Written by Tracy Michele Bullock
I see you and you are great.
Like whatever - shoot, give me everything: What’s up?
That partner of yours not doing what they say, offered, committed to, you hope for, or is just plain reasonable to expect from anyone?
Kids acting just as you saw kids acting before you had kids and thought to yourself in your miniskirt, wedge sandals, and thong underwear your kid NEVER would? Or said to yourself; “Ugh! I will NEVER have kids! Ever!”
Is your house, apartment, car, handbag more chaotic than London after the Blitz?
Your hair? Like. how many revolutions of the Sun are to pass before you have any hope of figuring out what the Hell is going on up there?
Job wise … should I not get you started?!
Well,I hear you. And great. Like not good-great, but you are going to do great, great. No, I am not being funny, I mean it.
Over a cup of Chai or on the phone as we both on our ends wrestle with laundry, paint our toes (You know, what one does while gabbing with a pal about the BS and the real s*&t, the day, the bedroom, the current gig, trial, win, setback - all of it.) I HEAR you. I see you. And you are so lovely, to gaze is a pleasure.
Yes, it can be irksome as struggle. Sweat, suffer and effort for naught. Pant at the end of the retractable leash of life too oft negligent and unworthy. But it passes - for, like a Phoenix, every damn-time you rise. The Sun your true god. The stars your sisters.
In this warmth, your soul sparkle, I seek blindness. Such density I need never touch my own mess-of-an-everything from. Not dare behold my humanity. Ignorant to my glory. Yes: glory.
But (And this comes with a massive belly pitch and throat clinch …) I am a person too. I am a person too. I am a person too. I must be, for you see me. In your eyes I seek inspiration, envisioning a person. Just a person. A person who’s partner, kids, hair, handbag, and career are just a fraught, ridiculous, and awesome as … as ….that of a person too. That of a heart owning, blow dryer loving, Wednesday morning out of the house scrambling person. That of a trying her best one moment, dialing it in the next kind of person.
A people of people, ancestors to ourselves. You. We. Me. Like, what?! Like, exactly - me.