Barnes and Noble cut the in-store music 8 minutes ago, even though there was still another 30 minutes ‘til close, so let me make this quick.
Today, an app on my phone showed me an off-guard photo of myself preparing to pose on a couch outside of the dimly lit restrooms on the lowest level of TAO Hollywood.
7 years ago it read at the top of the screen that brought me this memory. Then, there’s an Asian woman on the wall behind me, bringing her hands to a prayer position before her lips, her arms placed at the perfect height to cover her bare breasts. This piece of artwork is long gone from the shared lounge space outside of the men’s and ladies’ room. I almost called it a photo space, as the photo kiosk was a big attraction as emptying one’s bladder, but that’s gone too. Below the artwork is me sitting on a couch that I’m pretty sure has been gone for a while now as well. Under the photo, the app tells me exactly when this photo was taken, in case I don’t want to do the math:
from your library April 14, 2019
Okay, these folks coming over the intercom following a sickeningly loud beep is about to drive me; let me get out of these people’s store. [rolls eyes]
Oh, lovely, an AMC Theatres location is open next door and folks are lining up to scan into the showroom access area, which means I have a good 90 minutes until staff begins to shut this bih down.
Hm, it’s nice in here. This could be a spot for my artist date, as Julia Cameron recommends for creatives in her instructional guide, Artist’s Way — though I haven’t read it, I did flip through it in Barnes & Noble, back when I first heard a fluffy female rapper reference it on Instagram and I’ve heard additional references since. Most recently, I saw Artist’s Way and this notion of a creative taking herself on weekly artist dates in a book I’m reading by a songwriter about songwriting, How To Write a Song That Matters.
Hm, where did Dar Williams say she takes (or took) herself on artist dates? This had to be yesterday that I read that part because I only started the book day before yesterday. I suppose the minutiae isn’t what matters, it’s understanding how to write a song that matters. Oh, that reminds me, let me add How To Write a Song That Matters to my currently reading on Goodreads while I’m connected to Internet and close out How To Tell A Story by marking I’ve finished this book.
Prior to that translation of Aristotle’s Poetics, How To Tell A Story, which is about writing, I read a memoir by a memoirist that she titled Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life.
Hm, I’m noticing a bit of a trend in my reading interests as of late.
Wait, now that’s tea.. well, not tea, nobody cares, rather, it’s funny.. this boy that I met on set for a movie by Netflix just walked past with a blow-up booty bih. I am tickled, poor thing. He’d been snatched up while filming a Mr. Beast competition by some fake-body InstaThot that threw herself on him and darn near forced him to f*ck the first night. I say darn near because he described to me how he didn’t really want to have sex with some woman whose name he didn’t even remember from meeting earlier that day who showed up to his door that night, but he essentially talked himself into it, not wanting to seem scared. I want to say that he was 19 at the time and she told him that she was 29, but I promise the bih looked 36. He wanted nothing to do with her, knew she was crazy and declined her gifts of large sums of money. Somehow, she eventually swayed him to respond, moved him in and started controlling him (in my opinion). He swore to me that he was living the high life and there was nothing of which to worry, but he’d also swore to me the year prior that the thought of her and what they did disgusted him. I wasn’t surprised when we saw each other on set earlier this year to hear that him and the thirsty thottie from the Vegas adventure had parted ways and he had a similar look of disgust when I brought her up. This buttaface he’s in this movie theater with at 11 o’clock at night in matching pajama bottoms and Jordan sneakers doesn’t look any more promising than the last. Yikes.
Wait, it’s 11 o’clock at night! Uhnt uhn, I have an 8am gentle yoga flow that I want to make in the morning. What was I saying?
I was thinking about posting this throwback on Instagram, then I thought, “f*ck Instagram”.
Something about this photo being 7 years ago is sending me.. time is moving too quickly [inserts distraught, flow-of-tears emoji]
That was going to be my caption, or that’s what instantly came to mind as I navigated towards the post-worthy photo from this evening. I had the photo favorited, color-corrected and all; I’d BEEN meaning to post it. Not the hideous off-guard photo of me, as folks do ya no favors when you ask for a photo, but the photo of my girl Jamaica and I — I guess I’d given enough creative direction by that time [rolls eyes].
“Oh, this is from that night, where we had that one decent photo, decent enough to post.”
I’m sure that there were plenty of opportunities on my feed to post that photo, but if I had to guess what held me back, it’s probably a bit of what would now.
Am I going to keep showing love for someone that doesn’t f*ck with me nearly as much?
I’d be the damn fool, looking like a motherf*cking fan to what’s supposed to be my friend. What do you think of me? I’m yo’ groupie?! Girl, please.
Though I’m accustomed to giving more than I receive, that “giver” being a part of me naturally, I’ve learned to take heed, especially, when it may lead to an unfavorable perception of me.
Whew, it’s approaching a half after the hour and I want to be well on my way home before midnight.
Perhaps, in another piece of writing, we’ll dig a little deeper into a couple of feelings:
uncertainty in a person’s care for me
self-perception of stagnancy (or not having done enough in the time I’ve been given)
The first one is a possible root of previous hesitation before posting the photo in one of these 7 years since taking it.
The latter is the real reason that I don’t want to post at all, a throwback photo, a current photo, no matter with whom.
I haven’t been on Instagram in over a month.
It’s been at least 40 days and 40 nights since I deactivated my personal Instagram account, @tee.krys, and deleted social media apps from my cellular device. (I let my blog account, @aroundwithTK, stay active since I planned to stay active on this website and adding hyperlinks on the blog to the Insta is logical).
Child, not that boy from set and his current controller just walked out.. uhnt uhn, I’ve been in the lobby of this movie theatre too long. Let me go before security decides to ask me to go.
Long story short, I gave up Instagram for Lent…
[And up walks the security guard…]
“Hey there, I know you’ve been here for a while, are you watching a movie,” he politely, yet sternly inquires. I let him know that I’m not and I only got caught up taking care of something. “Oh, okay, because we’re actually closed.” I let him know that I’ll make my way out now.
Let me leave for real before he feels the need to ask me again. Later, y’all!
