D’accord, demi-heure reste.
I think that when I sat down at the library and logged into one of the public computers, after wiping down the entire workspace and armchair, it said two hours.
I want to write a book, but we’ll talk about that another day when I’ve actually gotten into the consistent habit of writing daily. The book title and cover randomly and repeatedly comes before my mind’s eye and stories will fall into my spirit with a mental image of pages finding their place in a binding between others — this is how I know that I’m supposed to write a book; it won’t leave me.
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I need to be obedient. Obedience, according to my grandmother, is something of which I’ve always struggled. “You are defiant, little girl,” she has said time and time again. I hear her voice in my head, “you want to do what Te’Keya Krystal wants to do.”
Yes, I do, I do want to do what I want to do. Having to work to earn a living to provide a roof over my own head and food in my own belly really gets in the way of me doing what I want to do.
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I want to go to ballet classes on Mondays at the adult classical dance school in Beverly Hills, French conversation classes on Tuesdays at Alliance Française near the French Consulat in Century City, then acting classes on Wednesdays at one of these well-connected providers that could possibly land me in front of a Hollywood agent so I could go forth getting roles that pay thousands of dollars for short commitments of time to then further free up space to do more of what Te’Keya Krystal wants to do.
But nooooooo, I can’t do that, I can’t do what Te’Keya Krystal wants to do because TK has to be all around L.A. making muh-nay. [rolls eyes] My schedule has to be open and available to earning, ready to accept a job, a gig, at any moment, at the drop of a dime… for a damn dime, out here trying to get me two lil’ nickels to rub together.
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Oh shoot, that reminds me, I still haven’t paid LADWP since I moved in three months ago. It’s as if I want to arrive back to my apartment one day after a morning walk, flip the light switch in the bathroom and nothing happens. That’ll put some fire under my tail, that’ll make me pay that light bill… that I don’t want to pay. Ugh.
Lord Jesus, I’m thankful for all the blessings bestowed upon my life. I’m living in my first solo apartment. Ah! My lips turn up into a slight grin as I type this.. it still doesn’t quite feel real. I go there every day and I sleep there every night, but is it mine? Is it really mine? Will the rug not be snatched from beneath my feet?
Whew. I feel my heartbeat deepening in my chest. See, I don’t know how I feel until I write it. I read or heard a writer express that sentiment during an NPR interview and it resonated so sacredly.
Mm. I’m really there. You’re okay, T.K., everything is going to be okay. Little Te’Keya Krystal, you’re here to stay. You can unpack the bin that has been sitting in the middle of the living room floor since you moved in. You can take those clothes out of those burst open vacuum-seal storage bags, let them find their place or give them away. You can move in. You can settle in.
Shoot, 5-minute warning on the library computer. Let me do the little behind-the-scenes blog work (SEO title, add images and backlinks, the little kinks that bring a personal blog a bit above hot garbage…
Oh yeah, that’s what I said I was going to write about, my love-hate relationship with this blog and content creation in general — many ideas come to me and most them aren’t worth a dime, darn sure not nobody’s time, then, suddenly, like a lightening strike during a sunny day, out of nowhere, a FANTASTIC idea will come. YES! Yes, this is it, this makes sense! This is perfect. I’m smiling, I’m giddy, this is great, we’re on to something, I’m working on it, it’s logical, then it’s terrible and the most idiotic piece of foolishness I could’ve ever thought to offer the world. This is f’ing a** and it all needs to go in the trash).
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Well, the public library computer booted me out and I had to open up the Squarespace app on my phone. See, I intentionally left my computer at home. I need stoppers. The physical library building having a closing time, and the computers across the LA County Library system having a set session duration for each users’ login, is perfect. It’s an external force, something outside of my control, making me stop. It makes me see an end point, which in turn, that end point makes me see, “okay, b*tch, you have to start.”
Hmmmm… maybe tomorrow, I’ll bring my computer with me, then I could have a bout of work on the LA County Library computer, then a second bout of work on my own computer up until closing time. An external force will cause me to take a break (when the LA County Library public computer kicks me off), then another external force will cause me to call it a day (when the library closes).
Part of me wants to walk back to Bristol Farms when I leave here and get the cookie that I resisted when I was there for lunch before coming to the library. I bargained with myself and had a small John Kelly Chocolates semi-sweet dark chocolate fudge with walnuts, but it didn’t make the desire for that big fat warm, gushy cookie go away. And I’m not hungry, no. That’s too greedy. Girl. Stomach still swole swole. Heavy a** lunch. Don’t go yo’ tail back up there, guh. Sickening.
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I hate myself, clearly. Oh yeah, we’ll talk about that another day.
Une demi-heure reste. See, before when I said that, it was a half-hour ‘til the session closed on the library computer. Now, it’s a half-hour until the library closes altogether.
Let me order my desk for the bedroom. I’m going to get one that is mounted to the all and appears to be a shelving unit of storage cabinet of some sort, not noticeably a desk at all. When in use, it folds out into a little writing desk. I need that in my bedroom because I hurt all my lil’ back and booty sitting in my bed for extended periods of time trying to write or get some content creation done.
I almost came to the library yesterday, then I walked out of my house and turned towards a delicatessen instead, sat my fat a** there and ate a full-course breakfast: bacon, eggs, Challah French toast, hot lemon tea, and don’t forget the house made pickle.
Upon leaving the delicatessen, it’d gone from a misting rain when I left my house to a pouring rain. There was no way I wanted to end up soaking wet, sitting in the Los Angeles Public Library with folks smelling like wet dog. I can’t do unpleasant odors, all my head will start hurting. It’s a wonder I survive commuting around L.A. via public transit, even with a mask, some of these got dawg’on folks stank.
If I already had my little writing desk in my room, I could’ve comfortably taken my computer out when I got home to add the backlinks and tweak the advanced settings. I should’ve ordered it when I first thought about it on Indigenous Peoples Day; I had the link open with the exact one and everything, it was marked down for a “Black Friday” sale and all — why didn’t I pull the trigger ?
You know what? [reaches for credit card] Let me order it right now.
I’ll talk to y’all later.