I'm blue. The sun is shining sweetly and I cannot respond to it. I feel like a stormcloud is brewing on my crotch and the theme song I am playing is The Wazoo of Unhappiness. I am the reason people complain about blogs ie ' who wants to read about someone's unhappy crotch'. I don't want to read about basketball asses anymore so I guess I should move on. But (all my friends have Big Butts, thank you Pee-Wee) my pants are too tight and I feel such intertia I'm not going to change them.
A boy came to my door the other day. An illegal. He was a teenager, my son said, because Dakota answered the door and I was sleeping. The boy was looking for work. Dakota gave him his ten dollars and had him cut some bushes in the front yard. I feel proud of my son, and terrifically sad that this boy is living god knows where and working all day instead of getting an education. I can't stand to think of what he feels inside. He's a boy. A little boy, really. Who is loving him? Who is taking care of him? What does he eat for dinner? Is he getting enough nutrition? Does he brush his teeth every day? Does he feel like he's a piece of shit because he's a poor illegal? What can I do?? What else can I do?
The sun is shining sweetly and I'm carrying my stormcloud and I can feel the weight of this little boy's pain pressing in on my skin. My Lola cried this morning because she's having a problem with a friend at school and Lola is so sensitive and has no SKIN against these things, holding her guts in and the bad things out, and it reminds me so much of my sister Lura, and how I was always considered the 'strong one' and one day in the car when it was raining torrentially my mom in casual conversation, while navigating the sopping roads, said if she died she wouldn't worry about me because I'd be OK but Lura....that was another thing. And Lura wasn't OK. Even thought nobody died. I want to wrap Lola in my arms and protect her from wanting so badly for every single person to love her. We know how that ends up. My love seemed to enure my Dakota against needing approval for a long time but Lola is very different, her own person of course, and she needs something else, she's not secure right now, she's crying once a week because of some little girl or another, even though she has so many friends that love her, she wants everyone to love her, all the time. Oh Lola. Watching her learn about navigating this is much harder than I thought. I think it's tearing open old pain of mine and that pain is spilling out into my perception of my daughter and I can't see clearly or feel clearly because daughtermommymommydaughter is getting entertwined and everyone knows that's against the laws of mental health. When I look into Lola's face and she looks straight back at me I literally feel helpless before the love I feel. I have to look away and think. Let me think for a minute.
This boy who is called 'illegal' might be having his soul slowly killed because he is a human being and he is called ILLEGAL by white people who drive cars and live in houses and walk long haired dogs who were groomed at Petco and given fresh meat to eat every night. I need to think what else I can do to help besides giving food and money. That boy walked away from our house and who is taking care of him? Where is his Mom and Dad, Mama and Papa, Papi, where is his love? He is just a little boy and when I can't give money I can't explain to his eyes how I can live in this house and drive a car but you don't understand I have TWO roomates and my car is a piece of shit and I owe 80,000 in medical bills and I want to help more, but I have no money in my blue change purse.
I'm blue today.
image by Karen K.
