4

SLOTH

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n. disinclination to exert oneself; indolence; slowness; delay

“I could probably give a thousand all-true reasons why the sloth I displayed in doing what took me forever to do: prepare myself for the worse, was so. I think that in my mind (and why belabor the obvious) my heart-I kept telling myself that because of the good and exciting; all that was bad in this thing, was all just a bad dream that would soon blow over and out of the way of the sunset awaiting to be ridden off to.”

                                      -Angie

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This alter ego of hers was young and kind of wild.

“EsCaPaDeJ/JigglinJanine” could be that one competitive friend she probably would be with me in the real world. Since she already knows me inside out-upside down; she knew just what to do and what to say to me to get me to act and react (just like how women carry on in the real world with each other). This alter ego of hers was that personality. I could tell that she often fantasized what it would be like to be as physically fit as she is now, and as pretty in the face like she is now--and be able to be that person out in the real and regular world-being the envy of all other girls. She wanted that life, I could tell, so she role-played through that. Although she played behind the “JigglinJanine/EsCaPaDeJ” nickname/character mentally and emotionally, the physical Janet was still “Janet.” She liked that part. 

This wild thing would talk about hanging out at parties, going to the movies, wedding receptions and cutting the rug and breaking it down, honey! 

She always talked about wearing tanks to show her abs of steel and how great she looked in all her pictures that she took! I would laugh and call this wild thing “Jiggs” for short. She liked that. She liked to play like this-the way I’m sure she missed out on what it was like playing “Barbie” as kids with other friends where you and several other girls would get together and make up impromptu scenarios with Barbie Dolls in your hand-making up life and happenings until you all got tired. “Jiggs” was a release for her-to act out a life that she could only pretend, but never have-never had, and never will have…so I would assist her in that [and all those] experiences under her countless nicknames. I was a psych major so I understood-she needed it. But within all alter egos (the seductive ones and “Jiggs”) since the beginning, the real Janet was always there if she needed to say anything about us, got upset, or would be overcome with emotion if we would talk about the two of us. 

Janet was so addicted to this whole computer world; she could carry on a ton of conversations all at once. She amazed me sometimes. She would be carrying on conversations in buddy I.M’s with her buddies (several people privately chatting) + chatting in her room with them, and in private I.M (one on one) with me. Sometimes if she was too involved, she would have me on hold for like twenty minutes and would come back practically breathing hard as hell and apologizing. 

This particular day, “EsCaPaDeJ” was saying very little to me in I.M while “JigglinJanine” (over in the room) would be messing around and about with her buddies but telling me to just hold on. I sat around for about two hours just watching her carry on while purposely ignoring me but occasionally peeking over to see if I was still on her playground. She was just being contrary-still a little pissed about my performance this past Sunday in the room, and punishing me for whatever I may have done while with my 4:10 p.m. friend while at her house all those hours, the day I did her pedicure.

I really didn’t have much to say and was quite tired actually, because she really wasn’t talking (to me)-just wanted me to stay on and give audience to her passive-aggressive game. 

She was always good at doing that especially when she still had an attitude with me about anything. 

After I had been on hold for another twenty minutes too long, I sent her a line in I.M to tell her that I was tired and was about to condition my hair then go to bed. 

She didn’t reply back to me in I.M but instead, over in the room, she posted: “WaxeeBldup” and most probably went to her buddy I.M with her buddies to let them all in on the joke. I just shook my head. She thought it was so funny that she even sent it down a few times more-logging in and out of the room using the nick, so I could see it. They all then prepared their arsenals and began shooting down their usual: “basketballbutt” “punkin,” “pumpkin,” “Daffy” “Duck” “peachy,” “dusty” and other banter to identify my complexion, my dishwater blonde hair color, my lips, or my butt. 

Much to my chagrin, especially compared to times before, this was actually an insult-lite day. Because if she was too mad, she (and her buddies) would shoot nicks down to identify something relating to my sexual or personal business, my friend’s personal business, and any other thing relating to what she “overheard,” hunted or gathered-all just to keep me reminded that whatever it was, she was always in control of knowing everything I hoped was secret and sacred. That was her way of “punishing” me. 

Slowly but surely though, I was growing numb to her kind of hurt, and she was feeling it. The things she would do, and allow them (her buddies) to do to me seemed to make their day more entertaining (and kept them paid and busy I guess). That kind of stuff was all Janet and her buddies had to do for costless fun (that was of no emotional or mental expense to them). The only thing they did all fucking day was build web pages for the Internet for Janet, and fuck with people’s computers and phones for her. 

What a life... 

All she did was promote and tour for two years, off for four, then go back and promote and tour for two years again-routinely. She used her four years down time to fuck with other people, gain weight, lose weight, write and co-write music, studio-some, and then sink into depressions from all the shit she had done that come smacking her in the face. And then she reinvents herself like a chameleon by starting her two year escapade all over again.

What a living...

From the outside looking in-blinded by her glitter, camouflage and career; one would question and first-guess her being too busy to be doing all the shit she was doing [to me] and no telling who else. But that’s just it-they’re on the outside, I’m on the in, having no idea that being “in” with her would hurt as bad as the times were good (although still “not normal” or typical).

Unlike most other entertainers who do a whole lot of collaborating, partying, hob-knobbing and Hollywood’ing with other entertainers, Janet is not one and never has been. She has been working with the same and exclusive number of producers since her sophomore album-they know her formula and what she wants and what she needs. She’s not that damned busy-what she does is effortless and routine to her (again): tour for two years, down for four years. And it’s during her four years down time this is just the kind of mischief that she gets into. The invention of the Internet was the next best thing to virtuosity and obscurity to this woman, so it made a damned good co-conspirator, especially for all the resources she could afford to pay for in order to bring a kind of virtuosity to her that she could remote control.

With all that in mind, what the hell can “Janet” do like normal people but hide behind a computer screen and bring the world to her? She sure as hell can’t go out like normal people, or even like many other people in that business [can do]. Internetting is right up her alley. Let her think it, it’s all in her name: Janet. In her heart of all narcissism, she probably even thinks the inventor of the Internet had her in mind when it was founded. She loves this shit. People amaze me thinking the bigger celebrities are “too busy” to do covert, or wicked shit like such.

Actually, it’s the “average” celebrity who doesn’t have time to do shit like this (the kind that has to place sneak third party calls to the paparazzi to drop dimes on their own locations for press-the “C” and “D” list ones, or even the “B” list ones who aren’t popular in the media currently). In order to get press-they have to go eat at “Mr. Chow’s” where the paps hang out, in order to get press. Janet’s an “A” list superstar-already got her niche’ dug and routine set-her hustle is not as hard as the average “busy” B-D list celebrity who too, can at least step out and doing normal things without a sleuth of paparazzi and screaming fans tearing at their clothes.

It’s the average 9 to 5 working person who doesn’t have the time (or money) to do shit like this. Having money buys time, and also affords you the resources to do shit like this for as long as you want, how you want it, and whenever you want it.

It was surreal to me; how I could watch her anywhere on television in one face, but know that in my world-back home, although I was the recipient of her good and sweetness, but too: her evil and her bad that at one time, you couldn’t have paid me to believe could be.

The ability to be that about-face ruined it for me for anybody (whether you were a school teacher or a celebrity), to (in front of a majority or a public); show one face, but be doing something sinister, or illegal, or hurtful, or damaging, or cryptic to one person in receipt of something(s) you’d never want other staff member and students (or the blinded public) to know.

I never knew how ignorant and blinded by glitter and trend the public was when it came to public people (and especially superstars) until this situation and my being on the inside looking out (at them-the “outsiders.”). I secretly began to have a very deep-seated disdain for the fanfare of people who were blindly starstruck (outside of just love for a superstar’s craft) but in addition; latched on to every single redeeming quality that their “people” put out to make them look good, upstanding, or harmless. These kinds of “outsiders” that felt like they had some kind of connection to a superstars good and their life (outside of respect for their work) immediately made me look at them like completely packaged idiots in my eyes, especially being blinded by the bigger and more “public” ones. Because in my experience with Janet (as it was being demonstrated in my life and in real-time) the bigger they were, the more shit they have to hide because of the wicked shit they most probably do-do. I don’t trust them.

Because of what I was experiencing, my thinking was-even if they weren’t naturally wicked people, they are most certainly going to attract wicked people to assist them in doing wicked things to help them spend their lonely time and big money.

Whereas the average person with limited resources could experience something that made them angry or jealous, their only option is to take it to the streets and duke it out, talk it over, or take it to court or run gossip mills in the streets.

But if they have the money, the resources, the access to the media (and especially that growing and large portion of a deaf, dumb, and blind public), innocent people caught in the crossfire of their evil-if any ounce of evil is in them--whomever they select as a object of their envy, or desire, or anger, or see as a threat:

  -because the media won’t care to take the time to see truth in you (from only caring to get ratings and a freak show)

  -because the a great majority of the public won’t believe you (from being completely packaged blinded, deaf, and dumb idiots who won’t use their own brain) and

  -because your family and your friends will eventually grow to talk behind your back and deceive you (because they don’t know how to use their brain beyond the level of their own living and circumstances)

... you’re left with nothing but to mold yourself into the circumstance and try and pull from it-anything that felt like good or like love, in order to maintain your sanity (at least that was the case with me). It’s called survival. Something I had to do: rest on my sloth, until I could muster up the strength to figure a way out.

Because of the blindness of her glitter, years later into this (ironically) I had nobody-but her-and for years. I know what it meant to “sleep with the enemy,” and “dance with the devil” in order to keep angels in my head in order to keep me sane. But it turned my heart black-coal black in places where if I could see anybody (celeb or regular person) in one face-fighting hard to, or paid for the “good face,” but experience for myself, or hear tell that somebody was the victim of that person’s back door evil. They could fall in a lake of fire that I would gladly light and marinate, if it’s left up to me.

I knew for the first time in my life (not just in the movies) that people like this existed. I experienced this. And because of, I became conditioned to not trust anybody like that-at all. I grew to hate people like that and fight tooth and nail to keep my natural self at all times. I refused to put on a face for some: thing, some attention, an audience and a world of people where it is not consistent with my true self just to gain their attention, love, adoration, or to increase my popularity and income.

So don’t hate me. Understand my experience. Feel my plight. And if you don’t…I could give two shits about your opinion and your life, because you don’t know (or care) about mine-the sensations inside of my heart and on my mind that I go through everyday…

I knew, I was watching, I was learning, and most of all, I was experiencing that ninety-eight percent of what they do and say publicly (be it spiritual and light-footed, religious and sanctified, or sound and sane) is for public face-for “show”-all things that aid in increasing their income and popularity, not what’s real (many of them-a great majority of them)…

From the inside looking out, I was watching this, living this, experiencing this and knew that they become conditioned droids, programmed and machine-like; appearing human and relatable. It’s hard to truly be human and relatable in an occupation where if you slip up and do anything human, you got a whole team of handlers that will put their heads together, go into spin and damage-control mode, and clean your ass up to the public-even if your victim died and left behind people who too, loved them in the process. After a while, when you get so used to this kind of privilege and that side of a world of complete idiots who will believe everything you say (simply because of your glitter), you can’t help but have no regard for the average person, and to act your impulses with a blatant disregard for consequence (or other human beings).

It’s their livelihood. They too, have family and friends to feed, countless people on the payroll (with families to feed, too), and what they don’t need is your sense and sensibilities, and your inability to be blinded by their glitter. They have to have your ignorance and gullibility they can’t make a living without that in you-the ignorant population of public. Even if they are, or once were nice people, it’s “not their fault,” (per se’) it’s the nature of the business of “entertainment” and “show-business.” All that glitters aint gold, and it could be a dangerous thing get caught up into the clinches of just that one who absolutely positively could give two shits (too).

I knew this, I was experiencing this. I knew for a hardcore fact that behind the closed doors of their lives is a totally different animal and horse of another color that people on the outside looking in would never ever ever understand.

So in my little life and virtual world, no matter what redeeming qualities or intelligence I may have known about the outsiders (of my little end of the world) if they fell for all and only all things that made people look good, upstanding, or harmless (true or not), they immediately looked like completely package idiots in my eyes, and nothing they could say or do could make me respect them-ever again. Skeptical but balanced [rather than blinded] thinking was the only thing I could stand near me or in my life. I began to have very little patience for people who didn’t use their heads—not just where “show-business” or “entertainment” was concerned, but in any area of life.

Life turned very serious for me because of this. I didn’t know how to have blind, stupid, meaningless fun anymore because I saw and experienced life from behind the blind. Anybody who didn’t use their head but lived and chose to be blind to anything, was enemy-mine. Whether they could help it or not, I lost all and any pity for people who elected not to use their heads because my heart, my mind, and my life was being used in such a way that if you did not use your mind; I hadn’t a leg to stand on, and quite frankly through this (for years-I did not), and it broke me down, but built me up three times as strong—such that only the weak-minded, weak hearted, and Tom-Foolery would see my diesel and fear me, hate me and envy me. I only began to attract people who too were rational, smart, and used their heads-and that’s how I rebuilt my world, with no care or concern for opposite that. No fear.

From a hurtful kind of sight-inside of all that I was: knowing, seeing, and experiencing; I ascertained that people see these celebs on television and lose their heads-it stops there-they don’t think beyond that. The “TV People” swooped up more than just Carol Ann on “The Poltergeist;” as well, it swooped up people on the outside, being fortunate enough to never have to experience things that their eyes would never see, and their small and controlled minds could ever conceive anyways. I feel like a higher power felt I needed to know this-to be on the other side of the matrix of life-so I don’t hate her, I was glad that I met her.

Even on the “in,” she continued to blow my mind in ways that people on the “out” lose their minds over people like her (not knowing her). I just had to remain conscious and keep fighting hard to keep my mind. I have to admit, that in that regard (and with those things in particular about the world of “outsiders”-the ignorant-in the audience of it); this thing with Janet fucked up my mind about what’s real, but removed a kind of blindness from eyes that until you experience what I did, you could only be ignorant, jaded, hoodwinked, and bamboozled in this matrix of a “life” that you think you live (as long as you stay out of the way of the other side) even if, like me, if you didn’t ask for anything but: “Does she really come in here?”

Having experienced what I experienced. I would much rather be ignorant, jaded, hoodwinked, and bamboozled in this matrix of a life (just like you). But knowing what I now know, (as a result of what I experienced ); with what my heart knows and my head kept-that built me-I would hate to be living on the side of that matrix of life (like you) because unless you keep your own mind-you don’t even know you own mind (unless you were forced into an experience like such that forced you to wake up and use it well past life little normal trivial trials and tribulations), there’s more to life than that, trust me…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday rolled around. I was riding around in my car thinking myself through (and ingesting my music). One song in particular rang in my head and I couldn’t stop listening to it. I left it on repeat. It was a song called “Lost One” by Lauryn Hill. Every word of it was so significant to the mess of this mess I was in. It reminded me of all that I was feeling and wished I could say to her. 

When I walked into the house, I immediately put the song into my computer’s CD Rom, and on the Windows Media Player’s track listing, I erased all the other songs so that that one song could play repeatedly. I played that motherfucker to DEATH…I mean-DEAF. The words were blasting: “It’s funny how money change a situation. Miscommunication leads to complication. My emancipation don’t fit your equation. I was on the humble you’re on every station…” And I mean Lauryn was busting it wide open for me. She had no idea that the day she recorded that song in-studio, it was she who was strummin’ my pain and singing my life with her words. That song was working for me that day-creating a séance beyond belief. 

I just sat there in my comfortable black Futon chair and stared at the computer that I used to own-imagining Janet’s red face with her horns rising to the top of her head as she was forced to listen too, since I knew now, that she and I simultaneously ingested lyrics to songs together (in real-time, even under her remote control). Considering the lyrics, I knew that she would know what I was doing was for a different reason this time. It was personal.

I left that one fucking song on repeat, even while I walked out of the house and went to the grocery for nearly two hours. It played, and it played, and it played. Lauryn was singing her ass off! That was the night I OFFICIALLY fell in love with Lauryn Hill. She did wonders for me that night that up north while in the comfort of her Jersey home, she hadn’t a clue about.

While I pushed that cart at the grocery store, I could just imagine how Janet was pacing the floor and waiting for me to come in so she could crack her whip. 

I finally made it home, but still made her wait until I put my groceries up, up, and away.

I went in.

Of course she was logged on to I.M, but would not answer me. I kept calling out to her over and over, but she still would not answer. I came into the chat room and she was staring at me with the horns high as hell. If looks could kill, she would’ve shattered my computers glass all in my face and eyes. My heart was beating, but I stared back at her with defiance. Condescendingly, I sent page after page of I.M’s asking her to “please talk to me” (just “fuckinwit” her. I got her damned Jedi Mind Tricks all right). 

She would log off I.M as if to slam the door in my face, while in the room she steadily dropped the nickname: “Lauryn” down, just to let me know she knew what the hell I was doing, repeated (making her listen to) and shooting to deaf her with. 

I was laughing my ass off, because we knew each other way too well. She knew I was trying to be funny. She dropped down: “Lauryn” repeatedly, until her fingers got tired. The lyrics drove her crazy like I knew they would. She knew how significant every lyric was to this entire situation-as did I. 

Next: “Sassy” comes back to life and (she) carries on a short conversation back and forth, with herself (“Lauryn”). “Sassy” and “Lauryn” (Janet) were going at it. I just shook my head and watched her do it while she continued to drop the nickname: “Lauryn” down nonstop, like she was goin’ crazy. ( I got her ass…) 

When she finally came in I.M after about an hour of my watching her give her one woman show in the room, just “fuckinwither,” I posted: “ *(in my country Alabama voice)*: Man, you are one stubborn ole mule.” 

She responded simply: “Oh,” she was pissed. 

I kept asking her if she was still mad at me (from the past few days) as if my sending such powerful and significant lyrics through her laptop wasn’t the issue, now. 

She still ignored me. She knew what I was doing.

To aggravate her and pretend to be oblivious and harmless, I continued to play on the past few days as if I didn’t even know she had access to listening to anything I inserted into my CD Rom, and man, this one time, she probably wished she didn’t. This one time I know she wished she could communicate right to me rather than at me. She wanted to take off her:

“QUEENJANETQbenlyric2SECRETSassyKajiraMissSecretiveNappyNikChuloINFATUATED” mask bad as hell. It worked her nerves like never before. I kept telling her how much I loved and cared for her and that I wanted us to quit fighting and how desperate I was for all the madness to stop (which was true-I felt that way), but at this moment, she didn’t care. She would listen, disconnect, reconnect, drop “Lauryn” and disconnect again, until she thought of something that would piss me off (and it worked), she got my ass right back. She knew that what always got to me, would get to me now… 

She started talking her third person talk-to “un”identify herself but worked it such that she made sure she mentioned things that only she and her buddies knew about me.

Serious or small, the bottom line is that it was all personal (about me). She was always pulling new shit out of the bag-just to let me know that she knew something new and had an arsenal (if she ever needed to pull it out). I let it get to me and I know I shouldn’t have, but it drove me crazy-just like she knew it would. I couldn’t believe how much I still let her work my nerves when I already knew how she operated. I was so frustrated because in my virtual life, I don’t put up with people for longer than one time past anything foul. I would have cut somebody like her out of my life a long time ago, yet here it is; I couldn’t just cut her off knowing that somebody out in this world had access to more things about me than anybody who earned knowing-and too, could afford to do damage. And my feelings were woven all through this-right along with hers. Tit for tit, all the time-typical “cat and mouse games” is what my friend Denise would say we were doing to each other: “You do shit-then she’s running around like crazy. She does shit-then you’re running you around like crazy. Y’all both doing shit and running around chasing each other’s tail like y’all crazy or something” is what she’d say. I couldn’t agree more. I wanted so bad to be able to pull out and away from her but I just couldn’t for sweet + sour reasons. Just like this cat had me by the tail and knew shit about me, I had her by the tail and knew shit about her too-so we were both trapped in more ways than many… 

I listened to her third-person talk until I couldn’t listen anymore, then I yelled at her about how stupid she was and how sick I was of her being in my life (my same ole song and dance that I could do nothing about-the same one that she had grown numb to hearing). So I just logged off as if to slam the door in her face. The shit hit the fan, my phone rang immediately: “What are you doing? What is the problem?” asked the girl on the other end. 

Urgh. It was that same girl’s voice from the time when Janet was trying to get to my city with Mr. Happy and Lil’ Bit in 3 hours so that she could “swab me down.” 

I yelled at the girl, and asked her not to call my house. 

“Well this is my dime!” she said. “Well this is MY TIME dammit!” I responded.

I hung up the phone. She called back: “Look, I’m just trying to be your friend, maybe I can help you. What’s the problem?” she said, as if she was on my side. That sent fire through my body. I spit fire at her: “How DARE you call my fuckin’ house with this bullshit as if that bitch aint behind none of it and you give a fuck about me!!!!!!!! How DARE you!” 

We argued on and on as I complained about my phone being tapped as well as every other phone that I used-friends, family and all that. I complained about my computer not being mine anymore and how ridiculous all this shit was. This resourceful chic, whose the voice I hated so badly, explained something about some buffer system sweep needed to run a tap check and she mentioned all this computer jargon that I could not comprehend. She serenaded her computer information systems savvy as if she was really trying to help me-like I should be standing there taking literal notes. Insulted again, I yelled at her some more. 

She then (out of nowhere) asked me that same question that “Chris” asked me on the phone that day: “Are you talking to someone whose name has four letters?” she asked. Again, in an instant, I thought of Janet’s boyfriend Rene having four letters in his name and got even more pissed. They all insisted that I knew something that I wasn’t telling. Whatever it was he did to bail out of Janet’s life (that she obviously caught him plotting and planning) she and they think I had some part in it (but maybe unknowingly). He left my ass holding the bag in the worse way. 

At times, they wouldn’t let up. It was almost like he (from some other side of the world), could push her buttons and say things that could instantly send she and her buddies all on me with the force of a firing squad. Whatever he got caught doing, planning, and plotting (with Rob, or alone), I fit some plan in it that at any point, she could be convinced I was holding back from the grasp of her knowledge, control, and remote control. It didn’t matter to Rene though, I was nobody. And Janet was settling out of court, so he didn’t give a damn how he could push her buttons-especially when he sat back and watched her flirt with me while they [although were separated] but were still married. He used to lurk and watch it all, so he didn’t give a damn how he left me hanging with the bag or what he had to do to mind-fuck her. Alls I knew is that it was working. 

“Okay this whole fucking thing is stupid and whatever is going on, she nor you assholes, can get any results or answers this way. I wish you would keep that stupid crazy bitch away from me, my phone and out of my life! I’m sick of all of y’all bitches.” I yelled. 

That worked her nerves this time.

“Wait a fucking minute dammit! You’re not gonna pull that “stupid” shit again-my friend’s not fuckin’ stupid! And for your fuckin’ information, Janet is completely computer illiterate!” she revealed-lying like a fucking rug.

I finished with: “…amongst other things, however, she has the time, resources and the money to pay YOU! You “computer buff.” She can pay you to teach her all that you would love to convince me she does not know. Close, but no cigar or good defense, Buff!”

I continued to pour on the insults about Janet in ways that could fill a page. I lit into her ass like a bull to a matador. like the capital letter “T” turned sideways.

In her heavy east coast accent, the girl got really defensive and yelled at me: “I have been friends with her for thirteen motherfuckin’ years and so fuckin’ what, my roommate used to work for the CIA and you can’t do anything about it anyway because it is not illegal to tap telephones in the state of Ohio-stupid! Have you ever seen anybody outside your house working on phone lines? Huh!?” 

I thought I was going crazy. I couldn’t believe them. She went on to explain something about some kind of box outside the house and talking all this language that I knew nothing about-again (but yes, I have seen servicemen out on poles in front of my house by the way-for long periods of time-two different apartments during this ordeal). I continued, however: 

“I don’t know about none of this shit you are talking about and what makes you think I would even take your advice about how to get this tramp off of my lines and out of my life as if you care about me! I’m sick of her STUPID ass. Shit, to even have the phone company come out to run a tracer on the line, I have to file a fuckin’ police report. What the fuck I’m gone look like telling them that her dumb crazy ass is tapping my phone? Huh? Why doesn’t somebody with some damn sense talk to the crazy bitch? She needs to work out whatever issues she’s got with that damn daddy of hers that’s done fucked her up mentally and emotionally, and quit running around fucking with other people’s lives and deal with her own crazy ass problems! But that’s okay. She’s going to get hers one day real soon!” I yelled. 

The girl laughed in my ear as if I said nothing, and in a firm whisper she snapped broodingly and said word for word: “Girl…You. Can’t. Get. Near her!” 

I responded: “I ain’t trying get near that crazy whore.” 

As if she was shaking her head, she responded: 

“Nall, please, girl I’m trying to MAKE YOU KNOW SOMETHING REAL...” she continued and took on an annoying and careless laugh with that horrible masculine and strong east coast accent: “You can’t touch her! You can’t touch this STARRRRRrrrr!…” she growled-down to the sound of the last ‘r’ she pronounciated. 

I looked at the clock and saw that we had been on the phone arguing for over an hour while I know Janet listened on. Playing out images in my head about how I could do nothing about this bizarre and crazy situation without looking crazy trying to explain it, I took a deep breath and I SCREAMED to the top of my lungs--some word I forgot I said to that bitch. I hung up on her with the force of a decibel that I prayed would send her eardrums to her brain to combust. 

I ran upstairs to my bedroom and sat in the middle of my bed on my hind legs. I threw my head back and screamed to the top of my lungs. I don’t even remember the words I said after: “God.” The last thing I remembered was my head shaking from left to right uncontrollably while the tears streamed down my face-making me foam at the mouth. 

My body began to twist and shake opposite my head like a washing machine in use.

In that moment, it was like an outer body experience. I was outside of my body, looking at my body, but I could not stop myself from twisting and shaking-my other body was trying to twist me in the opposite direction. My mind, my spirit, my soul, and my body had a serious fight that night. It was like someone was trying to breathe life into me but was trying to twist and pull me from someone else who wanted me to check the fuck out of here.

If I never believed there was a God, I believed after that day, because somebody put their hands on me and fucking saved me from something else that wanted my mind and body into another world. In that moment, I could clearly feel what it was like for a sane minded to person to go through a mental breakdown to the point where they never returned back to normal again. And I was in that moment, then I passed: The. Fuck. Out. 

In the middle of night, I woke up on my tummy. My body was so light. I opened my eyes and looked around my room-everything still looked the same. I ran downstairs to the bathroom to cut on the bright light so that I could feel and see my face that I couldn’t stop touching and examining on route to it. I was altogether there. 

I put my hands on my hips and began to pace the floors of my house to make sure I didn’t check out and was fully up and in one piece: mind, body, and soul. I sat on the couch and stuffed my feet into the thick cushions then turned on the television and let it watch me.

About an hour later I got two phone calls. 

The first one, they hung up. I then sat up and wiped the sandman out of my eyes.

The second one, they just sat there and just held the phone for as long as I would say “hello.”

I knew it was Janet, so I held the phone for a little longer with her, still angry, but feeling horrible deep down inside that we had gotten down to this. She was on the other end breathing hard, hurt, and probably crying because of all the insulting, mean, terrible, nasty, and disrespectful things I had said about her to that girl on the phone. Although I felt bad deep down inside, I couldn’t let myself care anymore because of all the things she had done to me, allowed to be done to me, was still doing that as far as I could see, was never going to end.

My numbness was pulsating to a near flat line for her tears and manipulation anymore. I don’t even remember who hung up first. Alls I know is that we did…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stayed away for a little while and pretty much didn’t plan on going back, but as usual, it didn’t work out like that. When she would do something to my computer, call and hang up, run those series of beeps, call someone’s house and hang up after I’d use their phone, or disconnect my computer and force me to go to the school’s computer lab to log into the room from there, I would step in to give her some presence-what she wanted.

Slowly, we worked our way up to not being angry at each other anymore. 

Friday, Ju

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