A series of maddeningly frenetic and chaotic thoughts…
[Broad daylight. Sunshine even. Bricks. Pavement. Midweek. Midday. Crush of traffic. Busy intersection. Crackhouse. Sidewalk. Walgreens. Dentists.
Sitting. Laying. Muttering with fever. Sweating. Shivering. Dying. Wanting to die.
Need. Not need. Inner tension. Giving up. Giving in.]
I usually let these scenes wash over me, especially from the safety of my car.
But this was the first time I realized someone close to me (a cousin, no less) could have been one of those opiate-addicted junkies lazing about on a Baltimore street corner.
And I looked harder.
The point of this particular maddeningly frenzied thought is simple: I looked harder and I look harder now.
Steamboat. The point of this particular maddeningly frenzied thought is that it seems like a strange dream now, but one I am not ready to analyze or file as of yet.
Flagstaff. The point of this particular maddeningly frenzied thought is that it seems like a strange dream now, but one I needed to live in order to be where I am now.
I swear there are some words I’d never give a second thought to ‘cept when they cross my path in such quick succession that I can’t help but give them a second thought for fear that it’s all part of a larger plan. You know, you shouldn’t ignore signs, right? You know that, right?
And so it was (and remains) with the word ‘applecart’.
I mean, the f*** is an applecart anyway? Well, beside a cart full o’ apples, it’s like the status quo and order of a family or a community or a culture.
Somewhere in Romania LOL
So, yea, all that said, the point of this particular maddeningly frenzied thought is that I am the tipper of applecarts. Which I get. Really.
I dash in and out of families and careers and communities.
Understood. I am to stay away. For now, I hope. Temporarily. It (i.e. being called the applecart tipper) just stings because I’d only recently realized how much I liked having my family back.
I just want to feel loved and secure and safe. Just a little, please?
I am the star of my own movie.
Um, me at work at lunch. Totes. Also, I admit, I am the sum of all brat pack ’80s films…
Ok, alright. Maybe ‘star’ is a strong word. So, how ‘bout me as the producer of my own movie?
Ah, yes. That’s much better!
I make the decisions.
The point of this particular maddeningly frenzied thought is that it doesn’t matter what role you play in your movie so long as you commit to play.