For 2020.

Far be it for me to dis the year 2020.. I'm still living in it.  It has given me so much. But people do- with their merry memes and jacked-up 2020 jokes. The thing I want to do here since it was just Thanksgiving, is show some respect for this traumatic year. What could we have done to prevent any of it? I would rather say I lived through it. I'd rather give thanks that these end-times will last as long as "In the beginning," whatever force of cosmic nature, or big bang! God said, let there be.. how ever long, seven days actually turns out to mean, I expect we have at least that much more time to fix some things we broke. To undo our negative. Put it back like we found it. That's definitely going to take another two thousand years, at least! We're not done celebrating  Jesus' resurrection or persecuting each other for killing him in the first place.

I guess what draws me to this paradoxical discussion is that there's a link between being alive this year and being alive at all. It is worthy of earnest praise. Not facetious laments. But who am I to judge the chronically joyless? 

Nobody. I'm a coward, too.

But because I got a text from a friend today, checking in on me, saying she missed my smiling face, I looked at my reflection on my phone to see if I was smiling. I wasn't. So.. I smiled, and took this picture and started this post. I haven't written in a few days. Except for .. this mini-documentary for my history of motion pictures class.. 

Let me explain the look.

The right side of my head hurts most of the time. It hurts more when I wash my hair, comb it, and style it. So.. a few days before Thanksgiving, I washed my hair, detangled it, and braided the right side in little pig tail plats. That shit was torture! And I never got around to doing the same for the other side of my head.  I took the plats down today, and combed through them with my fingers. Massaged my scalp. Of course, the touched up texture of my hair on the right doesn't match with the left alone hair on my left side. Poof vs shrinkage. The struggle is real y'all. I don't feel like doing anything about it, though. 

What you see is what you get.  

I've got new glasses that my eye M.D. has me experimenting with for the past few weeks. I can't see past my iPhone in these glasses supposed to be for distance. I'm not driving anyway. My corrected lenses are due any day. This concussion has affected my astigmatized gogglers even more. I don't even enjoy my hard contact lenses much any more. But I will wear them when we're able to socialize again. Most people in glasses wear them very well. I don't feel that way. I don't dare attempt sexy whilst pushing these two pound sliders up my nose.  I'm just happy to have them for now, though. 

I'm in my grandmother's bedroom. I've left some of her art on this one wall. That dusty still life and her Black Angel. The rest of her room is mine now.. Except her dresser with her lingerie it contains, and her night stand, with her cancelled checks and ancient papers. Two drawers full. I haven't asked her for these spaces yet.. I just felt recently, okay with taking over half of her closet. I really need the other half, too.

And, Yes. That's a djembe drum hanging from the ceiling. More to come. Need hooks.  That one was already there. 

And here, Jeanine: My smiling face. 

Asking the Universe to cause us to live longer than we expect.. Give us another year. At least four more, until the evidence comes in that our struggle with covid-19, POTUS45, 2020, the human toll.. was for naught. 

 Anyone can teach you about love. I can make you good at it.

| This photo & prose by Jackie D. Rockwell |All Rights Reserved © 2008-2020 |