Guantanamera

It’s 12:35 AM, which means I have been up for 12 hours. Pretty lame, huh? In those twelve hours I haven’t accomplished much. I did some laundry. Actually, come to think of it, there is stuff in the dryer right now. My darks. I started separating my darks and lights recently. I used to do the whites and coloreds together, to save time and money, and to reflect the kingdom of God. Ha, my little way of promoting racial harmony. But then my whites started turning dark. So now I separate them. But I still am a proponent of racial harmony.

Besides that I paced around a lot while thinking about writing an essay on why I think I should get a scholarship, three-quarters tuition!, for wanting to do public interest law. It’s a long shot for me to even get in the school, let alone be awarded their most prestigious scholarship. So I didn’t write it. I paced around so much I got tired and had to rest. Then I thought to myself, ‘how am I going to pay for law school?’ … shit … Well. Maybe I don’t want to go. Or, maybe I won’t be able to go because I won’t be able to afford it. So what’s my backup plan you ask?

Professional Writing. I heard there is a lot of money in that. So I am going to apply to USC for a Professional Writing Master’s. It seems like a surefire way to make tons of money. Go to a school in a city with tons of writers, many, if not most, of whom will be far more talented than I am, and try and make it as a hack writer. I can hear the girls knocking down my door as we speak. Take a number, I will tell them. Then go back to my typewriter, because I can’t afford a computer, and punch out some melodramatic scene from my life as a hopeless romantic living hand to mouth in Miami…dating some foreign chick who just wants to marry me so she can get a green card, while I lie to myself that she actually loves me, for me. For this. For who I am.

My mom told me that we have to accept who we are, why we are who we are, and accept that God still loves us no matter how messed up we are. People have been telling me this is probably a good time to get my life together. I think so too. I just hope that a year from now I am not sitting somewhere at 12:35 AM, writing a blog to myself, not in law school, not in writing school, still praying that I wouldn’t wake up when I fall asleep at night. Yikes. That sounds terrible. Unless I am in Miami with Guantanamera, lying in a hammock, nursing a Corona with lime, listening to the waves lap against the sandy beach just steps from our porch. She looks at me and says something in her language I don’t speak or understand, kisses me, and falls asleep like an angel with her head resting on my shoulder.

It could happen.

~ by kevinthomas on December 28, 2005.