|Writer's Block: Happy St. Patrick's Day!
||[Mar. 18th, 2008|03:06 am]
I decided to go for a walk to get rid of my groggy feeling that I felt. It was mid-afternoon and I was still in bed watching the last couple of episodes of Lost. I felt fat from the previous night's chicken I ate and washed that down with a bowl of cereal this afternoon. I still feel fat.
How are you celebrating St. Patrick's Day?
I was just going to walk up to the gas station to get some tea, but I was too inspired from the music playing in my ears from my mp3 player and continued to walkfurther to my mother's office. She's in the office on Mondays, Wenesdays and Fridays. The day was Monday so I knew my trip would not be wasted.
I was crossing College street back onto the sidewalk when I noticed a handsome young sir in the truck next to me. My mind instantly thought how if I were more in shape how I would be able to just walk up to him an bum a ride and give this handsome gentleman and myself some below the belt and in the mouth satisfaction. More of a mental satisfaction than in the mouth satisfaction, for me, I would imagine. Knowing that a good looking guy is attracted to me and gets an erection would be the endorphines I prefer.
My sidewalk fantasty lead to believe what if he was infected with HIV. Anyone around me could be infected with HIV. How serious the thought of a deadly disease takes away the joy of this mid-afternoon walk. My sunny day has become more of a reality. I looked at the world without rose-tinted glasses for a brief moment and felt the true beauty and horrificness that reides hand in hand like a mother cradling her newborn child; like a mother crying from the sudden death of her newborn child.
Mother was eating pecans that she was suppose to give for Grandma, but her taste buds did not allow that to happen.
"Oh good. Do you want to go and take your sister for me?" She was speaking about Sylvan's Learning Center. My sister goes there afterschool on certain days for tutoring.
"Sure. Give m your keys."
"What?" she asked with a curious smile. "You low on gas?"
"No. I just walked up here."
Her co-workers jumped into the conversation. They were lightly stunned from my physical efforts of getting to the office.
"That's a long walk" Mama Joanne said.
"It's not that long of a wal" Moher replied back. "It' maybe only aboyt a mile."
I cut back into th conversation: "It's no big deal. I used to walk everywhere before."
I grabbed the keys and left.
Picking up kids from school is somewhat intimidating. There's a good number of eyes staring at you, judging you, making a person feel small. Well, in my case it makes me feel big, in waist size. I can here the whispers from the silent eyeballs: "My God. That is a big, black man. Fuckin' huge." I might be wrong and I might be right, but still picking kids up from school is intmidating. Especially when half the school believes that I am the father of my younger siblings no matter how many times my brother or two sisters say "my brother is here to pick m up." They always respond back with "That's your brother?"
"No you failed attempt at helping th Florida school system. I'm th bodygaurd stand-in for their brother to come and pick them up" is what I want to say, but I only nod and wave.
Morgan, the reason for this journey, was getting a cookie they were pasing out because of field day...or so I thought. Monet, the other sister, came up to me and started blabbering away about some stuff. I just rubbed her cheek in a playful manner and she went back to playing. She walked me over to where Morgan was standing.
"Hey baby girl. It's time to go" I told her.
"Okay" she said. "Let me get my stuff."
"Do I have o sign you out?" I usually got to the school at a later time to pick her up and the afterschoolcare lady would be there for me to sign Morgan out, but I came at an earlier time.
"I'm not sure." She walked over away to get her stuff.
"Hey Monet. Mom is going to come and get you later okay." She already knew th drill. I was providing a useles message she has heard me say times before. Much like a priest to his crowd of sinners who continue to perform the sin regardles to the priest's message.
Monet carelessly regarded my message and simply said "Okay."