I think we're starting to fall back into old patterns. I can feel you drifting back into the daily life we had before you left. I can feel myself drifting back into caregiver, peacekeeper mode. I'm not entirely happy with either situation. I don't want our old routines. I don't want our old relationship.
I want passion, I want boundaries, I want commitment, I want respect, I want love. I don't want the kind of love we had before, the kind where I bring you a glass of water and you get me an ice cream on your way home from work and those are little "I love you"s.
I want big love. I want hot, rough, fast, or loving, smoldering, slow sex, all day, every day. I want heat when you hold my hand, I want you to look at me like I'm the person you want most in the world by your side every day.
Instead you look at your phone.
I want, I want, I want. I've always wanted but never taken enough. Never taken enough for myself or spoken up for myself. I just compromise, and by compromise I mean that I say, "whatever you want to do," and "whatever you're hungry for," and "wherever you'd rather go this weekend."
I compromise myself and what I want and that's not okay. I don't want that anymore. I feel like you burned me and out of the ashes is rising someone newer, more confident, more selfish, more demanding. Someone who is going to be an equal rather than a doormat and I don't know if you're going to like the new me or if I'm even going to like the new me.
But I'm tired of giving and giving. Maybe you'll look back at this, even if we're still together ten years from now, and go, "I lost my girlfriend who loved me and gave with all her heart when I did that stupid thing." Because you did. You lost her.
Now you have choices. Me, or someone new, or be alone, or run back to the girl who has proved that she doesn't love you the way you loved her and she never will.
I can't tell you what to choose, I don't even know what I will choose.
But I do know we can never go back to who we were.
Showing posts with label behavior. Show all posts
Showing posts with label behavior. Show all posts
Sep 7, 2016
Aug 28, 2016
Birthdays
I had so much fun part of today. The part where I was swimming with my friends and taking photos and playing games. The part that felt carefree and relaxed.
And still you turned away from me. I didn't wake up with you and you rolled away when I tried to snuggle. Instead, I was awake at 6am on my birthday, alone and drunk in the dark in the pool. I watched the sunrise and thought it would help me feel hopeful about the year to come. A new day, a fresh start, a new beginning.
Instead, my new beginning felt lonely, disjointed, cold, shaky, and disappointing.
And now I'm ending the day the same way. We fought, I cried. I'm sitting here and you're sitting over there and you don't want to touch me or be near me and I get worse. Everything gets worse.
The loneliness increases. The feeling that I'm going through this and there is no hope it's going to get better hits and I just sob and sob and sob.
This is what my birthday is this year.
I hate it.
I want to feel better. I want you to love me and hold me and never stop.
I want a lot of things. I don't think I'm going to get them.
Mar 13, 2013
Grief/Silence
When I need it most, my brain goes quiet. In the ugly radio
silence and white noise, the ruined meat shudders and whimpers over all the
collective thoughts I should have, should have had while I had the chance. As
if I were suddenly rebooted into some safe mode without networking or the
capacity to connect to my drives, I curl up, cut off from all possible methods
of recovery.
Of course, I’m still talking and functioning. I still laugh
and think about other things, still call my boifriend and have full
conversations. But once I hit this trigger I shut down. I become useless. I
refuse to call my best friend back and talk about the memorial arrangements.
And then this sick, awful part of me wonders why this hit me
so much harder than my grandfather’s. Why is it my family's deaths are so
normal for me but my friends' tear me up inside? Is it all the broken promises?
Is it all the unfinished business? Is it that I know my family knows I love
them unconditionally but maybe my friends felt less than cherished, less than
cared for?
Because I don’t think he knew how much he meant to me. I don’t
think he knew everything he did for me or how he shaped my life or brightened
my day or saved my family. I don’t think he knew that he made such a huge
impact on us, or how much we all loved him. How his laugh could make all the
horrible things of the week run for the shadows, or how his crinkling eyes
always reminded me of the kindness and wisdom I imagined in Dumbledore’s.
When I was a freshman in high school I was teased and told I
didn’t belong in a certain group because I wasn’t smart enough. He was having trouble
with a case and asked us for help finding a defense. I don’t think he really
expected any help, but I piped up with a pretty solid way to get the warrant
thrown out. It was a totally “Legally Blonde” moment, and it boosted my
confidence by a million miles. He always had faith in me, even when I didn’t
have faith in myself.
I’m going to miss that.
Jan 28, 2013
Complexes/Femme Invisibility
Last night I had a dream where I was at some sort of summer camp and all the lesbians I've ever known were outside playing/having sex/joking around/whatever in the water trough/pool area outside. I felt hurt, embarrassed, left out. My friend Lauren was with them even though she's always been straight and since we were the closest, I joked with her first, calling across the courtyard.
"Lauren, what the hell?" I tried to laugh. "Did you think I wasn't cool enough to invite or something?"
She looked at the girl next to her and then smiled at me, "We thought you were busy otherwise we totally would have invited you." She swam to the edge of the pool near me and I knelt down in front of her. I could feel them, all of them, staring at us while their hands skimmed along skin under the water.
"I can handle it," I assured Lauren, and then out of desperation and anxiety and fear I grabbed her and kissed her quickly. I felt nauseated. I wasn't attracted to her and everyone knew it. She was my friend, my good friend, and instead of making myself fit in I was just floundering further, drowning in the sea of manipulative games and subcultures and titles. Lauren looked at me - angrily, harshly, and I tried to backtrack. "Look, this doesn't mean you're gay or that I like you, I just-" I tried to explain that I wanted to prove myself but she cut my off.
"I don't know what you take me for," I'd never heard her so cold and harsh, "but I'm not gay. And if I were, I'd definitely go for the pretty femmes." I recoiled. Which you're not was implied in her sentence. I'd never been attached to the title of femme, but the way she tore it from me left me reeling - empty handed and wanting to cry.
I feel this a lot. I feel this all the time. Constantly defending and proving and feeling like my sexuality is not broadcast clearly enough. Constantly feeling as though "lesbian" is an exclusive club to which I am not invited or wanted. Constantly aggravated because I'm subjected to male gaze and overtures while easily passed over by lesbians and dismissed as less than or an outsider.
Maybe I'm not femme, but Femme Invisibilty seems to apply to me so easily.
I understand that it is my own shortcomings and brainwashings and past manipulations that have given me this not enough complex, but just because I know that doesn't make it go away. It's a trend in all my writings - not enough - and I'm trying so hard to tamp that down but then it rears up in dreams like this and I know it's still plaguing me.
"Lauren, what the hell?" I tried to laugh. "Did you think I wasn't cool enough to invite or something?"
She looked at the girl next to her and then smiled at me, "We thought you were busy otherwise we totally would have invited you." She swam to the edge of the pool near me and I knelt down in front of her. I could feel them, all of them, staring at us while their hands skimmed along skin under the water.
"I can handle it," I assured Lauren, and then out of desperation and anxiety and fear I grabbed her and kissed her quickly. I felt nauseated. I wasn't attracted to her and everyone knew it. She was my friend, my good friend, and instead of making myself fit in I was just floundering further, drowning in the sea of manipulative games and subcultures and titles. Lauren looked at me - angrily, harshly, and I tried to backtrack. "Look, this doesn't mean you're gay or that I like you, I just-" I tried to explain that I wanted to prove myself but she cut my off.
"I don't know what you take me for," I'd never heard her so cold and harsh, "but I'm not gay. And if I were, I'd definitely go for the pretty femmes." I recoiled. Which you're not was implied in her sentence. I'd never been attached to the title of femme, but the way she tore it from me left me reeling - empty handed and wanting to cry.
I feel this a lot. I feel this all the time. Constantly defending and proving and feeling like my sexuality is not broadcast clearly enough. Constantly feeling as though "lesbian" is an exclusive club to which I am not invited or wanted. Constantly aggravated because I'm subjected to male gaze and overtures while easily passed over by lesbians and dismissed as less than or an outsider.
Maybe I'm not femme, but Femme Invisibilty seems to apply to me so easily.
I understand that it is my own shortcomings and brainwashings and past manipulations that have given me this not enough complex, but just because I know that doesn't make it go away. It's a trend in all my writings - not enough - and I'm trying so hard to tamp that down but then it rears up in dreams like this and I know it's still plaguing me.
Jan 19, 2013
Special Days
Today was one of those special days.
The ones without any snot or tears, where your kid runs bang on into a wall and instead of melting down like she usually does, she shrugs and sits until she stops feeling queasy and then joins in again.
The ones where moms come up to me at the park and say things like:
"That's the first time I've heard a parent say 'Watch out for the person behind you,' all day. Thank you."
"Why you got like four kids on you? Either the redheads or the Mexicans aren't yours."
"Do you have Mary Poppins pockets in your dress? Where are all those water bottles coming from?"
It's the kind of day where I notice how far Mexican culture has come, because there were four little boys in colored skinny pants and converse and that never would have flown fifteen years ago. When I smile because Abuelo still uses a bandana instead of a bandaid, and little Crystal realizes I can understand her 3 year old Spanish as she begs me to push her on the swing.
It's the kind of day when "Mom," slips out more than my name and I remember that the kids fall into this charade as much as I do. When we laugh and make brownies and lick the bowl and learn to crack eggs on our foreheads. It's when a king size bed seems too big for four people because we're all piled on top of each other.
It's when she's in the bath and I come in to check on her. "Are Mom and Dad home?" she asks.
"Yes," I smile.
"Oh," her brows are furrowed and she's thinking. She doesn't seem excited or ask if she can rush to greet them. "Will you wash my hair?" she asks instead.
"Sure," I murmur and she leans forward for me and we don't discuss it further. She knows I'll stay until she's tucked in bed.
Perhaps we've all grown too dependent. Perhaps my life is too entwined with theirs. Perhaps when they hold me and refuse to let go, or read the bedtime books with my voice bound in each page when I can't be there, it is a sign we should all pull back.
But I've taught them how to ride a bike, how to make a sandwich, how to properly eat whipped cream from the can, how to do a handstand and make it across the monkeybars. The time for pulling back passed eons ago.
The ones without any snot or tears, where your kid runs bang on into a wall and instead of melting down like she usually does, she shrugs and sits until she stops feeling queasy and then joins in again.
The ones where moms come up to me at the park and say things like:
"That's the first time I've heard a parent say 'Watch out for the person behind you,' all day. Thank you."
"Why you got like four kids on you? Either the redheads or the Mexicans aren't yours."
"Do you have Mary Poppins pockets in your dress? Where are all those water bottles coming from?"
It's the kind of day where I notice how far Mexican culture has come, because there were four little boys in colored skinny pants and converse and that never would have flown fifteen years ago. When I smile because Abuelo still uses a bandana instead of a bandaid, and little Crystal realizes I can understand her 3 year old Spanish as she begs me to push her on the swing.
It's the kind of day when "Mom," slips out more than my name and I remember that the kids fall into this charade as much as I do. When we laugh and make brownies and lick the bowl and learn to crack eggs on our foreheads. It's when a king size bed seems too big for four people because we're all piled on top of each other.
It's when she's in the bath and I come in to check on her. "Are Mom and Dad home?" she asks.
"Yes," I smile.
"Oh," her brows are furrowed and she's thinking. She doesn't seem excited or ask if she can rush to greet them. "Will you wash my hair?" she asks instead.
"Sure," I murmur and she leans forward for me and we don't discuss it further. She knows I'll stay until she's tucked in bed.
Perhaps we've all grown too dependent. Perhaps my life is too entwined with theirs. Perhaps when they hold me and refuse to let go, or read the bedtime books with my voice bound in each page when I can't be there, it is a sign we should all pull back.
But I've taught them how to ride a bike, how to make a sandwich, how to properly eat whipped cream from the can, how to do a handstand and make it across the monkeybars. The time for pulling back passed eons ago.
Jan 10, 2013
Safe Space
I use theater terms a lot - terms which have come to apply to all aspects of my life. "Safe space" is a favorite. A physical, mental, and emotional space free of judgement, filled with support and understanding and trust, where honestly is valued about all else. I think of this very much as my safe space.
Sacred space - a place to connect, to breathe, to become a part of something or someone bigger and you leave your personal crap at the door. You come in as a blank slate, ready to learn, to be open, to explore.
I have a sacred space that I enjoy visiting, a short hop, skip and jump from my front door where the sounds of running water and birds whistling take away everything I was ever worried about. It's here that I can curl my fists in the sand or dip my toes in the water and feel as if the earth is surging inside of me. It is here where I become grounded.
I haven't visited in over a month, since my two jobs became exhausting and I wasn't sleeping at all, so I was shocked to come upon my sacred space and find it violated.
Because I place such importance in this place, the attack felt awkwardly personal. Horrifyingly meant for me. On top of that, the ducks who usually swim to me and beg for bread at my fingertips swam upstream immediately at the tall, dark figure I presented on the bank. They were terrified of me.
I was upset. I was angry. I seriously wanted to yell at someone or stand as a watchdog with pepper spray and a slingshot. I understand that kids tag urban areas and I've seen some really cool, beautiful street art, but this is in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nature. This was an ugly word for an ugly reason and I hated it with every fiber of my being.
But I'll go back. I'll get used to it. I'll take it back for myself and find a way to make it part of my place. If there's ever a kid with a can of spray paint down there, however, I may just slap him/her.
Sacred space - a place to connect, to breathe, to become a part of something or someone bigger and you leave your personal crap at the door. You come in as a blank slate, ready to learn, to be open, to explore.
I haven't visited in over a month, since my two jobs became exhausting and I wasn't sleeping at all, so I was shocked to come upon my sacred space and find it violated.
I was upset. I was angry. I seriously wanted to yell at someone or stand as a watchdog with pepper spray and a slingshot. I understand that kids tag urban areas and I've seen some really cool, beautiful street art, but this is in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nature. This was an ugly word for an ugly reason and I hated it with every fiber of my being.
But I'll go back. I'll get used to it. I'll take it back for myself and find a way to make it part of my place. If there's ever a kid with a can of spray paint down there, however, I may just slap him/her.
Jan 7, 2013
Dreams
Many people don't put any stock in dreams. There are a few who take their dreams literally, as premonitions or an opening to some understanding that their consciousness could not receive during wakeful hours. I fall somewhere in the middle - receptive to the ideas and themes inside my dreams but aware that some may just be folly.
The wonky meds have been influencing my dreams a lot. I had one the other day where I was married to a man, screaming and crying and shouting my protestations that I was a lesbian, but he was adamant that by tying me down and dying my hair I would become straight and docile. Then another, in the shower, a pretty girl softly and gently washing my hair under the spray of the shower as she nipped at my neck and her skin slid wetly across mine. Then another, this morning, curled up with my head against a thickly beating heart as my hair was brushed away from my face, and the steady fingers continued down my back before starting again at my temple.
Do you see the pattern? So I looked it up and this is what I got:
"If feelings of satisfaction or contentment accompany the dream, this likely indicates welcome, positive change. Since hair is inextricably linked with image, a positive feelings also indicate an image upgrade. If the dream feels disturbing, it symbolizes damage to self-image. Negative salon [cutting or dying] dreams can be interpreted as symbols of unwanted or undesired change or they may be intuitive urgings that a contemplated change will be disastrous.
Hair is not only an image symbol, it is also a sex symbol. Women especially use hair to increase their sexual attractiveness. Some women also play with their hair when trying to attract attention of the opposite [or same] sex. For a woman, dreams about playing with her hair can indicate a playful attitude toward sexuality or a desire for attention. Dreams of long, healthy dream hair are representative of confidence, power, contentment, and spiritual, mental, and physical well-being."
Shocker? No, I feel like my dreams were pretty forthcoming. I do find it interesting that there are enough people who have these dreams that certain things become symbolic and our psyches can use them at will. For me, hair is also comforting, a soothing gesture at the end of a long day, something to ease my pain when I'm ill, a way for people to get close without me feeling self-conscious.
Perhaps I miss that comfort because I'm sick, or perhaps it's a whole bunch of other things :) but for the most part they've been very good dreams.
The wonky meds have been influencing my dreams a lot. I had one the other day where I was married to a man, screaming and crying and shouting my protestations that I was a lesbian, but he was adamant that by tying me down and dying my hair I would become straight and docile. Then another, in the shower, a pretty girl softly and gently washing my hair under the spray of the shower as she nipped at my neck and her skin slid wetly across mine. Then another, this morning, curled up with my head against a thickly beating heart as my hair was brushed away from my face, and the steady fingers continued down my back before starting again at my temple.
Do you see the pattern? So I looked it up and this is what I got:
"If feelings of satisfaction or contentment accompany the dream, this likely indicates welcome, positive change. Since hair is inextricably linked with image, a positive feelings also indicate an image upgrade. If the dream feels disturbing, it symbolizes damage to self-image. Negative salon [cutting or dying] dreams can be interpreted as symbols of unwanted or undesired change or they may be intuitive urgings that a contemplated change will be disastrous.
Hair is not only an image symbol, it is also a sex symbol. Women especially use hair to increase their sexual attractiveness. Some women also play with their hair when trying to attract attention of the opposite [or same] sex. For a woman, dreams about playing with her hair can indicate a playful attitude toward sexuality or a desire for attention. Dreams of long, healthy dream hair are representative of confidence, power, contentment, and spiritual, mental, and physical well-being."
Shocker? No, I feel like my dreams were pretty forthcoming. I do find it interesting that there are enough people who have these dreams that certain things become symbolic and our psyches can use them at will. For me, hair is also comforting, a soothing gesture at the end of a long day, something to ease my pain when I'm ill, a way for people to get close without me feeling self-conscious.
Perhaps I miss that comfort because I'm sick, or perhaps it's a whole bunch of other things :) but for the most part they've been very good dreams.
Dec 29, 2012
Sugarbutch/Poly
I just want to take a minute and talk about Sugarbutch. Sinclair has been cultivating fantastic interviews about poly life and I am thoroughly enjoying all of them. Poly freaks me out. I've talked about this before. There's so much in me that would be interested in poly with the right people, but also I'm so afraid of not being enough (reoccurring theme much?)/losing love/getting walked out on/ I have severe insecurity issues because my girlfriends keep going straight.
Of all the interviews, this is the one I love most so far. Because this reassures me. This makes me feel like as a normal person with all my issues, I could overcome it to have a healthy, happy, lifelong relationship with more than one person. Not that I'm going to, because that's not something I really crave, so it would have to be both of us seeking out that situation. But still, the reassurance is nice, and the interviews are beautiful and full of good advice. Check them out.
Of all the interviews, this is the one I love most so far. Because this reassures me. This makes me feel like as a normal person with all my issues, I could overcome it to have a healthy, happy, lifelong relationship with more than one person. Not that I'm going to, because that's not something I really crave, so it would have to be both of us seeking out that situation. But still, the reassurance is nice, and the interviews are beautiful and full of good advice. Check them out.
Dec 27, 2012
Orgasms/Twitter
For an account which started out so anonymously, you all know much about me. We've talked about this before, and recently. I spoke how I wanted to take some of that "anonymous" feeling back - feeling more bold, daring, fun.
I must admit, Twitter got the better of me tonight - has gotten the better of me over the last week or so - has had me posting like all those years ago when I was truly anonymous. And here we're going to get back to what I was posting about so long ago: Sex/Orgasms. Since I've come back to this blog, a few months ago, I've avoided the overtly sexual topics which I used to thrive on in the past.
For whatever reason, this week was bad. I mean constantly aching, edge of your seat, hair's breadth away from climaxing, bad. All week. I couldn't make it go away. I'd have an orgasm and the feeling would come back five minutes later. It was heaven the first day, hell the rest. It was distracting, it drove me crazy. My dreams were erotic, my every thought somehow twisted and turned because my body was so close. A hand on my hip could make me whimper, a look could make me tremble.
This week's stories on Rainbow Sprinkles were all driven by this week's dreams -by my constant state of whatever-it-was and you can tell. Well, not with Maroon just yet, but you wait and see ;) Finally, by some Christmas miracle, I was able to have a shaking, wrenching orgasm in the early morning hours and it eased. It was just my normal always-ready-for-sex and not the extremely-sensitive-going-crazy sensations. The peace lasted a few hours, and then I was back to watching porn Christmas afternoon and talking about my bedroom preferences on Twitter.
My sex drive has been higher than normal the past few days and Twitter took full advantage of that tonight. What started off as playful banter eased into sexual banter, actual productive sexual conversation (which I love!), flirting, and outrageous behavior on my part.
Am I embarrassed with my behavior? A little. I have to remind myself that twitter is not private and these people who feel like friends are actually virtual strangers (the term "catfished" comes to mind) but I also enjoy giving people the benefit of the doubt and they all seem very lesbian to me. Am I turned on? Yes. Because, let's be honest, I don't have a girlfriend right now, and talking about sex is beautiful and glorious and something I desperately need.
I'm not ashamed to talk about what I like or what I need. I'm not ashamed to talk about how I like to be touched or what turns me on. And hopefully you can find comfort, confidence, glory enough in your sexual self that you aren't ashamed either.
I must admit, Twitter got the better of me tonight - has gotten the better of me over the last week or so - has had me posting like all those years ago when I was truly anonymous. And here we're going to get back to what I was posting about so long ago: Sex/Orgasms. Since I've come back to this blog, a few months ago, I've avoided the overtly sexual topics which I used to thrive on in the past.
For whatever reason, this week was bad. I mean constantly aching, edge of your seat, hair's breadth away from climaxing, bad. All week. I couldn't make it go away. I'd have an orgasm and the feeling would come back five minutes later. It was heaven the first day, hell the rest. It was distracting, it drove me crazy. My dreams were erotic, my every thought somehow twisted and turned because my body was so close. A hand on my hip could make me whimper, a look could make me tremble.
This week's stories on Rainbow Sprinkles were all driven by this week's dreams -by my constant state of whatever-it-was and you can tell. Well, not with Maroon just yet, but you wait and see ;) Finally, by some Christmas miracle, I was able to have a shaking, wrenching orgasm in the early morning hours and it eased. It was just my normal always-ready-for-sex and not the extremely-sensitive-going-crazy sensations. The peace lasted a few hours, and then I was back to watching porn Christmas afternoon and talking about my bedroom preferences on Twitter.
My sex drive has been higher than normal the past few days and Twitter took full advantage of that tonight. What started off as playful banter eased into sexual banter, actual productive sexual conversation (which I love!), flirting, and outrageous behavior on my part.
Am I embarrassed with my behavior? A little. I have to remind myself that twitter is not private and these people who feel like friends are actually virtual strangers (the term "catfished" comes to mind) but I also enjoy giving people the benefit of the doubt and they all seem very lesbian to me. Am I turned on? Yes. Because, let's be honest, I don't have a girlfriend right now, and talking about sex is beautiful and glorious and something I desperately need.
I'm not ashamed to talk about what I like or what I need. I'm not ashamed to talk about how I like to be touched or what turns me on. And hopefully you can find comfort, confidence, glory enough in your sexual self that you aren't ashamed either.
Dec 24, 2012
Two Sided Coins
The phrase "both sides of the coin" seems to come up a lot with me. It came up in Updates/Desires, in my first Lesbian/Bisexual post years ago, in my very first post here.
I am two sides to the story, I am two points of view - so much so, that sometimes it feels like I'm two people. I'm butch and femme, gentle and fierce, hardworking and lazy, kind and mean, ugly and beautiful, educated and gullible, elegant and clumsy. I am pro-troops and anti-war, pro-charity and yet I don't give, pro-women's rights yet still uncomfortable with high abortion rates, a lover of art with no talent or background, a musician too scared to play, a writer - published - who now can't undertake anything more than a blog.
I am an amalgamation of people. So many paradoxical ideas - all living and breathing and trying to coexist inside one body. Over the course of this blog, some of you who have been with me since the beginning have seen me search for who I am and what my box is. I don't fit in a box.
But maybe I went searching for my box the wrong way. I went searching for everything I wanted to be, so confused, so naive and drowning in a world of terms and relationships that I didn't understand. Not once did I ask myself what I wanted. Not once did I ask myself what I needed. So caught up in figuring out what was wrong with me, I just assumed that anyone I fell in love with would be perfect, would be right.
And to some extent, every girl is perfect. Every girl fits some piece of me, some part that longs to blossom into life and is nurtured along by her and I can be happy with her. But not every girl can understand that I see through a fractured crystal of a lens, and all the fragments blink back eighteen different images rather than the solitary one an average person sees.
Maybe if I'd asked myself what I need in a relationship, the compassion, the giving heart, the fiery spirit, the conviction, and maybe the ability to see or understand how I see the world, I would have found myself sooner. Would have realized that instead of trying to fit into the butch/femme dynamic, I live both inside and above it - like an umbrella, understanding what lies beneath but ultimately too much and too widely spread to say I belong.
Both sides of a coin.
Here's your Christmas Present: The erotic tales of Caci and Natalie beginning and conclusion on Rainbow Sprinkles ;) You're Welcome!
This just seems to fit all the themes going on my head this week, and when I wrote this post it ended up getting stuck in my head.
I am two sides to the story, I am two points of view - so much so, that sometimes it feels like I'm two people. I'm butch and femme, gentle and fierce, hardworking and lazy, kind and mean, ugly and beautiful, educated and gullible, elegant and clumsy. I am pro-troops and anti-war, pro-charity and yet I don't give, pro-women's rights yet still uncomfortable with high abortion rates, a lover of art with no talent or background, a musician too scared to play, a writer - published - who now can't undertake anything more than a blog.
I am an amalgamation of people. So many paradoxical ideas - all living and breathing and trying to coexist inside one body. Over the course of this blog, some of you who have been with me since the beginning have seen me search for who I am and what my box is. I don't fit in a box.
But maybe I went searching for my box the wrong way. I went searching for everything I wanted to be, so confused, so naive and drowning in a world of terms and relationships that I didn't understand. Not once did I ask myself what I wanted. Not once did I ask myself what I needed. So caught up in figuring out what was wrong with me, I just assumed that anyone I fell in love with would be perfect, would be right.
And to some extent, every girl is perfect. Every girl fits some piece of me, some part that longs to blossom into life and is nurtured along by her and I can be happy with her. But not every girl can understand that I see through a fractured crystal of a lens, and all the fragments blink back eighteen different images rather than the solitary one an average person sees.
Maybe if I'd asked myself what I need in a relationship, the compassion, the giving heart, the fiery spirit, the conviction, and maybe the ability to see or understand how I see the world, I would have found myself sooner. Would have realized that instead of trying to fit into the butch/femme dynamic, I live both inside and above it - like an umbrella, understanding what lies beneath but ultimately too much and too widely spread to say I belong.
Both sides of a coin.
Here's your Christmas Present: The erotic tales of Caci and Natalie beginning and conclusion on Rainbow Sprinkles ;) You're Welcome!
This just seems to fit all the themes going on my head this week, and when I wrote this post it ended up getting stuck in my head.
Dec 11, 2012
Cancelling Christmas
So I did. I cancelled Christmas. All of my brothers and sisters have kids and families of their own to keep them occupied, so they don't really need me around to start the party. All the food and whatever? I don't need it. I am more than content to take a day to stay in my pajamas, watch stop motion Christmas movies, listen to Christmas music, and eat chocolate like no one's business. Maybe I'll even spend some time drawing a Christmas tree on butcher paper and hang it on the door. I'm not promising anything on that one.
I want to curl under a blanket and not move all day. I want to make homemade cider, or if it's warm, I want to lay outside on the sidewalk and soak up the heat. I want to leave my contacts out all day and watch 3D movies with kettle corn. I want to read dirty books in just my penguin Christmas socks. I want to break out my holiday CDs and belt out Christina Aguilera's "My Kind of Christmas" while I make lunch.
This is my kind of Christmas. That's right, be jealous.
Dec 8, 2012
Hanukkah!
I was just talking to a mom about how her kids are never excited about Hanukkah. "It's hard to compete with Christmas," she explained. From a little kid's point of view, I don't understand. Eight Days of Presents! How is this not better than Christmas? Also, all the food! Donuts and puff pastry and oodles and oodles of good food.
I guess it's the reciting of the blessings that they're not all that excited about. They want the big tree with big presents, Christmas music, and classic cool/creepy stop motion movies with no religious attachment. (Not many people really talk about Christianity on Christmas, really.) But it's one day vs. eight. And all that planning and shopping and set up for one day! I'd rather celebrate Hanukkah. Also, I think the ritual of lighting the menorah would be very soothing and bring the family together.
I remember when there were huge storms and my brothers and sisters and I would sit under the candles and oil lamps and play cards, backgammon, and dominoes and our dad would yell "close the damn refrigerator!" when we took more than 15 seconds to get what we wanted. We slept in the living room in sleeping bags because it got too cold on our own. We had to go outside in our bathing suits with trash bag jackets, and use brooms and hockey sticks to clear the flooding water away from our house and into the street. Those times were always a lot of fun. So, I think the menorah tradition would be awesome, but, that's just my opinion.
Anyway, I just wanted to wish you all a Happy Hanukkah! Be safe and joyous and loving and compassionate this holiday season!
Also, bonappetit has a menu for each day of Hanukkah and the first one is up! Looks delicious! Especially the lamb entree and the doughnuts with grapefruit-vanilla jelly!
Dec 6, 2012
Bra Strap Thing
I can always tell when it's December because of the bra strap thing. You know, when your body is changing and your boobs are shrinking and all of the sudden you have to tighten all of your bra straps because they keep falling off your shoulders and it's really annoying? October-January is the time of year when I start losing weight automatically. I don't get much sleep, there's not much time to eat, and I'm running around working overtime at two jobs and stressing out. Packing on the pounds during the holidays has never been an issue for me.
It's also the time of year that people take lots of pictures. I'm going to admit, I take lots of pictures of myself and like having my picture taken. I think I'm pretty. I got complimented a lot as a kid and now I'm vain. Sorry, it's a flaw :)
When I was going through my serious bouts of anorexia, I used to keep picture logs (from what I've learned after-the-fact this seems to be fairly common). Instead of weighing myself obsessively, I would take pictures, measuring how small I could whittle my waistline. I have hundreds of these pictures I can't seem to trash.
However, no matter how much weight I lost, the bra strap thing would happen, but my hips never seemed to shrink in proportion.
This is me at 108 pounds, a size one, still with some serious hips compared to the rest of me. I don't know what it is about my body, but that's just how it works for me. For an anorexic, it was seriously frustrating.
So, despite all the pictures being taken this holiday season, I have to make the conscious decision to not begin this unhealthy behavior again. It's one thing to lose a little weight because there's hardly time to eat and I'm so active, but it's another to actively seek out anorexic behavior. This is the time of year when my battle gets harder. I will fight.
But man, I still miss fitting into size zero jeans.
It's also the time of year that people take lots of pictures. I'm going to admit, I take lots of pictures of myself and like having my picture taken. I think I'm pretty. I got complimented a lot as a kid and now I'm vain. Sorry, it's a flaw :)
When I was going through my serious bouts of anorexia, I used to keep picture logs (from what I've learned after-the-fact this seems to be fairly common). Instead of weighing myself obsessively, I would take pictures, measuring how small I could whittle my waistline. I have hundreds of these pictures I can't seem to trash.
 |
| Size 1/3, unhealthily. Eating less than 300 calories a day. Hips are still huge. |
 |
| Hips down to size small/x-small. Unhealthy. X-small pants are loose, sweater falling off shoulders. Arms too thin. |
This is me at 108 pounds, a size one, still with some serious hips compared to the rest of me. I don't know what it is about my body, but that's just how it works for me. For an anorexic, it was seriously frustrating.
 |
| One year later. Less than 90 lbs. Pile of clothes are because nothing fits. Boobs are nonexistent. Pants are children's size. Sweatshirt is x-small and is far too big. A few months after this, I began eating again. |
But man, I still miss fitting into size zero jeans.
Dec 5, 2012
Learning P2
Things I've learned about myself:
My food allergy has gotten worse, not better. This is highly upsetting because it's a vegetable I love and used to eat all the time. For a while, it just created a rash on the roof of my mouth. Last night my throat started to close and I had a hard time breathing. Took a few Benadryl and it calmed down, though my throat is still really raw. Guess I'll cross that one off the list for a while.
I cannot function more than a few days averaging 3-4 hours sleep per night. I just can't. I become a grumpy girl. I'm trying to fit everything in, and it's just not happening. Yesterday I didn't work my other job, so I took my time off to pre-write some posts and chat with friends on twitter and call people I haven't talked to in forever because I know that won't happen again anytime soon.
Gloves and I do not get along. I talked about this a little on Twitter earlier. My hair is about waist length, so braids and ponys are my good friends. Gloves makes this difficult. Morning vitamins? Better take them before I put my gloves on! Tickling children? Fagettaboutit! Typing on an iphone? I'm pretty sure they make special gloves for that, but I don't live in that cold of an area.
Things I love about winter: fingerless gloves and toeless socks! Wait, I mean toe socks! Yes, that's a reindeer heel grip. Don't judge.
Next chapter, After Effects, of the first:girl saga is up!
My food allergy has gotten worse, not better. This is highly upsetting because it's a vegetable I love and used to eat all the time. For a while, it just created a rash on the roof of my mouth. Last night my throat started to close and I had a hard time breathing. Took a few Benadryl and it calmed down, though my throat is still really raw. Guess I'll cross that one off the list for a while.
I cannot function more than a few days averaging 3-4 hours sleep per night. I just can't. I become a grumpy girl. I'm trying to fit everything in, and it's just not happening. Yesterday I didn't work my other job, so I took my time off to pre-write some posts and chat with friends on twitter and call people I haven't talked to in forever because I know that won't happen again anytime soon.
Gloves and I do not get along. I talked about this a little on Twitter earlier. My hair is about waist length, so braids and ponys are my good friends. Gloves makes this difficult. Morning vitamins? Better take them before I put my gloves on! Tickling children? Fagettaboutit! Typing on an iphone? I'm pretty sure they make special gloves for that, but I don't live in that cold of an area.
Next chapter, After Effects, of the first:girl saga is up!
Learning
What I learn from 13 year olds:
(or rather, what they learn from reading books, we discuss and then I learn about myself)
Be gentle with yourself- Being gentle with yourself means treating yourself with the same kindness, respect, and compassion which you give to others. It means positive reinforcement, rather than negative feedback. By being gentle to yourself, you create a positive environment within yourself, boosting your happiness, self-confidence, and daily mood.
-Don't expect perfection. Give yourself some breathing room. Nobody is perfect and by expecting yourself to be, you are setting yourself up for disappointment which will do nothing but bring you down.
-Keep the promises you make to yourself. Once you start breaking self-made promises, you begin to lose all faith and trust in yourself. Being able to trust yourself is crucial.
-Forgive yourself for your mistakes. This goes along with don't expect perfection. Look, everyone makes mistakes, everyone has a past. It's up to you to forgive yourself for it, to not be ashamed, to embrace all the pieces of you that make you less-than-perfect and say "hey, those pieces made me who I am." I guarantee you are going to find someone else with a mistake in their past, and you will find it so much easier to forgive theirs than your own. Don't punish yourself. Forgive.
I tend to be much more harsh with myself than I am with others. I've never thought of "being gentle" with myself until yesterday, and it was only when I was trying to apply it to someone else that I realized what a beneficial concept it was. I guess that's another not looking out for myself thing. I'll have to work on that.
Be gentle with yourselves!
(or rather, what they learn from reading books, we discuss and then I learn about myself)
-Don't expect perfection. Give yourself some breathing room. Nobody is perfect and by expecting yourself to be, you are setting yourself up for disappointment which will do nothing but bring you down.
-Keep the promises you make to yourself. Once you start breaking self-made promises, you begin to lose all faith and trust in yourself. Being able to trust yourself is crucial.
-Forgive yourself for your mistakes. This goes along with don't expect perfection. Look, everyone makes mistakes, everyone has a past. It's up to you to forgive yourself for it, to not be ashamed, to embrace all the pieces of you that make you less-than-perfect and say "hey, those pieces made me who I am." I guarantee you are going to find someone else with a mistake in their past, and you will find it so much easier to forgive theirs than your own. Don't punish yourself. Forgive.
I tend to be much more harsh with myself than I am with others. I've never thought of "being gentle" with myself until yesterday, and it was only when I was trying to apply it to someone else that I realized what a beneficial concept it was. I guess that's another not looking out for myself thing. I'll have to work on that.
Be gentle with yourselves!
Dec 3, 2012
Emotions
Warning: Emotions and whining ahead-
We're going to pause all the good gay posts that have been going on to talk about my personal life.
Because today was one of those days where I just wanted to cry.
I'm not a big crier. I used to be until I was 6-7, and then again when I was coming out and drunk all the time, losing my friends and family and was just a big, hot mess. (I'm not a crying drunk, either, it was just a situational life thing.) So, when I do feel like crying, once every 6 months - 2 years, it's a big deal, and it usually means my hormones are a mess too.
Today was a 17 hour shift, take out half an hour for lunch. It was the busiest, most trying, most awful day so far. I'm reminded why some movie stars (mainly wannabe movie stars) are such a pain, why family therapists get paid so much (who really wants to be an intermediary between a parent and child???) and why people only work 8 hours a day. Because when you work more than that, you begin to rip your hair out and sneak behind your desk to take deep breaths because you are oh-so-overwhelmed.
So I did, and then I came home and doodled an intricate drawing on a post-it to let my mind blank out because there was still all this stuff going on that I didn't want to think about. And I've got to do it again tomorrow. Difference being tomorrow I'm going to make sure I eat breakfast.
Wish me luck!
We're going to pause all the good gay posts that have been going on to talk about my personal life.
Because today was one of those days where I just wanted to cry.
I'm not a big crier. I used to be until I was 6-7, and then again when I was coming out and drunk all the time, losing my friends and family and was just a big, hot mess. (I'm not a crying drunk, either, it was just a situational life thing.) So, when I do feel like crying, once every 6 months - 2 years, it's a big deal, and it usually means my hormones are a mess too.
Today was a 17 hour shift, take out half an hour for lunch. It was the busiest, most trying, most awful day so far. I'm reminded why some movie stars (mainly wannabe movie stars) are such a pain, why family therapists get paid so much (who really wants to be an intermediary between a parent and child???) and why people only work 8 hours a day. Because when you work more than that, you begin to rip your hair out and sneak behind your desk to take deep breaths because you are oh-so-overwhelmed.
So I did, and then I came home and doodled an intricate drawing on a post-it to let my mind blank out because there was still all this stuff going on that I didn't want to think about. And I've got to do it again tomorrow. Difference being tomorrow I'm going to make sure I eat breakfast.
Wish me luck!
Nov 27, 2012
Underthings
When I first started this blog, it was a little bit racy, a little bit sexy, a little bit about discovering and being discovered. If you've been with me for a while, you'll remember when I used to give myself "body homework" learning to get comfortable with myself and my body (and trying to get over past insecurities). That was put on pause for a long time as I got comfortable with my mental self, with my identity, my sexuality, my gender, my emotions. Everything stabilized, and I'm very grateful for that.
Today I didn't have any underwear. Literally, none. I practically have no clean clothes left. My laundry pile is three feet high and I have no time to do it. I suppose I did this morning, but I quickly hemmed up a sweater dress instead and then realized later that my undergarment drawer was empty. Oops. So I hopped out of the shower and decided "screw it, who needs panties everyday? People do it all the time!"
Note: I cannot text people when I'm in the bath for fear that they will somehow realize that I'm naked while I'm texting them. Okay? You get this? So I left the house and bumped into my neighbor; super nice, 50s, working class. She starts talking to me about this and that and her daughter and all I can think about is how awkward it is that I'm NOT WEARING UNDERWEAR and SOMEHOW SHE MUST KNOW. Except she couldn't, because normal people don't have x-ray vision, but still. It was so awkward and I couldn't follow the conversation at all.
Then, I was at work with this pretty girl named Cindy; she's around my age, really nice and her fiance is pretty awesome. She leaned in to brush a stray eyelash from under my eye behind my glasses, and she was so slow and gentle. I closed my eyes so she didn't poke me in the eyeball, and there it was, that strange, nagging feeling and an oncoming blush because all I could think about was that I wasn't wearing any underthings.
Maybe I could get used to it, in time. Maybe people do it all the time because they like this constant reminder, this heightened feeling. Maybe they like the idea that people might find out. I don't know. The heightened feeling wasn't all bad. It's just...it was the everyday situations with everyday people that made it so awkward. If I were on a date it might've been different, but I was at work.
If I were to try it again, It probably wouldn't be with a sweater dress, and it definitely won't be tomorrow. Here's to clean laundry!
Note: Still updating the first:girl series over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com Check it out to see how I fell in love for the first time and stumbled out of the closet.
Today I didn't have any underwear. Literally, none. I practically have no clean clothes left. My laundry pile is three feet high and I have no time to do it. I suppose I did this morning, but I quickly hemmed up a sweater dress instead and then realized later that my undergarment drawer was empty. Oops. So I hopped out of the shower and decided "screw it, who needs panties everyday? People do it all the time!"
Note: I cannot text people when I'm in the bath for fear that they will somehow realize that I'm naked while I'm texting them. Okay? You get this? So I left the house and bumped into my neighbor; super nice, 50s, working class. She starts talking to me about this and that and her daughter and all I can think about is how awkward it is that I'm NOT WEARING UNDERWEAR and SOMEHOW SHE MUST KNOW. Except she couldn't, because normal people don't have x-ray vision, but still. It was so awkward and I couldn't follow the conversation at all.
Then, I was at work with this pretty girl named Cindy; she's around my age, really nice and her fiance is pretty awesome. She leaned in to brush a stray eyelash from under my eye behind my glasses, and she was so slow and gentle. I closed my eyes so she didn't poke me in the eyeball, and there it was, that strange, nagging feeling and an oncoming blush because all I could think about was that I wasn't wearing any underthings.
Maybe I could get used to it, in time. Maybe people do it all the time because they like this constant reminder, this heightened feeling. Maybe they like the idea that people might find out. I don't know. The heightened feeling wasn't all bad. It's just...it was the everyday situations with everyday people that made it so awkward. If I were on a date it might've been different, but I was at work.
If I were to try it again, It probably wouldn't be with a sweater dress, and it definitely won't be tomorrow. Here's to clean laundry!
Note: Still updating the first:girl series over at tabbyqt.wordpress.com Check it out to see how I fell in love for the first time and stumbled out of the closet.
Nov 24, 2012
Carding
I get carded when I want to buy lottery tickets, I've been pulled off casino floors and gotten my hand stamped to enter (did you even know they did that at casinos because they do), I've had to pull out credit cards to prove my ID isn't fake. I'd like to say it's flattering. What girl in her mid-twenties wants people to think she's forty? But seriously, yo, stop thinking I'm under 18. It's not cool.
I've learned certain things over the years: when I wear my hair in a braid, it takes off 2 years, add glasses and it knocks off another 2 or 3, pair it with skinny jeans and some converse and I'm a high school kid. But even busting out the boobs and throwing on high heels doesn't seem to help with the carding dilemma. What else can I do? Paint my face in clown makeup?
Tonight was fun, nonetheless. I had a good time catching up with people I've missed. It's always a little awkward around high school friends because they knew me as a completely different person. They knew "pre-gay, baby wanting, Mormon marrying, Tabby" and don't know what to do with the "out, single, comfortable, happy with her life and her sexuality so I don't-need-to-discuss-it-every-second Tabby."Whenever my sexuality comes up in conversation, people think it's okay to ask for details about my sex life. "Do you do this? Is scissoring a real thing? I've always wanted to have sex with another girl but I don't want to taste it." I don't find out somebody's straight and say "Hey, do you like the taste of his sperm and let him do crazy shit like sign you up for gangbangs?" No, I don't, because I have manners. I'm going off on a tangent. I promise I'll do a whole other post on that topic. For now I'm just trying to deal with the carding sitch.
Also, I've been updating the first:girl series, so if you haven't signed up, email me or leave me a comment with your email and I'll send you the password.
Nov 21, 2012
Day 30 Mirrors
30 Day Letter Challenge
Day 30 — Your reflection in the mirror
Not a happy one. Sorry.
Babe,
What the hell are you doing? You're spilling out you're whole life into a computer screen and hoping to find what from it? Redemption? Realization? Friends? Love? Community? You have two jobs. You spend all your time taking care of other people, making sure others are safe, comforted, pushed to succeed. What the hell are you doing about yourself?
When was the last time you went on a date? When was the last time you stopped dreaming about great girls and went out to find one you connect with? You're lonely, idiot. You're throwing words into a fiber optic stream to connect with people you share some common ground with, but it doesn't make up for the fact that you're best friend moved away and the redhead is no longer in the picture.
How often do you look at me and tell me that we're not going to do this anymore? That we're going to live the life we want? That we're going to move away and spend our nights in bars with live bands and learn new music and new instruments and go to art galleries and lounge in the grass and fallen leaves listening to the rain with a cup of hot chocolate and maybe perform again? That we're going to work one job with actual hours where you punch a time clock and know your schedule weeks in advance? How often have we said we're going to get the hell out of California?
And we're talking about this again, now, knowing that it's not going to happen soon. This pep talk is doing nothing. Tomorrow you'll see the family and take care of everyone and everything and hear your sister talk about her due date and of course you'll need to be there to help with the other kids and there are so many things which need your attention so you'll stay here, trapped, for who knows how long.
You rescue everyone but yourself. I know you won't do it, but I wish you would.
-30 Day Challenge Complete-
Day 30 — Your reflection in the mirror
Not a happy one. Sorry.
Babe,
What the hell are you doing? You're spilling out you're whole life into a computer screen and hoping to find what from it? Redemption? Realization? Friends? Love? Community? You have two jobs. You spend all your time taking care of other people, making sure others are safe, comforted, pushed to succeed. What the hell are you doing about yourself?
When was the last time you went on a date? When was the last time you stopped dreaming about great girls and went out to find one you connect with? You're lonely, idiot. You're throwing words into a fiber optic stream to connect with people you share some common ground with, but it doesn't make up for the fact that you're best friend moved away and the redhead is no longer in the picture.
How often do you look at me and tell me that we're not going to do this anymore? That we're going to live the life we want? That we're going to move away and spend our nights in bars with live bands and learn new music and new instruments and go to art galleries and lounge in the grass and fallen leaves listening to the rain with a cup of hot chocolate and maybe perform again? That we're going to work one job with actual hours where you punch a time clock and know your schedule weeks in advance? How often have we said we're going to get the hell out of California?
And we're talking about this again, now, knowing that it's not going to happen soon. This pep talk is doing nothing. Tomorrow you'll see the family and take care of everyone and everything and hear your sister talk about her due date and of course you'll need to be there to help with the other kids and there are so many things which need your attention so you'll stay here, trapped, for who knows how long.
You rescue everyone but yourself. I know you won't do it, but I wish you would.
-30 Day Challenge Complete-
Nov 20, 2012
Day 29 Love/Fear
30 Day Letter Challenge
Day 29 — The person that you want tell everything to, but are too afraid to
First post from the new computer! Can I get a cheer?
Love and fear coincide more often than you might think. I'm afraid to disappoint my friends, my colleagues, my boss, my family, my girlfriends. I like when people like me, so much that you might call it a fatal flaw. So, when people set me on a pedestal, I try very hard to stay up there instead of letting myself tumble down.
I have so many sides to my personality, like everyone does, but most only see two or three. I suppose that by reading my blog you see more of me. You see when I get pissed and want to fight, the moments where I break down and want to cry, my huge ego and my complete insecurities, my gangster moments, and my need to fix the world. You see how I want to believe there is good in everyone, how little I guard myself against people, and yet how I constantly guard myself by not letting anyone in.
I suppose I tell everything to you, like I would a diary, considering you're almost as quiet. I don't mind the lurking readers - I know what it's like to read and connect and feel like you're not alone and someone else is going through all this crap. It's why I started a blog in the first place. It's just interesting that you all across the interwebs, who have never met me, probably know me better than my best friends. In a way, that's horribly sad, but in another way, I guess it's to be expected.
Day 29 — The person that you want tell everything to, but are too afraid to
First post from the new computer! Can I get a cheer?
Love and fear coincide more often than you might think. I'm afraid to disappoint my friends, my colleagues, my boss, my family, my girlfriends. I like when people like me, so much that you might call it a fatal flaw. So, when people set me on a pedestal, I try very hard to stay up there instead of letting myself tumble down.
I have so many sides to my personality, like everyone does, but most only see two or three. I suppose that by reading my blog you see more of me. You see when I get pissed and want to fight, the moments where I break down and want to cry, my huge ego and my complete insecurities, my gangster moments, and my need to fix the world. You see how I want to believe there is good in everyone, how little I guard myself against people, and yet how I constantly guard myself by not letting anyone in.
I suppose I tell everything to you, like I would a diary, considering you're almost as quiet. I don't mind the lurking readers - I know what it's like to read and connect and feel like you're not alone and someone else is going through all this crap. It's why I started a blog in the first place. It's just interesting that you all across the interwebs, who have never met me, probably know me better than my best friends. In a way, that's horribly sad, but in another way, I guess it's to be expected.
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