There are countless things that happen and I think to myself, “I’m going to blog about this.”
Like:
- That one time I took my Granuelita to the oral surgeon’s office… A young dentistry intern arrogantly, cruelly attempted to humiliate and degrade the kind older nurse that was attending us. Blood boiling, I thought to myself, “I’m going to blog about this.” Topics of discussion: Elitism, Inequality, Sadism, Classism, Social Darwinism.
Like:
- That one time my aunt wanted me to invest extra time and energy at work that I did not have. A request which I counteracted with a clear, strict and unbreakable boundary. A flabby muscle I’m working to strengthen. To which she reacted with a tearful, “You’re just so gringa, Vanessa. So much more AMERICAN about giving than we are.” Topics of discussion: Guilt as a form of manipulation, unhealthy co-dependence, you owe me, I owe them, self love vs. unmediated self-sacrifice for another’s “love”, family values in Cuban Culture, family values in Gringa culture…
Like:
- ETC.
I didn’t blog about either experience, however, because I just didn’t have all the time I needed to get a perfect grasp on them. Or so I believed…
What within the amassing pile of daily complications and contemplations ultimately proves THE MOST helpful or inspiring to someone else? Which private details of one’s dirty laundry should be shared or withheld? Hell if I know. The perfectionist inside rages on with such strangulating questions, urging me to excavate the truest (most perfect essence) of every wrinkle and gray hair, each quip and camera angle … until I’ve extracted its perfect version. Only THEN should I put it on display.
“You are to Work HARDER. DO more x,y,z. On everything. Until you’ve reached its BEST: Your blog, Your art projects, Next Sunday’s Yard Sale … PERFECT is the only option.”
I can’t. I say it here, now, in front of my 8 subscribers, one of which is me, I can’t do this whole Perfect-thing … perfectly. I can’t choose the perfect topic of discussion and blog about it perfectly. I can’t financially capitalize on all of my talents and capabilities perfectly. I can’t take a picture or write a poem or organize my emails or say “no, I can’t” or say “yes, thank you” … perfectly. I can’t do anything perfectly.
I must accept the indisputable truth that certain versions of imperfect are the most perfect anything is going to get. I must accept imperfect manifestations of perfect concepts if I’m to continue creating and taking professional risks and making jokes and hugging people.
What I’m getting at is that I’ve decided to give up working toward the ideal manifestation of an ideal because it’s impossible and torturesome. I’ll do my best, nothing more, nothing less, and then get some rest. Just like kids. They have it made.
What exactly am I talking about? Hell if I know. I accept that I only know the gist of what I’m getting at and it’s okay.
———————————————————————————————————
photo by Greg Sand
My beloved Amor Eterno — grouchy black toy poodle with a head of grey — my family, my friend passed away a couple of days ago. You were deeply loved & will be greatly missed. See you in 30 yrs, mi negra linda… Rest in happiness and peace.
———————————————————————————————————
“I Apologize” – Oscar Brown Jr.
I apologize for being black
All I am plus all I lack
Please sir, please m’am
Give me some slack
‘Cause I apologize
I apologize for being poor
For being sick and tired and sore
Since I ain’t slick
Don’t know the score
I do apologize
I apologize because I bear
Resemblance most black people share
Thick lips, flat nose, and nappy hair
Yes I apologize
I apologize for how I look
For all of the lows and blows I took
On those Lord knows I’d close the book
As I apologize
I apologize for all I gave
For letting you make me yo’ slave
And going to my early grave
Yes I apologize
I apologize for being caught
For being sold, for being bought
For being told I count for naught
Yeah I apologize
I apologize for all I’ve done
For all my toil out in the sun
Don’t want to spoil your righteous fun
So I apologize
I apologize and curse my kind
For being fooled, for being blind
For being ruled, and in your bind
Yes I apologize
I apologize and curse my feet
For being slow, for being late
Because I know it’s me you hate
Why not apologize
I apologize and tip my hat
‘Cause you so rich and free and fat
Son of a bitch, that’s where it’s at
And I apologize
BLOGGIMIA 