White Girl in Black Face

I’m sorry, but I don’t give a crap about race right now. I don’t care about my identity or my sexuality or my childhood. I don’t care about where I fit in or how I talk or whether or not people think I look Jewish.

Right now, I care about rent and management companies and applications. About co-ops and apartments and landlords. I care about inexpensive food and healthy meals. I care about exercise and physical therapy and healing from surgery. I care about root canals and crowns and Medicaid and medication.

Right now, I couldn’t care less about the shade of my skin or the tightness of my curl. My living room wall is covered with calendars, receipts and poetry. Each day when I get up my goal is to get at least one thing done that moves me forward, that brings me one step closer to my goals or pulls them closer to me. Each day when I get up my goal is to heal a little more, to settle a little further into this new body that is mine, that will always now be missing a chunk of the disc that used to cushion the space between L4 and L5. To guard against laziness, but give myself time. To listen and know when to say yes and when to say no. To do only what matters.

When I face my computer, my blog, my book, my thoughts blur. I see a jumble of past and present. I see fears and conflicting intentions. I see faces of strangers asking, “What is your memoir about?,” and faces of loved ones saying, “Good for you,” as their faces scrunch up wondering how they’ll be depicted. I see myself failing, receiving rejection after rejection. I see you waiting for a new post, thinking I have already failed. I see my once-a-week, Wednesday schedule disintegrating into dust as I languish on the sofa, painfully turning from the left to the right, straightening carefully as I stand, reluctantly, to go pee. I see my future children, becoming more of a dream and less of a reality.

So you see, right now I don’t care about race. I don’t care about gender. I don’t care about how and when and why I came out.

Right now I care about craigslist ads and temp agencies, savings accounts and credit unions. I care about Occupy Wall Street and police brutality. I care about freelance work and staying open to possibilities. I care about my mental health, calling the doctor, and being where I’m supposed to be when I’m supposed to be there.

Right now I care about the changing leaves. About peaceful mornings and good nights sleep. I care about music and breath. Right now I care about love. I care about the fact that somehow, in the midst of chaos, I found out that there was love all around me. I care about concentrating on love and giving it room to multiply. I care about loving back.

Right now I care about focusing on what’s good and not on what’s missing. I care about coming through this very difficult year in one piece. Still black. Still white. Still mixed. Still female. Still queer. Still a writer.

Intact.

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