Well a bitch had one crazy day yesterday. Not a lot of drama, but too much running around! Shit. My current state of blah didn’t help matters either…oh, and the fact that most people can’t read a bitch’s mood for shit added to that pile.
Fuck it all.
First, let a bitch say congratulations to the University of Texas Longhorns for hookin' 'em right good last night! Fantabulous! A bitch knows too many alums of U.T. to not get a wee bit misty at their victory. Gawd, can you imagine what a hot mess walking Jenna Bush was last night at the victory kegger? Mercy.
A bitch watched the initial coverage of the West Virginia mine explosion and subsequent rescue efforts with shock and dismay. Regardless of how everything turned out, this bitch simply felt sick over the herd of media folks camped out to capture every single fucking second of it.
Catch that knee before it jerks, Anonymous...a bitch isn't saying that events should not be covered. No, my ass is commenting on the coverage...on how that coverage impacts those being covered...on that fucking shit called emotions that no one factors in and no one wants to talk about lest they be confronted with some dumb assed auto-response about censorship. Cover it all...fuck it. My ass just couldn't help but think 'what if that was me'.
A bitch couldn’t help but think of my father’s death from a heart attack several years ago. The great phone call we had that morning, though he seemed tired. The phone call my ass received from the hospital later that day…your father has had a heart attack and is in bad shape…are you alone…you need to come to Chicago immediately. A bitch thought about the wait between the time my ass called my sister and the time she arrived back home….the chanting, was that in my head or did a bitch say it out loud…oh Jesus, oh Gawd, oh Lord, oh no. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when C-Money came through the door. The pathetic feeling of weakness when my ass stepped back and let her make that terrible call back to the hospital. The look on her face and the absolute all consuming denial sparked by her confirming the worst with those four fucking words…he didn’t make it.
And then this bitch thought about experiencing all of that shit with 200 news cameras stationed outside of my house…following us as we left to inform our mother that her former husband was dead…calling us for interviews while we struggled to locate our father’s new wife and tell her that her husband of less than two years was gone.
Covering...my loss, my pain, my tears, my family...over and over and over again.
There, but for the grace of Gawd and an editorial decision, go we all...