Why do I write?
When I was a student at USM a friend of mine wanted to go a concert. I wanted to attend the concert as well but didn’t have a ride. My friend assured me that her cousin could take us both so I proceeded to buy my ticket. Well, on the day of the concert my friend needed me to do her hair and help her pick out an outfeit for the event so I got up early tha morning and did her hair and helped her pick out her outfit. When I was done with her there was only a little time left for me to put myself together for the concert. I managed to do everything I needed to do to look decent. Hey, I may not be a 10 but I clean up good. Anyway we’re both stand in front of our dorm anxiously awaiting her cousin. When her cousin arrives, I notice that the car was nearly full but I guess I just thought we’d both squeeze in. Well, my friend got in and when I reached for the door she slammed it and the car sped away. i stood there with outstretched hand gripping the air for nearly a minute before I was fully aware of what had just happened. I was left hanging. Standing there on the edge of the sidewalk feeling like a fool dressed in a hot pink ensemble complete with shoes and purse. My hair meticulously twisted into a french roll with gold butterfly accents. stomach growling because I’d been so busy that i hadn’t eaten all day. Hands tired from doing hair and just emotionally drained.
Sad to say but I’ve felt this way quite often in my life time. I give and give to others and I don’t give to myself. Writing is my way of giving to myself. Interesting enough, when I write I give to myself and others.
Let’s talk again next week.