was my mom, I was her daughter, and my mom is my daughter. At least that's what was SUPPOSED to happen...
See instead of dropping in on this planet on April 6, 1974; I was supposed to drop in in 1944. That way, I could have dated in the 1950s. I never saw a prettier car than a '58 Cadillac. All I ever wanted was a promise, the truth, and a band of gold. And my true career goal is to become a housewife, balancing a baby on one hip, with a frying pan in one hand, and a toddler pulling on my apron strings.
The biggest red flag is the music. I love Hip Hop to death, always have, but for me it's always been Solid Gold, Killer Oldies, Slow Jams, and Doo-Wop. When I hear Gene Chandler singing "Duke of Earl", I don't say to myself, hey it's that Cypress Hill song (much as I love 'em). Nope, I just close my eyes, and imagine swaying to the music, my head resting on my guy's shoulder.
Even in the late 50s/early 60s, I would've been wearing Jimmy's ring like the girl in "Leader of the Pack". I would have had my run-ins with those "Mannish Boys". Naturally my man would be from the wrong side of the tracks, shit wouldn't be THAT different.
Dating, going steady, a promise ring, an engagement, a wedding...all of that reads like a fairy tale to me. I can count the women on one hand I know who've had things go that way. Sure there were a few babymamas back in the day, the result of messing with one of those ne'er do wells...but those babies ended up adopted by happy families, the mamas ended up in homes for wayward girls, and everyone turned out peachy keen!
True, I'd have missed the computer age, so no blog. But you know me, I would have kept the mother of all diaries.
My Surreal Life Goes On
Yet again I've travelled without a plan.
"She dropped everything, and ran."
A new night in a new place, I'm restless like late-night Xmas-eve. Laying in a strange twin bed, writing by the light of a lava lamp, surrounded by posters of pop princesses and a profusion of pink. Ensconsced with a menagerie of stuffed animals and all the precious playthings of a tween (nee child).
If I close my eyes tightly enough, can I drop off to sleep a nearly 33-year-old lady, and awaken as the wonder-woman-costume-wearing, someday-to-be-a-veterinarian (or-a-ballerina), feeding-my-meat-to-the-dog-under-the-table girlchild?
The room is cluttered, messy, but not dirty; as my rooms (and homes) often are as an adult. It's not that I'm immature, or lazy, or crazy - far from it. No, it's just that I had more than my fair share of cleaning, scrubbing, mucking-out, washing, laundering, and picking-up-after during my childhood to last me more than this lifetime.
So spare me your prejudgments, if you please. Leave me to my candyfloss, pony-filled, glittering stardust dreams.
(Baby), Your Time is Gonna Come
My face. Pretty on demand. Cute at sunrise, fresh and clean. Only for one moment in time was this visage ever too painfully beautiful to behold.
I saw the reflection of that hurt in your eyes.
Each and every time I was sweet, you chose to see a flaw. When I brought you dinner, you didn't care for the way the light hit me...not that I was ugly...just that my beauty was, in the eye of the beholder, secondary.
Days when you were sick half to death, and I nursed you back to health? You only appreciated my inner glow. The beauty from within.
Until one night, cold, crisp, clear and starry. I'd reached the point of no return, you see, Baby? And at that very moment, my heart turned colder than ice, and I erased the memory of you from my mind. Just then you gazed into my eyes; ashamed, so you quickly drew me into your embrace. Terrified, yet so drawn to me, when you saw the haughty, self-righteous, cold-hearted and utter beauty of my face.