I’m going through the 108 drafts I have. I’ve deleted about three so far, some I’ve left as they are. This one I don’t know why I didn’t publish. I wrote it while I was in Jamaica in October after my mother died. It really looks fine. I don’t know why I didn’t publish it.
Let’s get writing shall we?
Firstly I stink. I’m sitting with my legs folded and I need a shower. I thought I wouldn’t be needing one for a while since I didn’t shower early yesterday.
Secondly, I’m home, except I don’t really think so anymore because my mother is not here. I found myself saying that I want to go home a few times recently and I realised that I don’t usually refer to America as home. I started to correct myself, but then I thought maybe I have to call it home now. I thought of Jamaica as home because my mother was here, and she had always been my home. Always. But now she isn’t anymore. She isn’t anything anymore, just a part of my mind. She’s a memory.
I’m listening to music that is perfect right now. Perfect for my mood, perfect for what I’m writing. Perfect in its sound.
My father should be coming today. He didn’t tell me when, which is strange. Is he not coming today? Is he coming tomorrow? Wouldn’t he have told me what time he was to get here? Damn. K bought a dress for me that doesn’t have sleeves. I didn’t ask daddy to bring anything for me. I’m going to have to buy something. I didn’t want to do that. I can just buy a cheap pair of shoes right? But he’s definitely coming today since B called. He must have spoken to him.
Today is mommy’s wake. Stupid word. She isn’t going to wake up. It’s Friday today. Her wake is going to be on the Sabbath. God probably doesn’t like that. He has many reasons to kill me. Whatever.
I think I love M. Really. He probably loves me more, but I do think I love him. How can I not? Not that I have a lot of others to compare him to, but I think he’s the one. The one? I don’t know, but I don’t want it to be anyone else. I don’t want to spend time getting to know someone else and letting someone else get to know me.
I can smell that dumb blouse M was telling me about. Damn it stinks.
I really wish people would stop asking me how my mother died though. I don’t like repeating it. I’m tired.
T told me about God last night. I thought that was really strange coming from her. She is tattooed, smokes weed, and swears. I don’t think she goes to church either. But she was telling me about nothing being too big or small for God and saying that we can’t do it by ourselves. I didn’t get it. I didn’t think God could be inside a person like that. But He is. She said He made me perfect. M said He isn’t wicked. But I can have an opinion right?
Whatever I think He’s still God.