Mind Mapping: Entry One
Excerpt from my lesbian vampire novella, thoughts on being a city mouse and talking about an ex βοΈπ
Is this a good time as any to bring up the fact that I donβt believe in hierarchy? I am team meritocracy. I feel it especially when I am constantly told to stay firm in my place. What is my place? Is it under the thumb of people with skin lighter than mine? Is it buried second in line to a throne I am told I will never inherit? Was dissecting this verbally with partner while she did dishes in that rhythmic fashion she is famous for. Swiping plates with warm dish cloth, dunking in soap, spraying in water. A one woman car wash for assiettes.
Telling her this: that my parents are entrepreneurs who slaved away until they could open something of their own. That I am their daughter and will never rest until I can do the same. Holding that unnamed shiny, heavy title that will come with due time and diligence. That it will all be worth it because I toiled. Not because I was next in line, but because I deserved it. It is at this point that I swipe a narrow strip of blush under my eye. It blooms under the dark patches of my eye. A measured finger swipes instead of taps. It is the impatient fumblings of a woman undone. The only sound in the apartment is the car wash, and the gentle engine hum of a foot tap-tap-tapping in nervous anticipat-
π π π π π
Been writing my famous vampire novel with great gusto and determination. Colleague, friend, manager, sister Izzy bought me a gorgeous cotton ribbed lavender Plith journal with creamy matte pages that donβt give way under the tremendous pressure of my ink nib. I have been licking the tip of the pen and scratching away at it, dreaming up deep passages in vampiric prose. Below, a scene for your eyes:
You order coconut milk americanos because itβs better for the environment. The irony is not lost on you, fanged creature from somewhere deliciously south. Tropical waves supersede the tight ringlets of your hair. There is a lineage of pickled fish on banana leaves and ornate gold sitting taught against your breast. There was a life for you there. Now, there isnβtβ¦
π π π π π
Analog age this, physical media that, an ex emailed me two months ago and I only got back to her last night. An unblinking cursor cosied up to the first and last line: you crossed my mind, I hope youβre well.
