blinding flashes of the obvious. i have not been taking care of myself. therefore, it is much harder to take care of others.
more obvious things: although we are in a hole, and having a hard time very like hard times we’ve had before, we’ve never stopped searching for solutions. structured study time with k–, email communications with aeron, dialoguing, finding something else to do when we can’t concentrate on homework (which is always).
it’s a cold day in a messy, lonely house. i feel like nowhere is home. like i’ve forfeited the right to call this place home. and it’s stressful to be here anyway. guilt hides in every grain of dust, bloating it, in every spot of mold or piece of clutter. i feel like i could make a to-do list ten miles long and i would never reach the end of it. life will not be clean and warm. it persists in being rainy, cold, damp, and endlessly complex.
susan) so we’re voting on two things. what the best haircut is (specify short or long, knowing that the only real possibilities are keep growing it, or shave it all off), and whether or not it is okay to move up the date of the cut (ie should we have this length now, or later).
i don’t know if it’s good or bad that i’m out. claire and everyone clamors about how they miss me, but didn’t i make life harder? isn’t she succeeding more as a front? aren’t i just a fucking poser anyway?
i’m in the library, looking out the window to a little copse of trees between buildings. it’s raining, and leaves are falling, and every so often the wind will gust more heartily and send a shower of twirling orange rain out into the air. it makes me feel cozy to be inside this window, in my grey shirt and flannel-lined jeans and solid boots.
it built steadily, so i can’t pretend i didn’t see the crash coming. but it also came suddenly, like a tipping point. and i am not able. not able to deal with school, to deal with home, to deal with living. to deal with system-mates and memories and trying not to die of shame. to deal with other people.
yeah, you cry to your little friends, bitch, but just remember you had your chance. and this is nothing. nothing. call off your dogs or i will take the body away where they can’t help you. and you know it’s nothing, so far. you’ve corrupted me, i’m being too damn nice to you. you do not want to make me cut outside of home. you will have no fucking way to minimize it then. so you tell him not to bother me or i will make you sorry. and i will make him sorry. your skin isn’t fucking worth it any more.
feeling in need of some femme bottom pride. some way to salvage my self-opinion.
i am hurt aching feeling about love and sex and identity. i am insecure… i have internalized femme-phobia. or bottom-phobia. it’s hard to separate out those in my mind.
i am mildly femme. i think i would say i am low femme. but i am utterly bottom. all yin, receptive, passive, open, yielding. a canvas, an instrument, a quivering heap.
Continue reading ‘the life i’ve left behind me is a cold room’
i give in. i’m converted, you got me. i am utterly a brandi carlile fan.
i mean, wow. (wow, wow.)
it’s weird how there’s only certain headspaces we can be in to let new music in. like there’s a closed-up defensive place we move through the world in, and we have to be open and somehow vulnerable to really hear.
