back to reality

My flight home from Dakar was not a happy one, but I’m not going to dwell on that here. I got home safely on Tuesday and my luggage followed two days later. My little car rapide got dinged up a bit but everything else was ok. Now that I have my power cords, I can pick up where I left off with my writing. I spent two days indoors—partly because I was waiting for my suitcase to be delivered and partly because I wasn’t ready to leave my bubble. The Novotel in Dakar was the perfect place for me; the staff was friendly and helpful but not at all intrusive (except for the housekeeping lady who would enter the room regardless of the “do not disturb” sign on the door). It was quiet and I was able to write without any real distractions—and despite ordering room service twice a day, I managed to lose a couple of pounds while I was away. On the radio today I heard a segment on noise; artists were asked to call in and describe their work routine and I was surprised to hear a woman writer confess that she needs to work against distractions so she has something on the stove, the laundry going, and the TV on while trying to write. I went out today and the noise inside the subway car—ten people talking all at once—nearly destroyed me. Too much time in the bubble! I was reading a book narrated by a child with autism and I knew exactly how he felt…but I’m not a child with special needs. I have to get back in the habit of living in the world. I put on my new dress today and my new sandals; the dress has an elastic top like the sundresses we used to wear as little girls, so I considered not wearing a bra. But I’m almost 42 so I reconsidered and put on a bra. Three blocks from my house, the center strap snapped and I didn’t feel like turning around so I didn’t make any sudden moves and trusted the elastic top to withstand gravity. As I walked around downtown Brooklyn I noticed so many women looking flawless in the summer heat—no sweat, no shine, stylish dresses and matching shoes. And there I was, coming apart, keeping my fingers crossed that I could get back home without a major wardrobe malfunction. Then I opened the door to Chipotle and a Black woman exiting the restaurant said, “That’s a beautiful dress!” And so I just stopped worrying. Who knows how many safety pins are holding those flawless, stylish women together? I have no idea what I’m going to wear to the Harlem Book Fair tomorrow. Our panel on bullies, freaks, and geeks starts at 2:10 in Conference Room B of the Countee Cullen Library on 136th. See you there!

Marissa posted this video on Facebook today—a glimpse of Dakar…