Choose to Stick

It’s not the choice that matters, it’s the choice to make it work.

It’s late Sunday 21st March and a few things are converging for this entry.

1. I have been overthinking my next writing. I want it to be sooo good, so well marinated with juicy tender intertwined details of vulnerable logical alignment of thought and emotions.
2. The woman that chose different 3 years ago celebrates her birthday today. It’s also the day I proposed to her. So naturally there are emotions there that get re awakened like an injury with scar tissues already but lingering pain when it’s poked. Too be honest, I kinda like knowing that I have a place to go when I want to feel something, anything. Now, it just hurts good, and no, that isn’t what she said. Even though… never mind.
3. I am in Connecticut spending time with my childhood brother, really best friend but I hate to admit that I love one person that much. Idk what they will do with that love so I try to call him my bestie instead since it’s informal and everyone knows you can have multiple besties but only one best friend is allowed.
4. The topic of love, hates me. The topic of hate, loves me. And I don’t know what to do with people that make me feel loved even though I hate the need it created within me for them, really their love.

Truth: I am not afraid truly of the choice but the work that makes the choice good.

Quick Segway: I said something to my friend during our long winding conversation and I just want to capture it here. I don’t know what to do with it yet or how true it is.

________ don’t care if you are good or bad, they care that you are predictable to them.

I initially put women there but the more I think about it the more I realize it’s also men.

Why do women dig “bad” men? Because they prefer a known devil to a secretly perverted saint. Or a predictable callous protection to an unpredictable good for now chameleon waiting to sniff a new scent.

I think what I am really trying to say is that the more I have been in touch with myself, the more I realized that all the things about me that I found ugly and enslaved me were beautiful accents in the otherwise monologue of my life’s story. The more I have been clear about where I am and the more I have put words to my skeletons, the easier it’s been to understand myself and be understood by others.

Understanding is a powerful reason for affinity; even more so than sexy and tall and religious. So many times people have tried to understand me but I have been too scared to be seen for the fraud that I am and instead chosen to be a Ponzi scheme architect selling an unbelievable ordinary mirror portrait of your great ideals.

Yes, I’m a little angry that it took me 28 years to realize that I am an elephant tethered to rope that WILL snap if I move my feet. It took me another 2 years after that to begin the journey of finding out who I am truly, not who my daddy needs me to be, or who God expects me to be, or what version of me girls will dig without me hunting for dinner. Ughh, it’s all so dumb.

Okay, I wanted to talk about choice. A guy meets a fine tall woman with no ass. He checks all she found in her and moved on to the next woman that checks all the same boxes + ass. The next woman checks ass but comes with new sets of unchecked boxes. The cycle repeats itself until now, I realize that this whole love thing is what I have known ALL along.

Love is a choice but it’s not the choice of who that matters, it’s the choice to do the work for who that matters.

Maybe Amaka makes me feel so good! So very good, so I choose her. Great! Now I need to choose her everyday when she doesn’t make me feel good, also when she doesn’t bang good. Also when she doesn’t know how to speak good English.

Maybe Janet has the ASS, I mean donkey of my dreams. I need to choose Janet when her best friend makes me feel hot. I need to choose Janet when her mother makes me feel less than human. When her ex makes me feel godless.

Maybe June has a sweet spirit. I need to choose June when she tells me of her nightmares and dark rage. I need to choose June when we find out that she is gonna be physically compromised for the rest of her life. I need to choose June till death but not before. I need to serve her even when acts of service is my least practiced form of love communing.

The truth is, it’s not the box she doesn’t check that worries me. It’s the work those boxes come with and for the boxes checked, it’s the née found reality that those boxes need maintenance and I am the lucky guy to water their tender greens!

Love is a choice has never been so discomforting. It’s like someone just opened my eyes to the reality that I had perfectly chosen to ignore. Like I kinda knew it but I kinda didn’t.

I think this one is not a long one, I’ll end it abruptly: Choose to be an armpit deodorant, choose to stick.