I am black. And white. In my mind, and in my life the world is a giant, grey haze.
I was a love child, product of my white mother and an African-American father who was not in the picture, which means I was raised as a white person in a black man’s body. It’s led to a lot of identity issues for me because I don’t see myself as “black” but have been reminded constantly throughout life that I am, in fact, not white.
I think if you asked a “real” black person, they’d say I am not really black either. Fair enough, I guess. In the end, I think this ethnic limbo has made me a natural outsider, which I am content with. It’s been a long road to get to that place; a road which included many years of inner turmoil.
I have an extremely short attention-span. I am an adult with Attention Deficit Disorder and wear the badge proudly, despite years of many people making me feel like a fuck up for some of the pitfalls that come with it. I can get the work of ten people done in a week, thanks to my ADD, so sorry for being late and all.
Originally I wanted to start a blog because I’ve been writing aimlessly for a long time for my own amusement. Everyone else has a blog, so why not me? I’ve had a career that has been at times stressful, at others extremely unfulfilling. Writing has been a great escape and has re-invigorated those parts of my brain left for dead by the doldrums of paid employment.
It also satiates my craving for isolation, my tendency toward cynicism, aimless silliness, misplaced sarcasm, and moodiness. I have mixed feelings about being with others who I didn’t choose to be with. Being in environments like an office where there’s not much latitude for authenticity are torturous. The politics and witless adult striving so on display in a professional workplace makes people daft, simple, and boring. I have difficulty figuring out where to draw the line as my overbearing personality desires to throw a fistful of my poo at it all. I am glad to have an excuse to use the word ‘poo’ – which perfectly demonstrates the problem. Poo. Poo. Poo.
Over the years writing has been the method I’ve used to get the bile out of my system so I can wake up the next morning ready to join humanity. But I don’t want my blog to be about venting my spleen, because as much as I do sink into cynicism from time to time, in my heart I am really an optimist who wants everyone to be happy and just get along. I credit years of meditation, wise teachings, and learning about the workings of my own mind for that outlook, because it wasn’t always that way.
That said, I do have a really big spleen.