There is a mental state
I strive to achieve a homeostatic state a humming a lull like those alpha wave tapes they sold in the 60's
I need to hear that in my head all day. Instead of the clanging of my thoughts and the clashing of my
wants versus what I should do need to do and the sad, bright violins from "Sunshine" so melancholy
so consistent that remind me how it is not to have anyone understand
I slept amazingly well last night. There is no mystery as to why. And it was completely welcome and needed and perfect. *sigh* I noticed though... I don't curl my toes... they seem to point at the heights of passion. LMAO! Guess it's that everlasting ballerina deep within me that makes her cameo every so often.
We got our wakeup call at 8:00 so he could go to the gym. He got up and got dressed, joked with me and kissed me and he left. I drifted right back to sleep and when I did awake, it was at 9:44. I got out of the bed and looked around and he still wasn't home. And thats when the worrying began. My knee-jerk reaction worrying, nagging craziness. "Where's he been? He only went to the gym... What's taking 2 hours? What if something happened? Can I manage to get out of Atlanta on my own if I need to?" It just snaps into place and starts to defend me wayyy before I ever need protection. I milled around the room realizing how I was undoing the fantasy of the night before in my own head and I just needed to calm down. After making a few phone calls and taking care of a little business, he walked through the door and I expressed my worry and fear. "Why didn't you just come downstairs to see where I was?" he asked. Makes sense... but for anyone else, that would have been an invasion of privacy. "I have nothing to hide from you," he said. "Don't worry. And come look for me." He caressed the side of my face and looked into my eyes and I was alright again. He plopped into the lounging chair and we started discussing the drama of our day to come, replete with evangelists and craziness.
He went out to get breakfast and the woman came to service our room. Young black girl (which I'm not used to... usually it's someone of another persuasion who is servicing the room that I'd have to struggle to make conversation with). She came in and was chatty. She's from Detroit. She's here for School. She better do her job right or her "mama" is gonna send for her to come home. "Are you in a sorority?" she asks me at one point. I was ready to answer and be praised... That's what usually happens. I answered, yes and told her which one. "Oh." she said. "I used to hate Fraternities and Sororities because one of them murdered my uncle." *mental gasp* I asked which one. She told me. Their full name. Fraternity, Incorporated and all. I expressed my sympathies. But then she said she didn't hate them anymore because she was a part of Oprah's Angel Network and at some point, some AKAs or some Delta-somebodies did something great for her. I just find it astounding how we don't remember the names of people who do good by us. But we're quick to commit to memory the full monikers of our wrong do-ers. Life is funny that way.
