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The Cross
Its Easter and I'm up early, having heard the rain ping against my air conditioner. There is no newspaper on the porch, so I look around. My efforts as the Barbara Bush of Dumaine have never really amounted to much: trash is strewn far and wide; everday like Mardi Gras. I'm trying to start the day in a productive manner and this is all I know how to do that lets me feel I'm not just wasting my space on the planet. However, the egocentric investment does not always pay the best dividend. What to do?
Kids are out of school for Easter break and along with Shelton, Lance and Hunter have been spending the night here for the last three nights. Today is a big day. Everyone will have new outfits, new Nikes, new hairdos. The ghetto will vibrate with pride.
When those three get up and leave the house, there is a brief pause before the doorbell rings and the house begins to fill up with others. Yesterday Glynn, Jacque, Marqin, Erica, Ritcia, Shadrica, Kizzy, Heather, Julia, KaKa, Eddie Green, and a few others I can't put names to were in and out (in mostly) all day.
Jermaine mentioned it on the porch, and later I heard Heather talking about it on the phone--another friend got shot this weekend.
I did a little work at Rocheblave but am still distracted by the weight of planetary alignments, and cannot string together an overwhelmingly producitve day.
Around six I called my mom, told her what she probably already knew--that Mandy and I are splitting up--but did not in so many words (or any at all) say that its hard to believe seven years have passed since the death of my father.
At 9:45 last night I announced that I would like to have my fifteen minutes of peace and quiet, so whatever has to happen for me to get that, needs to happen now.