dimanche 8 mars 2026
19:40
Go’on ‘head love bomb me then leave, baby [inserts tear in corner of eye with a smile]
“I ain’t gon lie, I miss you, but you crazy” [inserts emoji with missing mouth]
Is it my fault? No. However, it’s my responsibility to fix it. Whew. I’m rusty. My last entry in this notebook was three days ago. It’s making me hop all over the place mentally, causing my pen to constantly stop moving as my mind floats elsewhere. When I was writing everyday, for the three days that lasted, I was getting somewhere. My thoughts were beginning to be organized. I was dropping right into focus without notice. Or, maybe I’m fantasizing being a consistent writer in the recent past the way my mother will reminisce being a mother taking care of her children. Neither were ever the case, certainly not the latter.
I met my man, y’all. A few hours ago, I sat in Barnes and Noble, in a chair along the railings that overlook the floor below.
“You don’t remember nooooooooothing,” a man that I dated in 2022 responds to me asking him if I’d spoken to him wildly while we were in some rural part of Georgia for a family reunion situation of his. A couple of texts prior, he’d asked me, randomly, if I remember when I was drunk in Georgia. I told him that I was intoxicated our entire relationship. I don’t know if he knows sober me.
so let’s stop pretending that we were in love
we never shared anything but the drugs
we were both numb, never had anything real between us
— Jhene Aiko, Never Call Me
GEORGIA WAS FUN AF! I tell him.
(I inserted Jhene Aiko lyrics here, as I’m writing; I did not tell him that listening to that line play in my unfurnished living room a week or so ago is part of what put him on my mind enough to reach out for the first time in almost four years.)
Never Call Me is full of resentment. I can’t relate. Our short-lived relationship was GREAT! At least for me, it was lovely. In this Sunday evening of texting, he’s revealed that he wishes I would’ve reached out sooner. “We could’ve been back together…”. He has a toddler now. It could’ve been me. I’m glad, it wasn’t.
I enjoy the temporary. Once it gets too deep, I’m ready to dip.
20:40
(I’m going to keep going off-the-clock, as I was doing quite a bit of texting)
Love bomb me and leave me. That would be ideal. No, that would have been ideal. I’m about to start being for real… Serious. Intentional. Dare I say, commital?
I also called the man that I dated from the tail of 2024 through half of 2025… Ooop! My new man, my 2026 man just walked up. He stares into my eyes with a soft gaze coming from his handsome face as he approaches the Barnes and Noble table where I’m seated, writing. His body hovers over me briefly as I stare back up into his eyes. He has a slight grin. I come to standing for the hug he’d obviously been waiting the entire remainder of his shift to give me. “You need a minute?” I do. Now, I’m back seated and my puddy cat is tingling. “Your eyes…” he says as he takes a seat across from me in the bookstore.
My good Lord, be with me. Big O is trying to take her reign. I can’t let her rule me. Maybe I shouldn’t go to dinner with him, not in this challenging hormonal state. Jesus Lord, it has been so long since I’ve touched a man intimately.
I can’t. His fingers come across my page. He wants to play. “Okay, I’m done,” I say. “You good,” he assures, “I just want to bother you.” Bother me, pleeeeeeease, I need some bothering.
Okay, girl, let me go. He says we’re going to get Ghengis Khan and that’ll need some hours to digest before I make my way to bed. It’s pasta, he says, I’m not familiar. I have a commercial gig in the morning, DTLA. I’m not trying to go to bed late. Yeah, let’s get out of this place.