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Maybe tomorrow…


I was supposed to fly into Atlanta today so that I can be fresh for work tomorrow. But guess what I did instead? Instead, I sat in bed and wrote random poetry. I smoked about nine Newports. I read several riveting blogs from beautiful brown folk all over the U. S of A. I ate pineappe straight from the can and reheated pizza from yesterday.

Instead of battling the “traveling public” to get to work tomorrow, I listened to Badu, and C.R.A.C., and Goapele, and Steve Spacek and Marva Whitney. I popped a vicodin for my cramps. Slathered Eucerin on my cracking lips and talked to my momma on the phone. I washed dishes and washed and twisted my hair.

I need the slow down time. I’ve been running for at least three weeks. Pack my bag, fly to work, fly FOR work, sleep on Dad’s couch, fly home, wash clothes, pack my bag, fly to work, fly FOR work….You get it.

So instead of running some more…I’m gonna take that “L” today. And I’ll just have to get up at 0500 to catch the early flight to work.

Oh friggin’ well.

I need to lounge.


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