About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

90 Things That Irritate The Sh** Out Of Me Trailer

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Election Selection Life Reflection with a twist of limon.

Hello all. I have a public announcement to make. This may come as a shock to you all, but this needs to be said.

You see, 3 months from now, I will turn 42 years of age. I've been out of high school 24 years and out of college 20. I looked into the mirror this morning, and I stared at my discolored skin, years of neglect beginning to cash the checks I shouldn't of written; my large belly, where 17 years ago was, well, never a six pack but wasn't a college kegger; and not knowing where my shoulder began and my neck ended.

I used to to be quick, spending many and spring and summer bouncing around handball courts and running around mythical bases as I hit ball over fences...

...well, when my dear friend wasn't striking me out.

Now unless there is an emergency (or a piece of cake nearby) my legs find it difficult to motivate me towards anything behind malaise.

I see the gray hairs...and I am actually thankful they are on my chest. I always swore that the day the white hairs attacked, the razor would strike them down and my new name would be "Bro-jack.".

Hey, I couldn't pass for a Greek cool ass detective.

Anywho, I put my nearly 9 year old kid on his school bus, sat down and started the same ritual that has dominated my life the last 42 months.

Seeing what cereal to eat.

I guess I wonder to myself daily, as the ticks of my limited time continue to ebb like the water from my leaky faucet, what I am. I am sure I am not the first person who has wondered about this, but I am stunned, then again not surprised, about all the mind numbingly dumb things I've done. It is a true thing, that the choices of the present may fuck you in the back door like a stag film in the future.

I sit at my oak table in my kitchen, and I wonder aloud what i must discard if the pages of the book I've written arrogantly (note, arrogance and stupidity are truly on the same route to destruction) continues to its likely confusion. Some say my logic is greatly flawed, and in some instances their argument is all too valid.

However, I also know that my misguided steps have helped me advise others over the years to better things. My wife, who has either graciously ( or due to insanity due to a bad bite of store brand chicken fingers) stuck by my under achievements, has said for years I should charge for my solicited psychology; I however see it as a debt I must pay for the sins I've done...

...or for the crimes not yet stricken.

So here is the thing, as it is now the afternoon, and my trip to self discovery and disappointment has to be put on hold as my spawn return to vex me like an ass rash above the sphincter, and I just sort of stare at myself again, dressed in a Ill-fitting shirt, a middle aged man's pair of shorts, and my shuffle sandals, and as the demon of age creep up on my face, I sigh.

I am here to let the few who read this know the following bit of news...

...I am greatly flawed. I am a black man who, despite what my associates say, have to remain conscious of as long as I live. My children are gorgeous, yet I must tell them that there WILL be someone who will look upon them as an abomination...

...especially the one with the 21st chromosome.

I am spoiled, but realistic, I am not what I was, yet better than b4.

I ain't too bad, but god knows I ain't no good.

I will have to save money to hire pallbearers.

But I hope that the biggest part of this announcement is that...

...my name is G. Nice to meet ya. I am loyal to a fault, i will do things to make you scratch your head, and I am doing the best I can.

Did I also give advice just now? Perhaps.

In the meanwhile I'll get back to that novel I was writing, "Bro-jack and The Case of the Runaway Life.".

Possibly shitty ending, but a hell of a read.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Write! Write? Right!