Don’t talk to me about doing things on time. I haven’t updated this blog for a month and I’d like to pretend that it’s been intentional, but really time has just gotten away from me. It’s been doing that a lot lately. Continue reading “Never on time”
“Home is where the heart is.”
I have always struggled with this phrase. It sounds simple enough but actually, I’m not sure it means anything more than “Home is where you like to sleep”, or “Home is where the person you like, likes to sleep”; but that sounds a bit like the mantra of a stalker, so maybe it’s not quite as simple as that.
I am a difficult person. I say that not to be self-deprecating, but because it is a fact. There are lots of things I don’t like, lots of attributes in people that I don’t care for, and many activities I would happily sit out. And yet, most people who meet me will find me mostly agreeable. Which is probably one of the biggest tricks I have ever pulled off because I am really bloody difficult.
It’s been almost a year since I stopped going to therapy. The fact that that much time has already passed, shocked me to my core yesterday when I realised it. Which is funny because I think of it often and then for weeks I don’t think of it at all. Most of all I’m surprised I’ve been able to survive this long without it.
Lately I’ve been considering how I fit in. Or more accurately, how my blackness fits in with the whiteness I have grown accustomed to being surrounded by. My experience for the most part has been positive, and any aggressions I have faced would have been nuanced and almost unnoticeable to my previously untrained eyes. Still though, I’ve been thinking about it.
This week I released myself from my braids. They had been in for way too long due to laziness and mental health struggles (see post on depression), and now I was ready for a change. Or rather, I was ready to once again let my natural hair reign supreme for the summer.
I’m very into podcasts right now. I know, I couldn’t get any cooler if I tried. But I’m into them and it’s not just because I’m old. I have found via these podcasts, the voice of the black woman I would like to be, who knows something about themselves and the struggles they face, and tackles such things with wit and humour.
I’ve been telling everyone that I have writer’s block, and I do. It’s true. But it is not, as they say, the whole truth. I promised this month that my theme would be honesty (apparently), which would explain why this post is so late. I tend to live by a variation of “If you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all”, with “If you’ve got nothing true to say, don’t say…” etc. etc. You get it. But alas, the truth will out. I’m sorry in advance for the clichés that will be inevitably continued throughout this post.
Recently I was at a party. I didn’t know many of the people there, so I was in full socialising mode. The usual introductory conversations ensued.