Daydream Believer

I guess the best way to put it would be to say that my mind is trying to kill me.

Thought that'd get your attention.

I miss my children.

Just looking at their pics, as I'm doing right now, hurts.

And as much as I don't want to "make that call," for reasons that might be obvious to anyone who knows how painful those calls can be, I sometimes just want to hear their voices.

The baby never wastes her opportunity to run down her latest grievance, as if Daddy's close enough to help make things better.

"I've got a boo-boo!" becomes an emergency if I don't give her the response she wants to hear.

And my lil' man, well, true to his oft-stated desire to be "an actor," getting on the phone with me is his chance to clown around, make funny voices and generally act up.

I barked at him last night, like the selfish piece of shit I can be sometimes. No excuse, but I know why I did it. I felt like a crumb, even as I snapped. I was just in one of my moods (they tend to be "the norm" these days) and I only wanted to have a conversation with him.

But that's what he wanted to do too, in his own, eight-year old way. Only I'm too caught up in my own tiny, insignificant world that I only realized that after I got off the phone.

Dumbest smart nigga I know, that's me.

Sometimes, I convince myself that they're busy, doing their respective things (the baby running around, acting grown or buggin' her brother for attention; and lil' man playing a video game or buggin' his mom for attention too).

I tell myself that they're aiight. And that if they wanted to speak with me, they'd ask their mother to call me.

Right?

So I satisfy myself with a quick look at their pics. My favorite one was taken last summer. Lil man has his hands around his baby sis, and they're both smiling. Kinda like they're telling me not to worry, that everything's gonna be aiight.

All signs point to this "new life" that I keep harping about, this rebirth, this bullshit that I've been telling any and everyone who'll listen, being real. Y'know? That circumstances being what they are, I'm now in the ideal position to make "my dreams come true."

But my mind, she won't let me rest, man. Because as much as those dreams center around writing and producing and telling stories, they've always included family.

I used to believe those daydreams.

Tough-guy wisdom, especially the kind cultivated in the Bronx, says to man-up, choke in that pain, and say, "fuck it." Who needs family? Who needs anyone? All other people do is cause me pain, anyway.

Right?

...

I miss my babies, man.