Odilia Rivera Santos
I am so content to sit in my bed propped up by pillows with my Mac on my lap I forget to eat and sometimes go hours with only water and coffee. I know this is not physically healthy, so I force myself to get up and prepare good snacks, which don't require my full focus. It is a great feeling to listen to the news or interviews with writers or artists. Today, I got up early, posted on Facebook, Twitter and Google+ and prepared a runner's breakfast of one slice of bread with crunchy peanut butter and coffee with milk. I headed out for a run and took a long leisurely walk by the river. I felt a bit restless but fought the temptation to get a book at the library to read under a tree. Life is about balance after all. I wanted to use other senses and go on an intellectual fast or put my intellectual mind on a modified fast at least. I thought, perhaps, the intuition suffers if one keeps intellectual parts of the brain too overworked.
I walked around Harlem and saw the door to The Cotton Club was ajar, so I stuck my head in and asked if I could look around. The well-dressed man behind a desk waved me in and I entered, knowing I had been there before but not quite remembering the particulars. Glistening red chairs and small tables point to the fact that the place is for performance and you can imagine an elegant Black audience sipping drinks in semi-darkness as light reflects from sparkling contented eyes - the stuff mundane life aspires to. There's magic in this small space and you can feel it. The man who welcomed me in is the owner, John Beatty and he spoke to me about his Columbia University experience. CU is trying to turn Harlem into an extension of its campus: predominately white and privileged. Mr. Beatty held his ground and CU backed off. Black History takes precedence over corporate greed for once. Mr Beatty said Monday night is the night to drop by.
I had an epiphany about time -- yes, another one. It is ok to change your deadlines if you feel it is best and not everything must be accomplished at a maddening breakneck speed.
I am sitting by the river in the bright sunshine, sunning myself while a beautiful exotic yellow and blue birds screeches from the bridge. It may be someone's very expensive pet and, for a moment, I consider calling 311. But then, I changed my mind because exotic birds should be free. Perched unceremoniously on the bridge, she seems content and does she not have the right to be free?
. . . you can check out my creative nonfiction essays Latinalogue Puerto Rican Nonfiction Part I and Latinalogue Puerto Rican Nonfiction Part II: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/69697
Writers, be careful not to die of exposure.
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