Illadelph Bass-Life Day 26: Bassey Dirty Money
by pronounced "ahhh" like a sigh
So I’m back in Philly. (We’re just going to act like no time has passed between my last blog and now. If you can pretend Tyler Perry is straight, then you can pretend I’ve been blogging every day. Try.) Teaching is difficult. Especially teaching people who don’t want to learn anything. Class is 45 minutes long and I spend about 20 of those minutes telling Rasseem (Yes.) to stop hitting Nefertiti. And telling Brie’yon (yes.) to stop caressing my leg. He’s in the 1st grade. By the time all of that happens and it’s time to get into the activity, everyone… and I do mean everyone decides that they don’t want to do it. It’s corny. It’s embarrassing. Why can’t we just play cards? On Thursday, I benched the entire 6th grade class and lectured them about how they need to figure out what they’re going to make of themselves because if they keep behaving in this manner, they’re not going to amount to anything. *sigh* I don’t even know who I am anymore. Today, I bought flats. FLATS! On purpose. From Payless. Next stop is mom jeans and and an Olgivie home perm. Somebody save me from myself. These children are trying to eat my soul and turn me into a vampire or a shirtless werewolf or monotone teenage girl too stupid to realize she should pick the shirtless werewolf and not the sparkly pale vampire… or whatever Twilight is about.
Tomorrow, I’m going to attempt to get them to read Pinocchio. I will not kick anybody’s child in the back of the forehead.
I have the best friends in the world. I just do. I’ve been beating myself up a lot lately for some things I did when I was in BP crisis and I’m really shocked anyone still likes me. But if a person is measured by the company they keep, then I’m doing something right. I’m just so grateful. The last two weeks, I was staying with my loca, Chris and his husband. The next few weeks, my brother, Charles has opened up his spare bedroom to me. I have my own bathroom. I want to cry. And when I reached out to some other friends for help, they came through above and beyond what I expected. Denene, Quentin, Michael. Thank you. And everyone who said “Give me a few days.” Thank you. I’m blessed beyond measure. People always say, “You would do it for me.” and I always mean it when I say it but when people actually do help and are concerned and so caring about how I am and how I’m doing, it’s overwhelming. It’s easy to focus on what I’m not doing right, I’m blessed to be reminded that somewhere at some point, I did something right. Not only because of this boy I’m raising who says to me, “If Philadelphia isn’t nice to you, you come right back, ok?” and my friends who jump to “How can we help?” to my family who rallies to make sure that I don’t feel lost. I’m just so thankful.
Philly still doesn’t quite feel like home. This week, I’ll have an opportunity to discover the neighborhood and maybe find a corner coffee shop to write and read and get back into this business of being Bassey. I’m determined to create my own peace. I’m happy but still searching for balance and focus and a way to put all these new feelings of “normality” into practice. I’m not sure if you’ve ever read Flowers for Algernon. It’s one of my favorite stories. It’s about this mentally challenged man who is part of a science experiment that raises his IQ considerably. He sees the world in a new way and is astounded by how his mind expands but also a little confused about how to handle it. Eventually, the experiment wears off and he returns to how he was before. I remember reading it in the 7th grade thinking, “Well, damn… it must suck to know what you could have, have it and then lose it.” I feel like you’d be happier in your life not knowing rather than losing. I’m not in the “It’s better to have loved and lost” camp. That shit is stupid. Why in the world would it be better for me to have something and then lose it than to never even know what it was before it went away? Ridiculous.
Um… clearly, I’ve lost my own point. OH! So I’ve got all this new found clarity and feelings of normality and last week, I was plagued with guilt and shame. This week, I’m settling into the fact that I can’t change the past, I can only move forward and do better… Ok. That was not my point at all. I got all side tracked by Flowers for Algernon. You should go read it. I’m sure it’s online somewhere. Maybe I’ll locate my point soon.
OH! My point was this, like the dude in Flowers For Algernon (Algernon was the mouse not the dude.), I have all these new feelings and sensations and it’s wonderful but I also need to know how to handle it and how to make proper use of it. Maybe Flowers for Algernon was a bad example, I should have said Spiderman or some other superhero learning to make use of their new powers. Was that Spiderman? Clearly, I don’t know what I’m talking about.
You’ve missed me. Admit it. Give me a hug!
I should probably go before I run off on another tangent. I just wanted to make use of my ultra clever blog title. I was trying to work Danity Kane in there and then I realized that nobody cares about Danity Kane. I did like that song Damaged. But that’s the only song I even remember. Did they have more songs? And you know, I can’t even think of one song that Day 26 sang. Every time I think of one, I remember that it was Jagged Edge… wait who sang that “I’ll poke you with my penis when we’re dancing” song? Was that Jagged Edge or… Blackstreet? or… Men at Large? Whatever.
And at some point, someone is going to have to explain Diddy Dirty Money to me. But not now. I just took a sleeping pill and the last thing I need is Diddy and his teeth showing up in my dreams.
He annoys me. He’s prime example of what happens when someone has too much self esteem. Sometimes it works out well and we get Kanye. Other times… well, we get something called Diddy Dirty Money. Is that his name? Is it a sentence? Is it code? What does it mean? Is he saying he’s dirty money? Does he want dirty money? I have questions!
Ugh. Now I’m thinking about this. Where’s my iPod? I need El DeBarge to erase dirty money from my mind. No… this is a job for Billy Ocean.
The tough gets goin,