The Blacktress is Pissed

I have not felt this much anger and oppression on the plantation since my slave days.

I will call this Reason #248 that I need to go to Australia.

Yesterday, Sojourner was ravaged by stomach illness. With sharp pains and an exploding buttocks (sorry, but you know I tell the TRUTH), I sat in my veal pen—aka cubicle—until about 1pm, when I could no longer take the pain. On my way out of the building, I managed to take the elevator one flight before running off to the nearest bathroom, where I puked like a drunken college student after doing a keg stand.

I had a fever, chills, and was fearful I wouldn’t make it home in one piece. I hopped in a cab home, and laid down for the remainder of the day, waking up only to run to the toilet.
By the day’s end, I showed little signs of improvement, so I sent my massa an email, letting him know I wouldn’t be in the next day (today). In my email, I offered to work from home, seeing as my priority for the next day was to do work on our publication’s website—which only requires an internet connection and the ability to double-click. I was of sound mind and body, but I knew I’d need to be no more than 4 feet from a bathroom all day, and it made no sense to come in and stink up the office space when I could do bad all by my damn self.

I awoke early this morning, prompted by dehydration, nausea, and stomach pain. I fought the urge to roll over and decided to check my email, just to see what, if anything, Massa had to say about my request to work from home.
I found this message in my inbox:
Sojourner,

Sorry you are still sick. If you can make it into the office we could use another pair of eyes looking at the remaining articles. B_____ has gone out of town and I have to rush to write two articles and get them designed and edited by Thursday evening.

Thanks,
Massa

Um, w.t.f?!! I have never once been denied a sick day, and I even offered to work from home—which I fully planned to do! I wasn’t trying to shirk duties, but I couldn’t keep my butt in check long enough to sleep through the night, let alone pick cotton on the plantation!!! I assumed this email was not a request, but a demand from a passive-aggressive massa.
So here I am. Writing this post from the plantation.

Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom now.
*******************************************

Okay, I’m back.

You know, sometimes I wish the days of open racism and whippings were still here—at least then I’d know who I was dealing with. I can’t tell if he didn’t believe I was sick, is angry that I’ve taken some time off recently, or is just really in need of my “extra eyes”—I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my red-pen marks on the article drafts wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference, and my constant gassiness may induce nausea in my coworkers.

So, here I sit, epitomizing the phrase “hot mess” and wishing I was somewhere else. Add to this the recent comment left on my blog by a fellow blacktress from Down Under, and I just know I need to head for freedom. She wrote:
“You definitely have to come down under. I'm an afro-princess in Brisbane, who came here 7 years ago and never left. There's no place to get your hair did but even if you leave the house with a bird’s nest on your head (which I do, every so often) someone will say, "wow, I wish my hair could do that", the hot dudes are everywhere (I married one) and it’s sun, sand and surf most of the time…I’d absolutely be your friend…”
1. First of all, any woman who refers to herself as an afro-princess is down with Sojo.
2. She even married a hot dude, so clearly I need to get on her program.
3. AND SHE SAYS SHE’LL BE MY FRIEND!!! -- maybe we can braid each other's hair!

I just need to find out how her massa treats her on the plantation. When she’s running to the bathroom so much that they start delivering her mail there, do they still make her come to work? When she offers to complete her tasks from the comfort of her home and her own bathroom, do they ask her to come in anyway cause the massa can’t handle his own deadline-scandals?!

Please pray for a blacktress. I think I may start trippin' on these fools today.