Progress Report
I'm midway through the middle month of the year. Technically this is not true. Technically, I'm at the beginning of the middle of the year, if I calculate it right. But like, my SAT scores were only like 720 so what do I know.
I wonder if they let adults take the SATs again. I'd guess not, although I don't see why not. Be interesting to see how much less I know now, than I did then. Or, if I was being positive, I could say I'd like to see how much more I know, now. But why lie? I was 16 when I first took it. A sophomore in high school, and I did not crack one book in preparation. Everyone told me to re-take it, everyone knows the 1st time doesn't count, Maulana you're so fucking difficult, just re-take it. So, of course, I did not re-take it. If I had it to do over, I still would not re-take it.
What do the letters of S-A-T represent anyway? Standardized Assessment Test? Achievement? Something like that, I'm sure. And is it SATs plural, or just SAT? These are the questions that are important in life.
Anyway. It's the middle of the middle of the year and usually I do a progress report. Except, I don't want to right now. And so I won't.
I will be 28 in 15 days. Numbers. They still mean nothing to me. I wonder, if, when I am 38, or 48, will I look back on these days and shake my head at myself. I wonder if the numbers will mean more then because I've accumulated more age and experience, or if they will mean even less because I've accumulated more age and experience. I'm just not as settled as I thought I'd be. But then, you know, I guess I am. Because, although I am no different now than I was at 18, I am happier now than I was then. And so I guess that makes me different after all.
I hope I am different. I mean, who wants to stagnate? Pas de moi.
Every year, I tell myself I will attempt to learn Spanish, and every year, I fail to do so. I think I am intimidated. It's one of those things with me, I guess. It is such a beautiful language, I am afraid to butcher it, even though I know that I would not. Something to think about.
Sharon's cancer is back. Wallace is still on dialysis and together, they are about as healthy as Ronald Reagan. It sucks. Sharon is at the point where the cancer has become untreatable, and so the two of them have turned to the holistic approach. I wonder why people wait until the last resort to go holistic. Seems to me that anything natural would be a preferable treatment to the poison available in those little plastic orange prescription bottles, but apparently this is illogical thinking on my part.
My Aunt is dying. If my uncle does not get healed soon, he may soon die as well. It is impossible to think of Wallace dead. He has only 15 years on me, which means he is only 43. Aunt Sharon is a few years older, I think. Like 53 or maybe 55 I don't know. It is unfathomable that they should die. I mean, I have not lost anyone in my family besides my Granny and she was 76 and tired when she kicked the bucket. Despite an alarming abuse of alcohol, drugs and food, there have been no accidents, no overdoses, no terminal diseases in this branch of the Polk family. Does that mean we are due? I bet Wallace don't feel that way. I wouldn't either. Because although logic suggests that there is no way his body could withstand the abuse he put it through, denial is a useful tool in convincing oneself that one may live forever. I mean, to be fair, if his body was gonna give out, it should have done so when he smoked his first joint. Punishment-- if that's what it is-- should be instant when it comes to health.
And yet.. it's not.
I do not like not having access to Kevin whenever I want it. There, I said it, are you happy? It is not logical, I know this. But there it is.
Angie Stone's song makes me want to go out and acquire a thug of my own to love. That's a helluva thing to realize, you know? And not just any thug. Oh no, no, no, I want a super thug. All the good ones are in prison, though.
I can't believe I just typed that, but I'm not going to edit it out because it's fucking true. Man, go out in the streets now, and all that's left are the scruffy bottom of the barrel boys. At least, that's what I heard. It ain't like I been out there looking. I'm just saying.
So Mom was telling me about Devon and Curtis the other day. And Wahab. She was telling me their nicknames: Killer and Stomp and I can't remember Wahab's. She said that they didn't have those nicknames for nothing.
"What, they like, killed people?"
"That's what they said."
I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that shit. What the fuck does a person do with information like that. Shrug it off? Justify it? I think not. I always wondered how they could run Wallace out of town... I mean, they're thugs sure, but they're our cousins. I never for one second thought they would actually hurt Wallace. It's a hell of a thing to realize I was wrong. I mean, I still have nightmares about shoplifting from Venture. Who the fuck can kill people and still live with themselves? Well, but then, they aren't really living, are they.
I wonder where Anton is and how he's doing.
I had a revelation the other day. People who were once fat and who lose weight seem to have the idea that everyone else who is fat should follow suit. By the same token, people who were once residents of run down, impoverished, economically depressed/oppressed communities and who move away seem to have the idea that everyone else who still resides in those sorry assed piece of shit communities should move away also. It ocurred to me that I am no better than Oprah. But instead of being a fat snob, I am a ghetto snob.
And yet... just like Oprah, I have no intention of changing my ways. Fuck the ghetto. Fuck thugs and fuck drugs and fuck killers. Yeah, that's right, Angie, I said it. Now what?
I wonder if they let adults take the SATs again. I'd guess not, although I don't see why not. Be interesting to see how much less I know now, than I did then. Or, if I was being positive, I could say I'd like to see how much more I know, now. But why lie? I was 16 when I first took it. A sophomore in high school, and I did not crack one book in preparation. Everyone told me to re-take it, everyone knows the 1st time doesn't count, Maulana you're so fucking difficult, just re-take it. So, of course, I did not re-take it. If I had it to do over, I still would not re-take it.
What do the letters of S-A-T represent anyway? Standardized Assessment Test? Achievement? Something like that, I'm sure. And is it SATs plural, or just SAT? These are the questions that are important in life.
Anyway. It's the middle of the middle of the year and usually I do a progress report. Except, I don't want to right now. And so I won't.
I will be 28 in 15 days. Numbers. They still mean nothing to me. I wonder, if, when I am 38, or 48, will I look back on these days and shake my head at myself. I wonder if the numbers will mean more then because I've accumulated more age and experience, or if they will mean even less because I've accumulated more age and experience. I'm just not as settled as I thought I'd be. But then, you know, I guess I am. Because, although I am no different now than I was at 18, I am happier now than I was then. And so I guess that makes me different after all.
I hope I am different. I mean, who wants to stagnate? Pas de moi.
Every year, I tell myself I will attempt to learn Spanish, and every year, I fail to do so. I think I am intimidated. It's one of those things with me, I guess. It is such a beautiful language, I am afraid to butcher it, even though I know that I would not. Something to think about.
Sharon's cancer is back. Wallace is still on dialysis and together, they are about as healthy as Ronald Reagan. It sucks. Sharon is at the point where the cancer has become untreatable, and so the two of them have turned to the holistic approach. I wonder why people wait until the last resort to go holistic. Seems to me that anything natural would be a preferable treatment to the poison available in those little plastic orange prescription bottles, but apparently this is illogical thinking on my part.
My Aunt is dying. If my uncle does not get healed soon, he may soon die as well. It is impossible to think of Wallace dead. He has only 15 years on me, which means he is only 43. Aunt Sharon is a few years older, I think. Like 53 or maybe 55 I don't know. It is unfathomable that they should die. I mean, I have not lost anyone in my family besides my Granny and she was 76 and tired when she kicked the bucket. Despite an alarming abuse of alcohol, drugs and food, there have been no accidents, no overdoses, no terminal diseases in this branch of the Polk family. Does that mean we are due? I bet Wallace don't feel that way. I wouldn't either. Because although logic suggests that there is no way his body could withstand the abuse he put it through, denial is a useful tool in convincing oneself that one may live forever. I mean, to be fair, if his body was gonna give out, it should have done so when he smoked his first joint. Punishment-- if that's what it is-- should be instant when it comes to health.
And yet.. it's not.
I do not like not having access to Kevin whenever I want it. There, I said it, are you happy? It is not logical, I know this. But there it is.
Angie Stone's song makes me want to go out and acquire a thug of my own to love. That's a helluva thing to realize, you know? And not just any thug. Oh no, no, no, I want a super thug. All the good ones are in prison, though.
I can't believe I just typed that, but I'm not going to edit it out because it's fucking true. Man, go out in the streets now, and all that's left are the scruffy bottom of the barrel boys. At least, that's what I heard. It ain't like I been out there looking. I'm just saying.
So Mom was telling me about Devon and Curtis the other day. And Wahab. She was telling me their nicknames: Killer and Stomp and I can't remember Wahab's. She said that they didn't have those nicknames for nothing.
"What, they like, killed people?"
"That's what they said."
I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that shit. What the fuck does a person do with information like that. Shrug it off? Justify it? I think not. I always wondered how they could run Wallace out of town... I mean, they're thugs sure, but they're our cousins. I never for one second thought they would actually hurt Wallace. It's a hell of a thing to realize I was wrong. I mean, I still have nightmares about shoplifting from Venture. Who the fuck can kill people and still live with themselves? Well, but then, they aren't really living, are they.
I wonder where Anton is and how he's doing.
I had a revelation the other day. People who were once fat and who lose weight seem to have the idea that everyone else who is fat should follow suit. By the same token, people who were once residents of run down, impoverished, economically depressed/oppressed communities and who move away seem to have the idea that everyone else who still resides in those sorry assed piece of shit communities should move away also. It ocurred to me that I am no better than Oprah. But instead of being a fat snob, I am a ghetto snob.
And yet... just like Oprah, I have no intention of changing my ways. Fuck the ghetto. Fuck thugs and fuck drugs and fuck killers. Yeah, that's right, Angie, I said it. Now what?