Last night, I dreamt about another basement. This one was in the home of my mom’s best friend. All of these dreams about houses and basements is both fascinating and freaky.
And I’m still mad.
I was mad at work today. And I started the day by tracking poo into the house because Lil’ Frankfurter took a dump on the doormat on the deck … the brown doormat. So it all blended in. And I walked through it right before I walked through my house.
So, yeah, I was mad about that, too. Poo isn’t part of my interior design concept, you know?
So, I’ve been thinking about anger, and what to do with it. And I realized why I love all the Madea movies. Madea does what everybody really wants to do. She runs her mouth. She drives too fast and tells people she shot Tupac.
I especially like this clip from Diary of a Mad Black Woman.
So, I’m mad. I haven’t driven my car through any gates and I haven’t torn up anybody’s clothes. But somewhere, amongst the dreams about basements, my brain is figuring it all out. I guess it all goes back to faith.
Mad faith. Fuck yeah.