Grown like a tree on crack.

I've been meaning to celebrate the fact that I've let go of my stupid ways. There are not pictures of me on the net scoping for modeling jobs. I was never really good at keeping my big mouth shut. More often than not I butted heads with people & had to walk away and tell myself repeatedly, "this isn't worth it you're too fucking smart for this crap anyway."

And you know what? I don't miss jack shit. I don't miss designers asking me to model for them and having them scuffing at me when I ask to be compensated for my time. I used to have a shit list two miles long of all the photographers, fellow models and designers who owe me photos and time; however I walked away with more than I left-so I'm golden.

Not that I regret it. I made some wonderful friends. I learned some profound things about myself. I will always be a tom boy. I will always love my people and I will always have something to say about injustice. However, there is no place for these things in Native Entertainment; nor is there any place in it for me.

And I feel good. I feel strong. I still have one more event to do. I agreed to do before I made my final decision to let it all go. I just hope I do a good job & don't enrage anyone with my ambivalence about it's importance (in my life).

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In other news, I'm supposed to be doing my homework for my class right now. Except I can't get started. I can't seem to find my center, the one that allows me the freedom to say what I want. I don't want to tell total strangers about my childhood. I know it sounds insane because I do it here all the time, but it's 2 degrees removed from me. There is a distinct difference between words spoken and words written. With spoken words you only get one chance to make them sound right. When you speak there are only a few moments between the silence after the words have left your mouth and the time someone responds; the terror lives in that two seconds.

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Recently I had a dream about this man I used to date. However date doesn't quite convey what happened between us. I feel compelled to report he was the first man that I ever contemplated foreverness with. The dreams was simple. We are talking. We are normal, we are friends, we lack the complication that we have in real life. Don't get me wrong; I don't miss him. I don't regret for one moment that I left his backward-cap wearing ass in the gravel. That night we both in a moment knew (for what was probably the 16th time) that we were not supposed to be together.

I think if I ever wrote a book about failure I would dedicate it to him. And that's the simple truth. We both knew in the span of two hours that whatever it was that pulled us together wasn't strong enough to hold two pennies together. And for once I didn't cry. For once I didn't think that I had failed, but in fact did the best thing I could have.

And the dreams? I'm not sure about them. We aren't friends; nor will we ever be. The way I feel can best be explained by something he once said to me, "just imagine when we get really old, I'll be at the store and I'll see your granddaughter across the room & just KNOW that she belongs to you..."
I am certain in 60 plus years if I saw his grandson, I too would KNOW that he belonged to him, & my heart would smile. Maybe the dream was a reminder of that.

posted by Danna Saunders @ 1/30/2005 07:23:00 PM