Concrete jungle where dreams are made of*
I went to see Almost Christmas aka "the ensemble cast black christmas movie 2016" at the cinema with another black London girl the other week. The company, the film, the audience at the screen, everything was great. I laughed so much, and made friends with the older black woman who sat next to me. We turned to one another in the dark a few times, to laugh together, and I felt so black and so visible. At one point, the characters do the electric slide (the dance I shamefully always lose my rhythm to) and I felt my shoulders executing the moves in tandem. Afterwards, we walked to the subway, and I heard myself speaking: it was all little local colloquialisms, glottal stops – dropped t's and d's everywhere – and sometimes, because she's Nigerian too, we'd break into a generic Naija accent, mimicking countless aunties, as we repeated a nugget of wisdom or a witticism. I felt so close to home.
I had a...charged dream about an actor the other night. It was A Lot. It was also jarring, because this rarely happens to me. (I could not tell you why that is; my two years of A Level psychology have not equipped me to delve into my psyche.) When I woke up, there was a push notification from Tinder on my phone, informing me that "Somebody likes you." Oh, do they, I thought semi-wearily. And then I didn't open the app all day. What did I do instead? Laundry, and my hair in Marley twists (goodbye, gorgeous crochet braids!) and the dishes, and edits on an essay I'm writing. I sent a couple of emails.
A friend in London asked me about the riches of the infamous NY dating scene. It is wasted on me, I replied shortly. It turns out I don't like going out all that much, and when I think about having to start a conversation with a stranger in the hopes of achieving the intimacy of human connection (sexual congress included), I feel a little, well, tired. I mean, it's all a bit tiring, innit. When I and the internet were younger, I met people in the flesh, at house parties, through friends, and/or in my house (because we were friends; they weren't stalkers). And it was...easier.
Maybe too many romcoms have addled my brain (it's a possibility), because I think there is a subconscious part of me that wants that ease back? Again: A Level psychology has no answers. But I have my suspicions. And yeah, I know how life works in 2016, and that it is kinda unrealistic to expect to meet the love of my life (or even the "I guess you'll do" guy) by the powers of serendipity (good effort from the dude outside my apartment the other day, though) alone. What's that Liz Lemon joke about wanting to start a relationship 12 years in? I'm not saying I want that, but I kinda do? Only cos I'm so busy and also very lazy, as well as being sort of anti-social? I'm really funny and cool otherwise, though. I have great hair. I can't dance very well, but I have the ~vibe~ of a much more talented dancer. My bum? It's *chef's fingertip kiss* nice. I'd go out with me.
But back to that dirty dream I had... Listen. It was a good dream. Like, excellent.
I still haven't opened Tinder.
I'm travelling out of state for work this week, and I don't think it will be a pleasant assignment. But that's OK. I intend to make it a useful trip.
*this is a badly constructed lyric, Alicia Keys, and it irritates me every time I sing it