Went to a weekly slam poetry jam at Sam's Burger Joint here in San Anto on Tuesday night. That's where I got the title to this blog entry. One of the contestants/poets ended his piece with this line.
It was strange to go someplace by myself. I'm used to playing observer with someone, drinking a little, making stories about the other people, laughing for no reason. But the dj spinning was good (better, unfortunately, than a lot of the poets) and I was moving when a song hit me and laughing when I wanted to all by myself. I felt free.
Work's getting steep - there's more and more stuff I find that may or may not be a part of my daily or weekly or monthly routine. Still, I'm enjoying working it.
I got into a horrible conversation with someone at work earlier in the week regarding what "inner city" kids implies to those we are requesting volunteer hours or donations from. I worried about the stereotypes and she said that grants utilize that language and we must respond with that same language. I think I see even grantwriting as the potential for being a political act. I cannot imagine accepting the labeling and not taking the opportunity to defy what it means to be "inner city" just as we must often defy what it means to be female, working class, artists, etc., when the connotations are viewed negatively. Hell, even when viewed positively.
I had lunch with an old friend of mine this week too. I used to do music research for him. He always impressed me with his ability to let his mind wander and come up with new ways of making money, writing books, finding out about himself. Anything. If it pops into his head he's doing it.
We joked about putting out a personal ad that would say something like:
No clingers. No wanna-bes. Don't want someone who is expecting financial support. Emotional support may or may not be available on your demand. Expect incredible independence and equality. Mothers who are distant, live far away or are dead are a plus. Cannot give you a ride in my car.I'm intelligent and attractive. I've been burned and I'm not having it anymore. Expect to give more loving than you may receive and to clean up after yourself.
But I told him the only people who would respond would be those asking if anyone actually responded.
I have also s l o w l y moved some stuff into the house. My mother is probably more excited about the place than I am. She called me at work yesterday and told me she washed the walls. Who thinks to wash the walls? I would have just asked the management for a paint job. To be honest, I am a little excited about nailing those sandpapery strips on the stairs so they aren't so slippery. I already have my hammer and upholstery nails ready.
I woke up this morning with such a tremendous headache tho. I have started grinding my teeth and that with the double espresso con pannas I'm getting, the sudafed and allergies, and the amount of work I keep digging up at my new job and I was kind of hoping to just watch Charmed in some sweat pants. Instead, estoy como loca, moving a load of boxes even this morning before work.
I joked with a friend of mine about how soft Tigrette was because of Austin and how San Anto kids are rougher - they need child size tumblers like those for gnarly rocks that come out perty after hours of rubbing. In keeping with that, Tigrette went to the rodeo mess this week as an "educational experience". She wore her boots and her khakis and her blue jean jacket with the cotton-y looking trim and, with her hair combed forward like she does, she looked like Jack Twist from Brokeback Mountain.
I have missed writing. I've been sleeping erratically and hope to get back to a regular schedule of writing once I am finally moved!
More later...
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