Get On With Your Life...

 

I’ve been reading #1619Project for one day and a stranger has already told me to “forget about slavery and get on with my life”
It seems bad that I don’t know what that means, not just because my life was slow before the pandemic, and, at least the most personal and individual bits have been vaguely submerged since.(I’m not sure I’d ever be able to treat life as some kind of giant freeway where there’s just a few of us in each car, pretending we’re alone.)

Not a task for a woman whose tagline used to be “Life is my Adena Watson case,” anyway, though I won’t go  full-on Bayliss and try to solve race relations by and for myself.

One Way I Know I've Gotten Older...

 (Besides busy single-lady December picking up slack at work)

A few weeks ago, I got a haircut and on the way home, the Shit I Listened To When I Was Twelve station took a lurch  forward into the nineties and played the Red Hot Chili Peppers crying with LA...still know the words but not the title. Part of me is singing along and part of me is thinking "Man, I've lived here my whole life and never worked up the feels for it."
But then another voice said "If you were on as much heroin as them in those days, you could write poems about Phoenix, too."