Here I have been piping that shit about how niggas ain’t shit – and let’s just use the word “nigga” to regard all men as I have a few surfers and Italians to throw in this mix – ain’t shit. Then you realize it’s really your picker that ain’t shit. And you weren’t very upfront about dealing with who people are, where they are, how they are UPFRONT – all Buddha-ey with your acceptance…meeting a person where they are, etcetera.
And then YOUR SHIT jumps up in the way. “Hi, I’m Saboteur. I’ve come to fill your head up with hella superficial shit so you can break off yet another relationship and then blame someone else.”
It’s so cool. And hella convenient. Not being accountable is strangely like what we say men do.
Luckily I am now old enough to call myself on my own bullshit. So I’ve called bullshit on myself and my thoughts and my own fear that prevents me from a sliver of happiness just cuz….. I have no idea what the just cuz is….but I know there’s one. And I don’t necessarily like it. I’m bound to be unhappy lest I figure this crap out. So I’m figuring GOTDAMNIT….I’m figuring.