Oh, you meant EVERY day...

...I'm trying to do that "write every day on your blog for a month thing".

The last time I did anything like this was a few years ago when I tried to draw something every day in May. oooooh that was hard. I failed at that.

So I'm trying to write every day at the end of the day. Trouble is my day ends really late. And then I wonder what I'm going to say. I end up just writing about my day. And my days right now are pretty mundane...

Today wasn't so bad, though. I met the coolest people. Well... I met them at the Sun's end-of-year/meet-the-new-kids Family Picnic. They'd won a raffle in which I'd donated a family portrait session as a prize. I donated in exchange for the Sun's camping trip... the school paid for it cuz I couldn't.

Anyway. I "redeemed" the prize today, and met them in the park. As we talked, and even later when I looked them up, it was revealed we had much in common. She's an alumni of my High School... an instrumental major who switched to voice. Goth (which I'm not, though I have latent tendencies in that direction), tattooed (check), red streaks (check--though hers were RED), from the City--not an import (check), had lived in Paris (check), used to hang out on the Rock (I live here), and had a cute Latino hubby (mmm well I don't have one of those, though the last few guys I've had any kind of a feeling for were all Latino).

He also was cool... grew up in the Bronx, mainly the South Bronx by Yankee Stadium (I almost asked him if he knew Nene and fam... but that would be like asking someone if you knew somebody from Harlem just cuz you're black), purple streaks in his hair. A lip ring. When I asked him what he did, he said "accountant" which threw me. Turns out I should have asked him "what are you/what do you do for money?" cuz I found out later he was an illustrator. SVA. Working as an accountant.

sigh. Being an artist really sucks.

But they made a great family. I should be so lucky. The picture above is the more traditional of the ones I took... but I'll give them the honor of picking the one they want to represent their family.

Afterwards, since I was right there, I went to see Poppy in the rehab. When I got to his room, he wasn't there. His roommate was though... and the roommate never does or says much but today he asked me to come into his curtained area and pull his TV closer. He NEVER asks things like that when Poppy is in the room. Nobody ever comes to see him. I told the Professor later he looks forward to our visits. He certainly got his visit on today... but it was alright, poor thing.

Poppy was in the dining room, watching the ballgame. Another "inmate" was at a table on the other side of the room, smelling like poop, his legless limbs propped up on the table. A double-amputee. I told Poppy I was going with the Professor to Trader Joe's on 14th but that we'd be back for him. I think he'd thought we'd leave him there but I knew that wouldn't have been a pleasant trip for him. But I also knew we'd be back... he needed a reprieve from that place.

I love Poppy. I hate that place. I know the Professor is freaking out cuz he's scheduled to be released in a few weeks, and we still haven't found a suitable place for him to come home to. I do have faith the right place will show itself at the right time.

After Trader Joe's we came back for Poppy, and the Professor drove me home. I haven't been able to sleep, and the Louis Armstrong tribute Poppy had on the radio, and the comfort of family put me right to sleep... and MoodMagic Barbie too... her head heavy on my shoulder.

When I got home to the Rock, the Sun and I went for a bikeride at sunset. We had a great time and it feels good to put on a little speed. My kid is funny too... very competitive and it pisses him off my bike is bigger and faster than mine. Every so often I race him just to piss him off.

So it wasn't a bad day.

But... I haven't heard anything from the Cricket since I told him off a few days ago. He pissed me off. For a whole lot of reasons, and the more I think about them, the more valid those reasons are to me. I'm a stickler for details. I'm a holder of promises. I'm faithful and loyal to a fault, and I try my best to keep my word. I have a lot of faults, but I don't lie... and if I ask for honesty, I want it. Though I realize it means folk must be honest with themselves first. And I try to be honest in return. So I'm pissed cuz he's a man, and he's a little egotistical which means he does what's good for him, but mostly because he was being a little dishonest. And I don't like being taken for granted. I'm tired of it. I am extremely forgiving... I let a lot of things go. But it doesn't do me any good. I let so much go for so long... and it's gotten me nothing. But... I miss hearing from him and miss trading thoughts but I don't miss wondering if I matter. And I'm annoyed at the thought he may be too wimpy to continue the partnership despite the personal, like I am. That would suck and require a lot of plan-changing. But I'll do it if I have to... cuz that thing has to work.

I miss the Scrub, too. I miss him because a year ago this time Major Tom was completely lost in space, floating in a little tin can, far above the world. It was scary... and I knew I was going to burn up on re-entry and boy did I. I miss him because he felt like home... he knew Harlem as well as I do, and felt comfortable there like I do, and wasn't afraid to go downtown like I am. But I don't miss all the other baggage and freakshows that came with him. And there were a bunch.

Poppy, who reads the blog, asked how come I don't join a dating club. FatLady had asked me that too, the other night. Why I didn't join one of those online things. But I have. Three of them, as a matter of fact. Freakshows, all of them.

I'm good. Like we say in the hood "I'll be 'aite". I'll figure it out. Or not. I'll just concentrate on me. Life was a lot simpler when I didn't date at all...