Originally posted on Patreon.com/KillingGeorgina on August 14, 2017
Not much personal writing has been happening on my end. Scheduling, agendas, emails, notes, to do lists, social media blurbs; that’s about all I have been able to tap out these days. I’m organizing a sister march to the March 4 Racial Justice in DC on 09/30/17 to happen here in the capital city of little Rhody. This requires amounts of socializing that are draining me to my limits. In a way, I think organizing suits me. I can put my all into planning and executing in a deeply focused strategic way as long as there is a clear end goal in sight. Small signposts of tasks completed that may help to push the larger goal of liberation from white supremacy. This march is one of the sign posts. I’m pushing through and we are going to make it happen in solidarity in RI and DC and NY and NJ and OK and wherever else…not sure of all the sister city/states participating yet. This morning, I felt like putting down some thoughts, all stream-of-consciousness-like.
My house is a mess and my kids are watching WAY TOO MUCH TV! But it’s summertime so *shrugs in melanin*. I do make sure Big is reading and Little is STILL potty training. But housework is down to the bare necessities as the moment, which means living amongst clutter and more dust than is probably healthy. Summer is hard already since we have to recreate a routine for our days that don’t revolve around school drop off and pick up. Mommy gets to switch hats and play cruise director for two instead of chauffeur and household manager. Interwoven between my meeting needs and endless conference calls, I am bringing the kids to parks and playgrounds and splash pads and pools and other fun summer stuff. Needless to say, both Big and Little are a little out of sorts from being dragged around to meetings or dropped off at my parents’ so I can go alone. They seem less bothered by staying home with daddy for nighttime meetings, except for the one time that Little stood at the door and cried. For the most part, their bedtime route is maintained on those nights and they only miss mommy a bit. Daddy/Hubby has been amazing and supportive and loving.
I am tapped out and in need of self care that I can’t afford. So instead I have decided my refuge will be to sing on the top of my lungs as long and as often as I possibly can to clear my throat chakras (whatever those are). I even got the husband to drag out the old Wii American Idol Karaoke game so I can sing my heart out to “canned” applause and “I’m feelin’ you dawg” responses from animatronic Randy. Singing helps to shake free all the hurt and anger and fear and sadness that sits in the back of my throat burning like a fireball. Plus, singing is $FREE.99 and I don’t need to make an appointment or carve out time to do it. I just try to restrain myself in more public places than the inside of my moving car. Maybe I’ll even sing today while I do some much needed vacuuming and dusting around my house between answering emails and instant messages, posting updates and calls to action on FB and Twitter for M4RJ, M4RJRI, RO, KG (and my own page and other groups I admin), meals and other necessities for the kids and hubby, plan and organize and delegate and outreach and learn and grow and drink enough water.
I’m vacillating between Joe Crocker’s version of With a Little Help From My Friends and Adele power ballads playing in my head…”lending me your ear. I’ll try not to sing out of key.” I can be “a little pitchy dawg”…again, more *shrugs in melanin*. But I digress.
Fuck Nazis. Fuck white supremacists. Fuck apathy. Fuck complacency. If the devil is going to take me out, I will not be easily erased. I will go out fighting and singing on the top of my lungs. Both resistance and self care all wrapped up into one solitary action. I’ve been known to make anything into a song with my children. This may end up being my new hook since it keeps running through my head:
“It is our duty to fight for our freedom.
It is our duty to win.
We must love each other and support each other.
We have nothing to lose but our chains.” — Assata Shakur
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