hi everyone. it’s been…a month. i’ve written lots and lots of stuff, been to new york and back, been to washington dc and back, and am off to montreal in a hot minute…but i haven’t been here.
well i’ve been here in my head, thinking about things i want to write and tell you, thinking about things i could say about my life, or the weather, or i could write more about my feelings about apples, or i could write about how it’s almost pomegranate season. or i could write about how i was struggling with hard emotions last week, and every week. and so i don’t write at all. i’d rather cuddle with you. or sit on the couch side by side as we surf the web randomly and point out funny pictures or read snippets of interesting articles to each other, being irritated a little because it’s distracting but liking the camraderie of the moment. i’d rather take a walk in the mist with you and talk about your life and my life and the intersection of race and poverty and gender and sexuality. i’d rather watch a movie with you in a dark theatre with a big bucket of popcorn with real butter. i’d rather cook you dinner.
given that i’ve never met most of you, and the ones i’ve met mostly don’t live nearby, these things won’t happen tonight. so i’m writing something down to say hello and remind myself that i exist in this space, that this space exists for me. i told M today that i would consider moving to nowheresville [she is sending off job applications, and i dread the interview request issuing from the middle of nowhere the country] if she sets me up in a lovely house with a studio so i can be a writer.
i surprise myself with my audacity. i’m not a writer, i’m a 32 yr old with a lot of angst and delusions of grandeur. but i’d like to be a writer, in an airy studio with floor to ceiling windows covered in white gauze curtains, overlooking rolling greenness with a misty pond in the distance. maybe a neighbor will have a picturesque horse who hangs her head over a fence and takes apples from me when i’m out for my afternoon yoga walk. i suppose i could let my hair grow, and be a hippie femme with flowing garments and a pagan stone circle out in those fields…or i could keep my shorter hair and my urbanness, always on the edge of out of place…
but my life always intrudes, there’s always something pressing to do. organizing that has to happen. work to be done. a paycheck to be gotten. groceries to buy, relationship to process and clarify and sustain, friendships that need love, cats that need feeding. writing isn’t prioritized — it rips itself out of me when i’m distressed, as a tool of clarification. rarely do i give it my full attention. it is there for me when i need it, but not when i want it. i sit sometimes in the time allotted to ‘write’ and look over my blank page at whatever pretty view i’ve arranged for myself, lost in the moment and disconnected from the words in my head.
sometimes the world intrudes too. i wrote a post but i put it on facebook, because i thought it would reach more people that way. i posted it to my friends and networks, instead of just my usual circumscribed list of people who i actually like. i wrote about how too many young people are dying, and it’s our fault. that we are responsible for their deaths and should be actively working to prevent them. it was meant as a guilt trip, but the only feedback i got was people who do so much already thanking me for posting it. with the lone exception of my little sister, who is the best and strongest straight ally i know, who said she would try to do better. i want her to do that. but what i really want is the straight and clueless assholes who share this world with me to get going and make it safer for me. because if it’s safer for me it will be safer for the beautiful young people who would rather die than face this homophobic horror movie. and i miss each and every one of them. it is breaking my heart.
coming out day is coming up. i’ll try to write my usual plug for coming out. in solidarity with queer youth in general, check out the blog at http://www.kickedoutanthology.com/ and consider sending in a message of solidarity. i’m working on mine now. and write to me. hold me accountable for writing to you. i miss you.