charlobo-a-go-go

I normally get Bambina to bed early, maybe around 8PM, read her a few stories and then pass out with her for the night. And then I wake up around 1AM and wonder why the hell I’m awake. Stay up for a few to read updates, check the feeds, and then lay back down and wonder where the time all went.

Soon enough it’s 7AM, and I’m struggling. I don’t drink coffee so my caffeine if you will is the radio. Yes I said radio. 88.5 is the joint for me. Soon enough Ms. Thang wakes up and I have to get her fed, get me fed, change her diaper and get her dressed for her day and then I go last. I feel bad as hell when I show up for work late. If I didn’t have a little someone to look after I’d be better at getting there. I’m not a morning person. I am not.

The drive to work has me bumpin something loud, usually some profanity laced hip hop tune. This reminds me now to remove some of that smooth stuff that just gets skipped every morning. Ugh, what a buzzkill. Tupac. Snoop. 50. Kanye. My students laugh at me, but that’s how I roll. Loud.

My birthday was yesterday, and there was the usual talking, singing, laughing…how I love these days. I am normally so uncomfortable with the sound of birthdays, particularly mine because I’m a summer baby, and I never had the fetes around birthdays like my classmates. My birthdays were always with family, and they were small and I hate being the center of attention that way, but in my old age, I have learned to appreciate it and just smile.

Now though, my house is filled with the sounds of gentle snoring of Husbandido and Bambina. I just finished putting two pans of banana bread in the oven for my pops. He loves his breakfast/coffee pastries, so I can’t hate on that. I turned off the TV because now, finally, the house is quiet. I love the sound of typing, and the click of my too-long nails on the keyboard makes me feel accomplished. I miss my writing. I miss my daily posts. Blogging now for over 10 years, it’s something I crave, but something that I need to wait until I have moments like this to myself, and those moments are rare.

So I’ve learned to seek out the quiet spaces in between the ones where I have to put on my work/mommy/wife/daughter/friend hat and take time for me. I hate to be selfish but if only for one hour, it’s all good for me.

Damn this house smells good. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going back to me time.

XO,

Char

A few weeks ago, there was a call for writers for a poetry reading/collection. I told one of the organizers I was interested. It’s been a while since I’ve done a reading, and it’s been a while since I’ve dedicated myself to any kind of writing other than, well, what I’m doing now.

So some time passes. I think about a poem. I think twice. I don’t write anything. One of the organizers comes up to me and suggests that I write and contribute. Strongly suggests. To the point where it’s pointedly saying, “You should turn some stuff in.”

I think about it more. The deadline passes. I don’t turn anything in.

I am kicking myself.

I hate being lazy, and I hate even more not writing when it’s clear that I need to. It’s that whole hiding your light under a bushel. (It’s Easter Monday, so I’m bustin out the biblical stuff.) Well I guess that means I need to write something. It is poetry month after all.

I’ll post it here when I get to that point.

Peace.