fever
it is safe to say that...
can you believe I just forgot what I was typing? right there in mid-sentence? that is some wild shit. I should erase it...but I'ma keep it there in hopes I might remember what I was going to say. forgive me, regardless...I've spent the past eight days with a fever. last wednesday I spent four hours in the doctor's office getting my throat swabbed, my glands prodded, and my ass injected with penicillin to get rid of the strep throat I seem to have caught out the blue in the dead middle of summer. you've read it correctly. I got a shot in my ASS. I thought that was only for babies. that shit made my whole entire leg hurt. my new primary care physician, dr. ramsey, also prescribed me flonase and allegra for my allergies in addition to the penicillin shot...so I hope to face a brand new world of mimimum stuffy noses and itchy eyes and dry nostrils. for some reason, however, being sick has made me really focused on completing projects...so for the first time in - noooo exaggeration at all whatsoeverly - a year and a half...thats eighteen months, niggas...I have NO CLIENTS. *does the "I have no clients" shake* you don't understand the significance of this. it means no pressure. I can do whatever I want after I get home from work...it means I can go back to working on my own artistic endeavors instead of other peoples. it means I don't have to sit at my computer for hours after sitting at my work computer for hours. I have so many things I wanna do I am wild with daydreaming.
because I set these difficult goals for myself as far as the quality of my entries go (read: it takes me a long time, sometimes up to a week, to craft an entry I feel is worthy of posting), I actually wrote the above four days ago. I have clients again...I didn't even have time to reload. no matter, none of my new projects will be completed before we leave for vacation next week, so I'm not really pressed. indeed its that time of year again...young family reunion time. last year I was a month pregnant, but only my parents knew...this year I will be introducing my strange (if you put your face close enough to hers she'll snap at it like a pirana, like she wants to eat your face off, I swear to god) daughter. last year my father took me and christopher to the park across the street from my great aunt's house, sat us down under the shade of a big oak tree, and lectured us on how difficult it would be having a baby in new york and what a test to our relationship it would prove. honestly, I realize a lot has changed, but besides the added responsibility part, it doesn't feel like it...it just feels as if our relationship has been amplified...like it has a deeper layer there sustaining what was there before. we didn't live together for very long before I got pregnant, maybe that has something to do with it...our relationship up until last april consisted of seeing each other 10 days every 2 - 3 months, engaging in the sex as if it was our last moment on earth each time, doing occassionally grimey things in each other's absence, talkin on the phone and computer between visits missing each other. its like I was always either angry at or missing him. I guess christopher and I have gone through so many trials and tribulations trying to get together, be together, and stay together, anything thrown at us is par for the course.
my cousin recently wrote a five part series on how to maintain a healthy long-term relationship. I may do my own version one day, but in the spirit of contribution, I offer you this story to co-sign that this putting effort in shit really works:
if memory serves me right it was approximately three weeks ago...an extremely warm saturday. I'd finally gotten my birth control shot a couple days previous and christopher was anxiously anticipating the opportunity to spread my appendages like peanut butter on wonder bread. I knew the day when it came because I felt grown and sexy when I woke up. I worked during the day on my freelance shit, spent quality time with my daughter making up voices for the teddybears on her mobile, I probably ate a nong shim pollo bowl (the fact that the name of this fine, cheap cuisine is both in korean and spanish makes it taste better to me cause I'm multicultural like that)...the regular activities I engage myself in on the days I work from home. there is one particular outfit christopher loves on me...he refers back to the night I wore it frequently as "the finest you have ever looked ever". it consists of:
1. one very tight pink halter top that ties at the neck and therefore gives my breasts ups worthy of lebron james' envy.
2. one very tight pair of dark hip hugger jeans...tight like virgins and fresh yaki weaves.
3. one very high pair of pink sling back heels so teetering and whorish supahead wouldn't fuck with them.
top that off with pink cinnamon-flavored body dust and two pint bottles of watermelon smirnoff ice and you've got a sex magic. but I had on a t-shirt when he got home from work around seven...I knew he was mad tired and I wanted him to rest up. I hinted that some sex could maybe, perhaps occur later if he was up to it...he told me to wake him at ten pm. by ten o'clock pm I was throbbingly sexy, smolderingly glittering in his favorite outfit, smirnoffs in hand. I'd snuck in our bedroom earlier while he was curled in a ball snoring to light scented candles so it smelled warm and deep, and that was the only light in the room. I'd gave serena her final bottle moments previous and she was out for the night. I just stood there for a second, standing over the bed, looking like a video ho but feeling like wifey...proud of myself, rather, for even squeezing into the get-up...giddy at how hype christopher would be when I woke him up.
and he was...oh so hype...he showed me, told me, whispered it, pounded it into my psyche for hours...how hype he was.
its why he IMs me from his laptop on his lunch break from work...its why even when I tell him to he won't look at other chicks on the street...its why even when I make him angry he still sneaks looks at me as I pout in the corner...its why even after we've been together two years and he's seen a seven pound mini-me spring forth from my most holiest of holes he still wants me. cause I puts in work.
it's safe to say that I have reached a point of extreme satisfaction which is more then my previously, terminally depressed ass could've ever wished for from this life. that's not what I was gonna say at the beginning of this entry, but let's pretend.