Musical Wednesday

For some reason, I started to listen to musicals tonight. West Side Story, Cabaret, Jesus Christ Superstar, Kiss Me Kate -- they're addicting.

On this night of the Spurs' loss to Washington (drats), I also decided to grocery shop. I'm out of food and this new not eating out/eating healthily thing is going pretty well. So I have no choice. But when I logged on to the site, I saw that they are selling roses for Valentine's Day. That's weird.

So is Valentine's Day. And I'm not just saying that because I have no one to waste (I mean spend) money on. Shouldn't every day be Valentine's Day between lovers? Perhaps it's easier said than done. Give me a relationship beyond three months and I'd probably start cheating on her anyway. Oh no wait, that's not what I do. Give me a relationship beyond three months and I'd probably lose all desire to keep the romance going. No, that probably wouldn't happen either. But who knows? I don't.

What I do know is that the grass is not greener right now and that's a sweet feeling. My plan for V-Day is to hang with a friend at a bar. I told her a shot a tequila and a beer sounds nice while I laugh at the people on dates. Laugh not because I resent them because secretly I'd like to be in one myself (isn't my saying that an acknowledgement of potential resentment?) but laugh, because I know where they're headed.

So if you're reading this and you have a special someone who will someday let you walk out the door, don't wait till Monday to express your feelings. Surprise him or her over the weekend with a beautiful gesture of respect. And Monday, avoid all temptation to make reservations at a swanky restaurant and dress up because Hallmark (and Fresh Direct) told you to. Stay home. Turn off the phone. Order in. Gather all your blankets and put them on the couch and cuddle up in front of the Marilyn Monroe movie you rented (or have ready because you're smart enough to be a Netflix subscriber). Hold hands. Make plans to go on a drive next weekend. Communicate. And be vulnerable. It's a beautiful thing. If you don't have another person in your life, no worries. Think about that thing that makes you tick and be in it. Me? I'm gonna dance.

PBS premiered Slavery and the Making of America tonight. I didn't catch it, but plan on watching the four-hour first part on Sunday. And what better time to air such a program than during Black History Month. Yes people, February, the shortest month of the year, consists of a string of days when we are to take time out to think of all the wonderful things black people have done for the United States. They were scientists, musicians, and writers, oh my. Black people. Go figure. But, if there is ever to be a time when television, film, live theatre and any other form of public expression can do good and justify spending the time and money on it, then it if February for black people. Better to take advantage of this than nothing.

So tune into PBS and find out why this country exists. I'm still writing. I guess I'm up to about 20 pages. It's interesting this writing thing. Writing an autobiography like I am. I'm currently going off on the former dancer/professor who was "in my life" for a spell almost two years ago. I'm not sure I want to give her much white space, so we'll see what happens.

I'm allowing myself to write crap in order to get to the good stuff. It's frightening to imagine that this may have been what's prevented me from writing up to this point. I know I'm going to get another crack at it all, and that I very well may cut whole pages. So I'm just writing to see what comes out.

Right now, I'm trying to set up the reason I started therapy. This girl wasn't it; she was only the "last straw." What I don't want to do is give myself such a hard time about it all. About 12 days ago, I started on a little trip I had no idea would turn out the way it did. It was a trip of the heart. I learned valuable lessons, perhaps the most important one being about truth and vulnerability. Nothing in particular happened. I just let all that thinking I do finally give me something in return. And it was a trip. And I think it helped me go forward rather than stay backward. Of course, I'm writing this tome of mine, which is forcing me to recall events that had less-than-positive effects on me. But I'm looking at them in a different way. I think. I don't want to change in any way any of the experiences that I had with women. They are all beautiful and they all gave me something to work with. At the very least I have good story-telling material from them. And except for Ida. Ida is, well...Ida. She kicks ass. And I miss her terribly. We haven't spoken in over a month and a half. I think about her every day and want to talk to her every day about life and lessons and books and writing and music and theatre. But it can't happen. She let me walk away. Perhaps it's pride. But I can't sacrifice the work I'm doing on myself for somebody else. I can't live in the shadow of someone else's past. And I won't. It's as simple as that. And it's as sad as that at the same time, because me and Ida coulda been good. I chose a good one this time, as opposed to all the other ones ('cept Erin....and even my girl from way back when who has become a light for me from across the world who is supremely good).

It's something to think about. Maybe I'm getting better. I hope Ida gets better like she wants to. I have much care for her. "Seargent Krupke" is on, so I have to go sing. Out!