” …and your writing? how is that going? ” terrible, she thought, staring at him. “my love, are you empty?” yes, she thought, staring at him.

for months now, she couldn’t sleep or write. for months now, she couldn’t think or eat. “do you want a drink? tell me what you’d like; what you’d love right now.” i’d love to fly.

for months now, she had been escaping.

running, not exercising.

touching herself, and not him.

not enough of him.  more than enough of her. she’s beautiful.

“i’ll start your shower. a shower always makes you feel better. alive.”

the water touches her little body. she smiles. her hands smile. her body smiles. she smiles.

” are you happy now? ”  yes. i’m sorry. let’s make love. after i write.

” i’ll get you some tea.”

she made love to him and paper. she was flying.

i told shauna i think i’m falling in love with kanye. her response, “unfall”.

“i got them runs and i want my grammys!

we stayed in rewind.

“i may get your heart racing, in my skin tight jeans. be your teenage dream tonight. let you put your hands on me, in my skin tight jeans. be your teenage dream tonight.”

“Niggas.. betta grab a seat
Grab on your dick as this bitch gets deep
Deeper than the pussy of a bitch six feet
Stiff dicks feel sweet in this little petite
Young bitch from the street, guaranteed to stay down
Used to bring work outta town on Greyhound
Now I’m Billboard now, niggaz press to hit it
Play me like a chicken, thinkin I’m pressed to get it
Rather do the killin than the stick up jooks
Rather count a million while you eat my pussy
Push me to the limit get my feelings in it
Get me open while I’m cummin down your throat
Then, you wanna be my main squeeze nigga
Don’tcha, you wanna lick between my knees nigga
Don’tcha wanna see me whippin your 3 down the Ave.
Blow up spots on bitches because I’m mad
Break up affairs lick shots in the air
You get vexed, and start swingin everywhere
Me shifty?Now you wanna pistol whip me
Pull out your nine, while I cock on mine
Yeah what nigga?I ain’t got time for this
So what nigga?I’m not tryin to hear that shit
Now you wanna buy me diamonds and Armani suits
Adrienne Vitadini and Chanel 9 boots
Things that make up, for all the games and the lies
Hallmark cards, sayin, “I apologize”
Is you wit me?How could you ever decieve me
But payback’s a bitch motherfucker, believe me
Naw I ain’t gay this aint no lesbo flow
Just a lil somethin, to let you motherfuckers know”

After the warm up, the first dance that Connie taught us was called the Souno. It is a West African dance that’s typically taught to children. You trace the seven days of the week, alternating between the right and the left as your foot moves diagonally, like in the Charleston. With each step, we repeated after Connie:

“…Seven days a week, we do our best. Seven days a week, we do our best. Seven days a week, we do our best.” Repeating these words, over and over again was almost a religious experience for me. It was all I could do not to cry because I realized, as each word left my lips, that these were the truest words that I had spoken in a very, very long time.

“What an idiot,” I tell myself when I make a simple mistake like leaving my work ID at home. “Loser,” I call myself when I realize yet again that I have made a gross miscalculation in balancing my checkbook. The insults I can hurl at myself know no end. But the truth is seven days a week, I do my best. As I danced the Souno and said these words, I was so grateful for the gift of kindness to myself.

excerpt from Veronica Chambers’ “The Joy of Doing Things Badly.

forever appropriate