Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about to get way too personal for my taste.

BCF PROMPT: "People sure have a lot of opinions about washcloths, towels and sheets: whether to use them, how often to change them, when to replace them, how nice they should be, and on and on. What do you think? Let's talk."

Let's talk, blog fam! Please...because my situation is probably unique to me out of all you upper-class cats while I struggle in low-income housing as a broke-ass college student.

Sometimes we don't get to make the rules. We're obtuse, we're broken, we're forced. Y'all can discredit that every day of the week, but it happens. If you act like it doesn't, I should have full authority to kick you where your junk isn't. Fucking poor people exist everywhere you cover your eyes, and that's a fact.

And now I gotta make good on uber-personal info? C'mon man...some elements of my life need to be left alone!

You wanna know when I shower, change my sheets, and smash my face with wet cotton? Are you for real? This literally is none of your business. Unless you're lizco252, who I'd drag my balls to Colorado for before I told y'all pricks that I live in a building above a bar that changes my sheets weekly and empties my trash...oh fucking oh...I think I just said too much.

"I was thinking today about this. How do we strike a balance between self exposure and discretion with our writing. I am sure each of us has a comfort zone, but how? Will what we publish hurt someone? Will it embarrass us in years to come? Am I the only one who thinks about this when I write?"

Says the woman who just undressed us metaphorically about our bed sheets (no worries Lyn's a sly fox , I still have mad love for you).

I don't have a balance, per se. Everything I write is a description or a microcosm of my life at the time. We happen, so it happens. If people around me get naked, I'll be prone to getting naked as well...and perhaps I'll write about them later on. If not, no big deal. I don't know where I'll end up, so I don't know where my writings will end up. I used to know, but those people are so far gone from my life and there's no point anymore in talking about it.

But I'm not ashamed. You have access to my WDC portfolio. I just cleaned it out the other day, so get your a-hole on!

MUSICAL BREAK!!

Eazy-E is dead. He died of AIDS. Plain and simple; no confusion there.

But I can't escape the fact that I grew up on hip-hop and gangsta rap. Loved it. Cheesed out on it. Wasn't my life but I wore a baseball cap sideways because I kinda wanted it that way.

And "8-Ball" is and was my jam.

"Crowd rockin' motherfucker from around the way"
Lyrics and hate mail.  

THE DAILY BOX SCORE:

Yesterday was #NationalPoetryDay...and I don't know who's return I'm anticipating more; Brother Nature or Julie D - PUBLISHED! .

I should maybe take a nap now, 'cuz these Triscuits aren't cuttin' it as far as snacktime goes. Peace, I don't drink brass monkey, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!