if ever there was a synaptic misfire (duh ask meh wuh dat mean eh), it happened when i sat in the wheelchair and was wheeled through customs and straight out to my mom's car. From then on i saw things happening around me in slow motion, accompanied by a steady humming sound in my head. I saw my mom's lips moving, her eyesbrows bunching and could only imagine what she was saying.
I did not care.
I did not care to know, to feel, to live.
and so the cookie mash up. one day i was a vibrant bubbly very lovable chick with a good sense of style (yea baby!), next thing i am a walking bag of bones, with no ass, frizzy hair, dark circles under my eyes and a compulsive need to spit at everyone and bark in foriegn languages. Love really does suck.
anyone who ever thought they were in love, slap yuhself. I remember the feeling of dred everytime an event like christmas, birthdays or valentine's came around. You had to go all out or else was pressa! not like buying stuff for your family,where you could get away with buying something they cyah stand, so you could keep it for yourself, or borrowing money from dem and giving it back for christmas. This was real torture. Choosing the right card, wrapping the right gift with loooove, then thinking up something creative and loaded with an extra side of mushiness to write.
Love, what a pain in the ass. It was like falling into a deep pile of shit and drowning yourself slowly while trying not to enhale. At 21, i was not ready for love. At 25 i was not ready for it to end.
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