my wife

even though i didn't devote time for blogging last night, i still wound up ranting to friends this morning. figured i'd post it... this not blogging daily thing is going to take some getting used to. i keep forgetting i'm a writer and always have been, so whether or not i want to devote time to it, the words will still come...


i'm trying to slow down and focus. how come getting the space to slow down is taking so much work? i'm trying to get simple matters out of the way: touching base with family members, wrapping up loose ends, my seasonal purge of all unnecessary possessions, budgeting, bills, filing taxes, groceries, housekeeping. sometimes, i wish i had a wife - i mean, an assistant - to handle some this crap for me. i know now more than i ever did, that high-powered white male executives get married consistently and at relatively young ages, 'cause they know they wouldn't make it anywhere if not for sweet Lauren at home. i need me a sweet Lauren. problem is, i'm a woman, so what i really need is a secretary, 'cause me and sweet Lauren can't get down like that. i made groceries yesterday in between the cycles of carrying huge laundry loads on each shoulder. still wearing the three inch nine wests i had to wear to work yesterday, mind you, 'cause i couldn't have worn my last clean pair of dress pants (the ones with the long inseam and the high riding waistline) without being almost 5'8", or the pants would've dragged the ground. i also needed some socks, belts, and dress flats - some of that stuff that gets lost in the sauce when you're busy hustling. the kind of stuff that white male professionals get sweet Lauren to get for them. sometimes i get weary. tired of being my own sweet Lauren. i have to make the money around here, and do all the chores and ministerial tasks, and then flop down on the bed, realizing that my entire body is spent. and i have no masseuse appointment, 'cause there's no sweet Lauren to say, "honey, can you make an appointment at the masseuse for me, please," to. or better yet, screw sweet Lauren, i should be able to be sweet Lauren instead of do-it-all woman (not so, for any black woman i know) and then i could rub my husband's back before rolling over and asking him to return the favor, hoping his spoiled tail didn't fall asleep on me. i woke up this morning, disoriented and drained. wishing there was some dayum breakfast already done. (i'm hongry now - forgot to grab a banana in my mad dash out the door.) not pressuring myself to blog after my dinner of late leftovers gave me more time to rest last night, but i still have so much more to do in order to get my mental desk cleared off. it'll have to wait til tomorrow, 'cause i have to be at the Heat tonight. (time's a wastin'... don't you take your time.... *panic--checking it--sighing*) and i'm not happy 'cause i don't have anything new to read. maybe a poem will happen to me sometime between now and then. maybe it'll be about how i need a business partner in this life. screw love, i can worry about that later. but for real, it would be great to have someone help with some of this other stuff.

forgive my rant. i'm just a little jealous of men who have sweet Laurens to buy them new socks and wipe up their pee sprinkles and call their travel agents. their grass isn't greener though. i don't have to work as hard to support a family and a wife, like they do...

my last dream was crazy. gotta stop watching funny british zombie movies before falling asleep.