Today was so fucked, that I knew exactly how fucked it would be. You wake up with the pinch of light on your nose and play that silly game of threatening yourself to stay alive. You lie there with residue from a deep sleep that no longer provides refreshing vibes, that dare you to dispute. While running through your mind to gather cohesive thought that daggers the heart.
Where are you going?
To hit the treadmill and sweat it out, which includes banging the life out of a device that deserves to be bullied, when those price points fail to match productivity.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The noise of the phone hitting the face of the machine startles the young woman sitting at her desk in the office not far away. The blinders and distance make it hard to note what she sees, but who gives a fuck?
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Again, the side of the phone where the volume controls are situated comes to blows with the treadmill, as I relish the ability to assign frustration and anger to things that don’t talk back.
Yes, lady, I am in the middle of trying to find my lost mind. Enjoy the show, it’s free!
I got what I asked for, and it sounds like the song is skipping. Piece of shit iPhone! Still paying off that upgrade that just basically “upgrades” financial woes, and the guilt you should feel for buying into the American Dream.
No, the songs are skipping!
And even the videos can’t play all the way without delay.
We are all damaged goods. And I like acting like that toddler, who hates mommy.
Walking to the store on roads paved with signs that feet aren’t permissible. It’s not all the time that irritation strikes while exiting the complex, as cars carefully glide beside you with the smugness that reserves the right to kill you.
But on fucked up days, the burning heat of ire resembles a walking zombie, breathing out flames from over-sized nostrils.
Moving around outside, in the great wide open, as normal people see right through you isn’t so bad on a fucked up day. When screens are detached from view, our eyes take awhile to adjust to the normalcy of interactions that don’t have to be rated.
While I strut through the maze that I’ve memorized, I wonder if maybe that young woman will warn the others about me. That weird Black woman, who stays with her parents from time to time, and robotically shows up at the facility around the same time everyday.
What’s up with her?
She was having a fit!
Similar to the one that may occur in front of the collection of puny tomatoes. The text messages from mother adds more items, and suddenly you resent the duties of a doting daughter.
Why can’t it be like the old days!
Avoiding calls from loved ones who have no idea when you’re soaking up the sun on the beaches of Miami, because those barriers spell out adulthood, and the privilege to not always be accessible because of the respect factor.
Yeah, when life slows down and more fucked up days show up, you may find yourself reverting back to the preteen, who has no choice but to dream for those days when she’s all grown up, and able to escape the punishment of having no freedom.
It’s fucked up when you stop dreaming.
It’s fucked up when you can’t even dream while you’re awake.
But you can pretend to be sane for those around you. The woman standing behind me with her little cart. She’s probably wondering why I decided to pin the ends of my cornrows instead of letting them fall. What if I turn around and tell her that I forgot my wallet at home, and patiently wait for her to react.
I let out my first laugh and walk to the free station, where we scan and pay.
Things got really fucked when after getting home, my mom decided to play a game of hide and seek by secretly taking the debit card that I left on the counter.
I guess I really do need to see someone. That’s what I thought, as I checked every nook and cranny for the card that I swore I brought home in the wallet that was in my bag.
I had to ask her, and she confessed with additional words of wisdom.
What a fucked up thing to do!
We argued because even though I couldn’t tell her to fuck off, I had to let her know that before she tried to teach me a lesson, things were already fucked beyond belief.
The day is just beginning, and yet my head feels like it could explode if I don’t start over.
She sends me a text, and I read it. I look over, and it’s like nothing happened.
I should’ve smashed this bloody phone to smithereens.
That would’ve been so fucking great!