Writing My Wrongs

I have been in California for 7 days. The boys went back home Sunday and my father left for Bangkok, Bhutan and Kathmandu same day. I will never know why my dad goes to these places…it scares me. He can’t be reached. Granted I have hotel info…but still…

What is the song…
“…I’d rather live in his world, then without him in mine…”
I am in a conundrum.
Discombobulated.

I just started reading Ralph Ellison’s biography…it’s a tough read but I am sure it will get better. I am sure. I bought an Op-rah magazine…and couldn’t believe how much shit she packs into it each week….oh, it’s a monthly mag…lol

Found out a girlfriend of mine loves me. Odd that. Never thought she could fall in love with a girl like me. She says I haven’t changed. Says I am still mean and everything is still all about me. She has always known that and says that the people that want to be in my space would accept who I was.
All the while I am wondering…where the eff did this come from? And why in the hell does she tell me this stuff after I have been gone for 4 years? I swear every single freaking time I come back to California I get some revelations from someone professing some sort of affection towards me. And it usually starts off with… “I never told you but…”
I get that ppl in general are attracted to other ppl in general…
But it surprises me when I had not a clue…and then bop…they are telling me about “way back when”…
I think it’s wack.
But in this case…maybe, not so much.

I miss Cortney.
I miss Slish.
I miss my apartment in Harlem.
I miss NYC.
I miss fancy restaurants.
I miss pretentious lounges and the ppl.
I miss the grime on the bottom of my feet from walking the streets in flipflops.
I miss rain in Harlem.
I miss the honking of horns.
I miss the retarded tourist.
I miss not having to buy gas, just a subway card.
I miss a shoe store on every corner…along with a Strawberry’s.
I miss the street fairs.
I miss celebrity sightings.
I miss water to my left, water to my right, water all around me.
I miss the sunset as it slides between two skyscrapers.
I miss street hustlers and subway musicians.
I miss DSW in Union Square.
I miss my alternative lifestyle eye doctor.
I miss 145th street corner guys who play dominos in front of the barber shop.
I miss Golden Crust spicy beef patties.
I miss the street vendors selling their incense and shea butter on 125th street.
I miss my church; FCBC.
I miss rooftop parties.
I miss West 4th.
I miss the Bowery, Chinatown, and SOHO.
I miss my second hand thrift shop on Mercer by Bar 89.
I miss Dean & Deluca.
I miss laying across Will’s bed watching Hero’s on DVR.
I miss hating the Bronx.
I miss the drummers in Prospect Park.
I miss heading to Shea stadium.
I miss being able to go with a date to the baseball game.
I miss seeing blue and white Yankee baseball hats.
I miss Harlem Vintage.
I miss nights at Flute drinking champagne for the hell of it.
I miss sitting at the Time Inc. fountain, looking across the street at Radio City Music.
I miss Junior’s on theater row.
I miss the fireworks at Yankee Stadium.
I miss Lady Liberty to the south and GWB to the north, Jersey to the west and Long Island City to the east.
I miss Harlem River Drive and the FDR.
I miss driving across the Brooklyn Bridge.
I miss browsing Flatbush avenue.
I miss choking up when I walk past Ground Zero.
I miss the bad ass kids on 146th street.
I miss being free.
And most of all…
I miss me.

B~E~Z