Often, I have tried to figure out the moment I decided I was gay, or I first knew I had a girl crush, or I knew I was attracted to girls, at least sexually because I fantasized about them while I made out with my boyfriends - going back in time to try to understand why I never knew I was gay.
And then I met someone. I stopped asking. It didn't matter anymore why I hadn't known at 13 or 15 or 17, because I met my love and that was all that mattered. Her friends accepted me in a way that I had never known before, because all they saw was my out and comfortable side. Over the past months I've settled into a beautiful serenity with myself that I've never felt before.
And then last night I had this dream. It came out of nowhere, my last thoughts of the night solely focused on British TV show Doctor Who, and somehow answered all the thoughts I'd left alone all those months ago:
We arrived in New Zealand, my lovely boi and I, and were driving to a little vacation spot, eager to see the exotic animals and the rainforest. The water was pouring down and the road was narrow, slicing a thin path between two vast bodies of water, but we were so happy just to be together.
We arrived at the camp to see a few others, a man and his girlfriend or wife, and another girl with them, mingling in the main kitchen. They greeted us and helped us with our bags. Before I knew it I had been dragged off by the separate girl, who was offering dry clothes and towels. She brought me into a bedroom where I gratefully took a towel from her to help with my hair.
And then she started pushing, asking about having sex with men and why shouldn't I just try it? She kept talking about how much she enjoyed it, how much she enjoyed the taste of men and I couldn't handle it. I wanted to find my boi. I stalked into the kitchen where my boi was wrapped in a towel at the table, and clambered to sit at the tabletop where I felt safe.
"Why are you in a towel?" I asked.
"My bag fell in the river and everything is wet," she responded and I laughed, heart relaxing.
"Sorry. I stole a shirt and underwear to sleep in. I'll get them, they're in my bag," I offered with a smile and a kiss. The lighthearted moment faded as I pulled away because the girl was in the doorway again.
"I don't understand why you won't just try it. You'll like it," she promised. I wanted to rip my hair out, I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her about the time I was almost raped in high school, or when I was molested in college, but I knew I'd only be proving her point by showing her my bad experiences.
"I have tried it," I insisted. "I have had it sweet and nice, I have had normal relationships with men, but it was never right. It was always wrong, so inherently wrong, and no matter if I gave consent to them I wasn't giving consent to myself because it was never what I wanted. It always felt like being molested, and I can't even blame anyone but myself because it was me who allowed it to happen," by now I was shaking and crying, but I could feel their eyes burning me.
"So can we drop the subject now, please?!" I slammed my fist on the table and turned into my lover's side, not wanting to hear what anyone had to say. What I felt mattered, and I had said my piece.
I was worried about my boi's reaction, but I shouldn't have been, as I felt an arm protectively curl around my back and I cried into her shoulder.
When I woke up, I realized that maybe the moment doesn't matter, maybe I don't need to know exactly when I figured it out, or why I didn't realize it earlier. All those years of discomfort still take a toll on me occasionally, still sneak up on me when I don't expect it.
When I think about girls who are coming out later, I can't help but wonder at the sneers they endure from lesbians, at what other pain they must have to face. Do they also have years of giving consent to others without giving self consent burdening their backs? Though I'm now part of the "always been gay" club when I go out, I have to remember never to pass judgement. It wasn't that long ago that I wouldn't have been accepted.
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Nov 17, 2013
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 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 24, 2012
Familial Bantering
Welcome to my family:
It's Christmas Eve, so the phone calls have started pouring in. When you're in a family as big as mine, somebody has got to start early otherwise we're all going to end up on call waiting. Ladybug called first. I sent him a package full of goodies and he called to thank me for them. He sounds like he's having a good time, but he also sounds lonely.
And then I remember - it's not his first year in the Marines, but it is the first year he's been away for Christmas. We spent an hour talking, laughing, the longest I've ever spoken with him on the phone, and hopefully he comes away from it feeling a little better. I've come away from it feeling a little more heartbroken. I didn't have the time to realize how much I miss him, but now that I've slowed down and we've spoken - I miss the boy who jokes with me in broken Russian and draws comics we plot out together and understands my jokes.
My other brother called tonight, "I heard you're going family-less this Christmas?" he jokes. His humor is dry and biting.
"That I am. I'm just too tired this year. I need a break. You get a break every year!" I accuse. He lives 20 hours away from our parents and his wife makes the trip more often than he does.
"Yeah, well, this year K's mom is coming over," I wince for him. "You at least getting laid? Spending it with a girlfriend?" I wince again.
"Fuck you, I'm working on it," I groan into the phone.
"K, she's in a woman mood! This is your problem!" I start to protest but he hands the phone to his giggling wife. I love K, and even though we're not blood-related, she was the first sibling I came out to.
"Hello? What's wrong with you?" she laughs.
"He's just being a jerk," I smile. "Wants to know if I'm getting laid for Christmas."
"Ah," she pauses. "So, do you have a girlfriend?"
"K! Seriously?!"
"Jeez, you're blushing, even through the phone! Tell me!"
"I don't have a girlfriend," I pout. "Leave me alone. Merry Grinch-mas, I hope your presents suck."
She laughs and calls to my brother, "Someone's got her in a twist!" I can hear him answer faintly in the background "Tell her to work it out! She needs to relax!"
"Goddamnit, I'm hanging up," I threaten.
"Wait! So, you don't have a girlfriend, but you obviously like someone, so what's the hold up?"
"I-" I'm frustrated and embarrassed and don't want to talk about this, but I also do because I feel like my heart is going to explode. "We're just talking," I say instead, and keep my deep, dark secret to myself.
"Oh, okay," she sounds disappointed. "You got kicked out of class every single day in high school, so I know you've got a back bone. Use it," she threatens good-naturedly.
"Noted. Merry Christmas, K. Love you. Tell the kids I'll Skype with them tomorrow." We hang up and my heart feels heavy. I want to confess. Want to write her an email, but I know how crazy it sounds. It sounds crazy to me!
I've been having dreams that I'm married. I imagine having the courage to tell her. I don't know who she is, or if it is psychological and just means that I'm finally ready for a real relationship again, but she's been plaguing me for months. My brain says "No, it's fake, find a real-life girl!" but my subconscious drags me back in, and amidst her laugh and her hands in my hair, I drown.
But I stare at my phone and the screen is black. All my courage is gone.
It's Christmas Eve, so the phone calls have started pouring in. When you're in a family as big as mine, somebody has got to start early otherwise we're all going to end up on call waiting. Ladybug called first. I sent him a package full of goodies and he called to thank me for them. He sounds like he's having a good time, but he also sounds lonely.
And then I remember - it's not his first year in the Marines, but it is the first year he's been away for Christmas. We spent an hour talking, laughing, the longest I've ever spoken with him on the phone, and hopefully he comes away from it feeling a little better. I've come away from it feeling a little more heartbroken. I didn't have the time to realize how much I miss him, but now that I've slowed down and we've spoken - I miss the boy who jokes with me in broken Russian and draws comics we plot out together and understands my jokes.
My other brother called tonight, "I heard you're going family-less this Christmas?" he jokes. His humor is dry and biting.
"That I am. I'm just too tired this year. I need a break. You get a break every year!" I accuse. He lives 20 hours away from our parents and his wife makes the trip more often than he does.
"Yeah, well, this year K's mom is coming over," I wince for him. "You at least getting laid? Spending it with a girlfriend?" I wince again.
"Fuck you, I'm working on it," I groan into the phone.
"K, she's in a woman mood! This is your problem!" I start to protest but he hands the phone to his giggling wife. I love K, and even though we're not blood-related, she was the first sibling I came out to.
"Hello? What's wrong with you?" she laughs.
"He's just being a jerk," I smile. "Wants to know if I'm getting laid for Christmas."
"Ah," she pauses. "So, do you have a girlfriend?"
"K! Seriously?!"
"Jeez, you're blushing, even through the phone! Tell me!"
"I don't have a girlfriend," I pout. "Leave me alone. Merry Grinch-mas, I hope your presents suck."
She laughs and calls to my brother, "Someone's got her in a twist!" I can hear him answer faintly in the background "Tell her to work it out! She needs to relax!"
"Goddamnit, I'm hanging up," I threaten.
"Wait! So, you don't have a girlfriend, but you obviously like someone, so what's the hold up?"
"I-" I'm frustrated and embarrassed and don't want to talk about this, but I also do because I feel like my heart is going to explode. "We're just talking," I say instead, and keep my deep, dark secret to myself.
"Oh, okay," she sounds disappointed. "You got kicked out of class every single day in high school, so I know you've got a back bone. Use it," she threatens good-naturedly.
"Noted. Merry Christmas, K. Love you. Tell the kids I'll Skype with them tomorrow." We hang up and my heart feels heavy. I want to confess. Want to write her an email, but I know how crazy it sounds. It sounds crazy to me!
I've been having dreams that I'm married. I imagine having the courage to tell her. I don't know who she is, or if it is psychological and just means that I'm finally ready for a real relationship again, but she's been plaguing me for months. My brain says "No, it's fake, find a real-life girl!" but my subconscious drags me back in, and amidst her laugh and her hands in my hair, I drown.
But I stare at my phone and the screen is black. All my courage is gone.
Dec 16, 2012
Elise
I want to talk about last night's dream because it was lovely, hot, heart-wrenching, and weird. It's been a while since we've talked about dreams, so: I was living in this underground community which was divided into two factions of unrest, but not really fighting. I had been dating, and was totally in love with, this wonderful girl named Elise, and we went on a date to a place that was filled with giant gumball looking machines, but I think they were arcade games or slot machines. It was the go-to place in our community. Afterward, she took me back to meet her parents. All throughout dinner, these huge spider things kept crawling toward my foot and were scaring me but Elise's father told me to lift my foot up and they would scuttle away, so I held my foot aloft and noticed there was a thick web attached to my shoe, but when it was held up they stayed away. I put my foot back down for a moment, and this giant (I'm talking foot-long) spider bit me.
Elise started freaking out and so did I because the spider had metal jaws and it hurt. Her dad started laughing about how I would pivot my whole world around Elise and it would be the thing that destroyed my faction. I realized he was part of the rebellion and the spider was a man-made metallic instrument, perhaps poisonous or explosive, but definitely bad. Elise started to fight, reaching for me, screaming at her father that she loved me and didn't want to spend her life apart from me. He held her back and threw me into another room.
There was an explosion. I woke up on the surface with hundreds of people around me, digging for Elise and the "lost family" that had been buried under some sort of freak accident or earthquake. I pounded on the ground, screaming for Elise, crying. Someone rubbed my back and I looked up to see Elise, smiling at me. She pulled me into a hug and I burrowed into her warmth.
"I don't want this to separate us," she told me. "I didn't know what he was going to do. I'm so sorry. I love you, I really, really love you," she pleaded, brushing away my tears. I nodded, heart in my throat, only glad she was alive. I swept her hair off her forehead and tried to memorize her face, still so worried she'd disappear.
"The machines!" someone cried in the distance. "All the buttons are loose and it's a code violation! They're going to take them all down!"
"Everyone, go! Turn them clockwise- to the right! We can fix it!" I shouted out directions. I knew Elise would be with me on this. Our reunion could come after. The machines were important to the happiness of our community, and they were special to us as well. I lost sight of her as we all ran amongst the machines, tightening, fixing. After a while the inspectors backed down. Everyone made their way back to the digging site, but I couldn't find Elise.
"We haven't brought anyone up yet," the foreman told me when I questioned him about her. "Haven't even broken through."
Had she come out through a secret tunnel? Had I been dreaming? Had anyone else seen her?
Frantically, I began to dig.
Nov 14, 2012
Day 23 Kissing
30 Day Letter Challenge
Day 23 — The last person you kissed
There are different levels of kissing. There's the kiss your best friend's mom gives you because you're being great to her baby girl. There's the kiss a child gives you because you just lit up their whole world. There's the kiss your girlfriend gives you and you feel like you can't breathe because your mind is running so fast and you're feeling all the feelings. And there's the kiss that makes your heart click into your chest because you're in love and you've never felt so whole.
My best friend's mom kissed me goodbye when I was visiting them during election week, a nice motherly smack on the cheek which filled me with a warm tenderness. A small child refused to let go of me at work today, as she does every day, because her time with me is considered precious to her. I treat her with kindness, compassion, and respect and give her upset feelings the same consideration I would give an adult's instead of writing them off as a tantrum. Lots of hugs and occasional cheek kisses from that little one.
The redhead and I broke up a while back, so it's been some time since I've had a really great, passionate, all the feelings, kiss. I miss those. I love those. I love the adrenaline, the affection, the happiness, and the heart pounding and the swelling chest and the mile a minute thoughts and the pulse throbbing through my fingertips.
It's been longer since I've had an "oh, this is what it feels like to have my heart stop bleeding because the other half is finally back in my chest" type of kiss. The kind of kiss that can be so simple, so sweet, but so electric, so absolutely against every law of physics and biomechanics that it bends the universe to the lips of two people.
Thank goodness I've got my dreams, or I'd go crazy. I guess if all else fails I can just sit outside a Domino's Pizza and write erotica ;) Did you miss that tweet? Don't worry, it was nothing special. :D
Update: She appeared again last night - the girl I don't know. But this felt more like an early dating phase in our relationship. We were biking down a trail near a large river, filled with people. We stopped to take in the view and she hugged me to her, my head on her chest as she stroked my hair and I traced my thumbs over the skin above her waistband. It was the happiest, the calmest I'd felt in a long time.
A sweet moment, soon interrupted by threats and grumbles from those around us. Uncomfortable and a little afraid, we began to walk until we came upon a precipice with the river far below, and on the other bank a Tegan and Sara concert was starting up. Happy to find an ally, we shouted their names until they noticed us and turned a spotlight on us.
They decided to play a game for our freedom, and two of their stagehands brought us microphones, declaring that we would sing two songs. Thinking they would be Tegan and Sara songs, we agreed, and she started first. It was an old song, and they had changed all the lyrics to make it funnier, but she stuck to the original (something about a "corvette built for two" and "how I love my boyfriend" that she sang to me and made me giggle). I could tell they were displeased. My alarm went off before we ever got to my song. It was a roller coaster of a dream, but all the ones with her in it leave a lingering happy feeling.
Day 23 — The last person you kissed
There are different levels of kissing. There's the kiss your best friend's mom gives you because you're being great to her baby girl. There's the kiss a child gives you because you just lit up their whole world. There's the kiss your girlfriend gives you and you feel like you can't breathe because your mind is running so fast and you're feeling all the feelings. And there's the kiss that makes your heart click into your chest because you're in love and you've never felt so whole.
My best friend's mom kissed me goodbye when I was visiting them during election week, a nice motherly smack on the cheek which filled me with a warm tenderness. A small child refused to let go of me at work today, as she does every day, because her time with me is considered precious to her. I treat her with kindness, compassion, and respect and give her upset feelings the same consideration I would give an adult's instead of writing them off as a tantrum. Lots of hugs and occasional cheek kisses from that little one.
The redhead and I broke up a while back, so it's been some time since I've had a really great, passionate, all the feelings, kiss. I miss those. I love those. I love the adrenaline, the affection, the happiness, and the heart pounding and the swelling chest and the mile a minute thoughts and the pulse throbbing through my fingertips.
It's been longer since I've had an "oh, this is what it feels like to have my heart stop bleeding because the other half is finally back in my chest" type of kiss. The kind of kiss that can be so simple, so sweet, but so electric, so absolutely against every law of physics and biomechanics that it bends the universe to the lips of two people.
Thank goodness I've got my dreams, or I'd go crazy. I guess if all else fails I can just sit outside a Domino's Pizza and write erotica ;) Did you miss that tweet? Don't worry, it was nothing special. :D
Update: She appeared again last night - the girl I don't know. But this felt more like an early dating phase in our relationship. We were biking down a trail near a large river, filled with people. We stopped to take in the view and she hugged me to her, my head on her chest as she stroked my hair and I traced my thumbs over the skin above her waistband. It was the happiest, the calmest I'd felt in a long time.
A sweet moment, soon interrupted by threats and grumbles from those around us. Uncomfortable and a little afraid, we began to walk until we came upon a precipice with the river far below, and on the other bank a Tegan and Sara concert was starting up. Happy to find an ally, we shouted their names until they noticed us and turned a spotlight on us.
They decided to play a game for our freedom, and two of their stagehands brought us microphones, declaring that we would sing two songs. Thinking they would be Tegan and Sara songs, we agreed, and she started first. It was an old song, and they had changed all the lyrics to make it funnier, but she stuck to the original (something about a "corvette built for two" and "how I love my boyfriend" that she sang to me and made me giggle). I could tell they were displeased. My alarm went off before we ever got to my song. It was a roller coaster of a dream, but all the ones with her in it leave a lingering happy feeling.
Nov 10, 2012
Day 19 Family
30 Day Letter Challenge
Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind—good or bad
I'm going to ignore the word "pester" because it has a negative connotation and declares the "good or bad" irrelevant.
My family has been on my mind recently. My very vast, extensive family, and whenever I talk about them people always ask "Are you Mormon?" No, friends, my family is not Mormon - they're Catholics and Mennonites. If you're not real knowledgeable on the Christian scene, you'd say they are pretty much the same thing. They're not, but they do like to have lots of kids.
My family has had strange encounters with Christianity - my uncle was studying to be priest but left and refuses to go to church or talk about the faith, and my aunt used to be a nun, but is now married with lots of grandchildren and is still involved in her local church. When I came out, I had some people react well and some react poorly. A distant aunt or second cousin or something is also gay, but she was disowned, though I still get a Christmas letter from her and her partner.
Lately I've been having dreams of my extended family in the forms of videotapes. Like, I'm watching a home movie (that I've never seen in waking life) with scenes of me as a baby surrounded by this huge family, all laughing and talking and drinking and playing The Beatles and Johnny Cash on guitar. It's this din of tons of voices all mixing together, bottles clinking and children giggling, and the sleepy look everyone gets when a few guys take center stage, and their melodious voices and strings of angels lull the children into golden slumber on the notes of Gordon Lightfoot.
I think I miss them, I know I miss them, and the joy of being immersed in so many people. You don't have to talk much when 70 people all have something to say. You can just relax and enjoy it, feel the embrace of all these people who accept you, no matter what. We're not all blood, but we're all family, and the feeling of being connected to all of them, of standing in a room full of people and seeing a glowing thread from your heart to the hearts all around you, is so rare, something to be cherished.
Sometimes I talk too much, and I miss when I'm around them and can be silent.
Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind—good or bad
I'm going to ignore the word "pester" because it has a negative connotation and declares the "good or bad" irrelevant.
My family has been on my mind recently. My very vast, extensive family, and whenever I talk about them people always ask "Are you Mormon?" No, friends, my family is not Mormon - they're Catholics and Mennonites. If you're not real knowledgeable on the Christian scene, you'd say they are pretty much the same thing. They're not, but they do like to have lots of kids.
My family has had strange encounters with Christianity - my uncle was studying to be priest but left and refuses to go to church or talk about the faith, and my aunt used to be a nun, but is now married with lots of grandchildren and is still involved in her local church. When I came out, I had some people react well and some react poorly. A distant aunt or second cousin or something is also gay, but she was disowned, though I still get a Christmas letter from her and her partner.
Lately I've been having dreams of my extended family in the forms of videotapes. Like, I'm watching a home movie (that I've never seen in waking life) with scenes of me as a baby surrounded by this huge family, all laughing and talking and drinking and playing The Beatles and Johnny Cash on guitar. It's this din of tons of voices all mixing together, bottles clinking and children giggling, and the sleepy look everyone gets when a few guys take center stage, and their melodious voices and strings of angels lull the children into golden slumber on the notes of Gordon Lightfoot.
I think I miss them, I know I miss them, and the joy of being immersed in so many people. You don't have to talk much when 70 people all have something to say. You can just relax and enjoy it, feel the embrace of all these people who accept you, no matter what. We're not all blood, but we're all family, and the feeling of being connected to all of them, of standing in a room full of people and seeing a glowing thread from your heart to the hearts all around you, is so rare, something to be cherished.
Sometimes I talk too much, and I miss when I'm around them and can be silent.
Oct 30, 2012
Ouch
 |
| My fingers are a little swollen too, but you can definitely see my knuckles aren't supposed to be that size |
From the swelling, the confusion, and all the weird dreams I had last night where I died, I'm a little worried this is a spider bite. Like, a really bad spider bite. We've got a lot of deadlies here (the scorpions seem to have disappeared over time, but those used to crawl in every so often), so it's possible that when I was moving stuff, cleaning stuff, and up in the rafters, something might have gotten me. I've never been bitten by one of the baddies before, so if this is what it feels like, it hurts like a bitch.
As for Sandy, all my friends in Harlem and Astoria still have power, and my family in Boston is hanging in there. They had a rough time with the river behind their house, but no real damage, and they're gonna be okay. So glad my old roommate left NY last month to tour. During Irene I was yanking my hair out worrying about her, and this time she was safely on this side of the Rockies. Thank God for the nomadic nature of musical theater.
Oct 29, 2012
Steam
This is playing in my head on repeat. I can only imagine what dreams it will bring.
Update: Dreams get so slutty sometimes. It's not exactly rare for me to have sexy dreams, but it's not common. So, last night I knew, I could just feel it before I slipped off that my state of mind was in that place. You know the place I'm talking about - the place where you ache to touch and be touched, to breathe against skin and feel wrapped in heat.
So the dream came as no surprise, but the setting shocked the hell out of me. Remember in Day 2 when I mentioned I've been having marrying/being married dreams? This was one of those. It feels strangely private even though I don't really know this girl and it didn't even happen in real life.
We were in our apartment, it was definitely our apartment, it felt warm, comfortable, lived in, and she was getting ready to leave. She looked wonderful, jeans and boots, and I felt uncomfortable next to her in my too glam for me dress.
"Hey," I stopped her from leaving with a hand on her arm. God, she was warm, so warm, and my legs were freezing. I wanted to curl into her. "It's your bachlorette party and I want you to have fun and everything," I smiled, stroking the soft skin below her neck, "but if you sleep with someone else the night before our wedding I will kick your ass, got it?"
She grinned and leaned in for a kiss. I let her take me, desperate, fearful, joyous, triumphant, wanting. "You got it," she promised, and reached for the door. I pushed her back and she let me, surprised. I took her mouth and felt her moan rumble through my chest. I reached for her hand and led her fingers up my bare leg to my waist and she pushed harder against me. I popped open the button on her jeans and she pulled away, breathless, "What are you doing?"
I knew we both had to leave, but I couldn't stop now. I slipped to the floor and touched my lips to the skin of her hip, took a few breaths to make sure either of us could stop this if we wanted to - if we were really worried about time or other people. I could feel her shake against me as the warm air passed over her flesh. "Reminding you just what you're coming home to," my lips curved against her skin, and when our eyes met it was electric.
Update: Dreams get so slutty sometimes. It's not exactly rare for me to have sexy dreams, but it's not common. So, last night I knew, I could just feel it before I slipped off that my state of mind was in that place. You know the place I'm talking about - the place where you ache to touch and be touched, to breathe against skin and feel wrapped in heat.
So the dream came as no surprise, but the setting shocked the hell out of me. Remember in Day 2 when I mentioned I've been having marrying/being married dreams? This was one of those. It feels strangely private even though I don't really know this girl and it didn't even happen in real life.
We were in our apartment, it was definitely our apartment, it felt warm, comfortable, lived in, and she was getting ready to leave. She looked wonderful, jeans and boots, and I felt uncomfortable next to her in my too glam for me dress.
"Hey," I stopped her from leaving with a hand on her arm. God, she was warm, so warm, and my legs were freezing. I wanted to curl into her. "It's your bachlorette party and I want you to have fun and everything," I smiled, stroking the soft skin below her neck, "but if you sleep with someone else the night before our wedding I will kick your ass, got it?"
She grinned and leaned in for a kiss. I let her take me, desperate, fearful, joyous, triumphant, wanting. "You got it," she promised, and reached for the door. I pushed her back and she let me, surprised. I took her mouth and felt her moan rumble through my chest. I reached for her hand and led her fingers up my bare leg to my waist and she pushed harder against me. I popped open the button on her jeans and she pulled away, breathless, "What are you doing?"
I knew we both had to leave, but I couldn't stop now. I slipped to the floor and touched my lips to the skin of her hip, took a few breaths to make sure either of us could stop this if we wanted to - if we were really worried about time or other people. I could feel her shake against me as the warm air passed over her flesh. "Reminding you just what you're coming home to," my lips curved against her skin, and when our eyes met it was electric.
Oct 27, 2012
Day 5 Redux Dreams
30 Day Letter Challenge
Day 5 — Your dreams
Instead of a letter, I decided to share. This was last night's dream:
I was wandering through a small alleyway near one of the places where I work, when I stumbled upon a candle shop. There was a woman inside, a customer, dipping a wick into white and blue wax, creating a candle. I browsed the store and found a beautiful candle in a wavy design, dipped in layers to create a rainbow pattern. The tag read $30.00, much less than some of the other, duller candles. My heart started beating faster in my chest and I felt warm and radiant. I wanted to make one.
I strode toward the front counter to find the shop keeper, but there was only the woman making the blue and white candle. Suddenly, a woman with glittering, dark eyes appeared from behind a thick curtain I hadn't noticed before.
"Hello, dear. Let me guess, you want to make the rainbow candle?" I was astonished she could read me so quickly, but she brushed it off with a gleam in her eyes. "I'm a psychic as well as a candlemaker. Each candle calls to a person for a specific purpose." She was interrupted by a good looking girl with short blonde hair coming in the door. In the dream I could tell she was gay, and she radiated sadness.
"Take a seat at the table, please, each of you. In the seat to the left, you may tell the negative aspects of your story, and in the seat to the right, you may tell the positive." The other girl began to speak, but the psychic interrupted her. "Positive first, please."
Words started to pour out. I was hyped up on all the sugar in the world. I couldn't stop beaming. My heart was expanding so far and so fast that my chest couldn't possibly contain it. "I want a rainbow candle because of this girl. Last time she didn't notice me and that was alright-"
"Was it?" she questioned. I wasn't sure. I felt so wonderful. Plus, wasn't this the positive chair?
"No, I guess I was heartbroken, but I learned from it," I quickly moved on, feeling happy and sparkling again, "but if there's only ever going to be a few people in my life who make me feel this way, I want to experience it. Even if it's only for a moment, like a comet." I couldn't hold still. My veins were filled with champagne and I was bubbling, effervescent. My breathing was harsh and I could feel my face was red with exultation. "I want it to streak across my life with such bright glory that it will sear into my memory and the beauty and love and excitement of this moment will never leave me!"
The psychic beamed. "I'll help you make it for free," she told me, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
I woke up. It was so disorienting, breathing so harshly in the dream, and then waking up to a body that was taking a slow, calming inhale. It felt weird, and wrong, almost as if I were waking up to the wrong body altogether.
I'm not sure exactly what this dream means. I never saw myself switch to the negative seat, and I never heard the other girl's story, but even as I wrote this, my heart beat fiercely against my breast and my face flushed. The joy I felt in the dream lingers on. It's a gorgeous feeling. I wish I could share it with you.
Day 5 — Your dreams
Instead of a letter, I decided to share. This was last night's dream:
I was wandering through a small alleyway near one of the places where I work, when I stumbled upon a candle shop. There was a woman inside, a customer, dipping a wick into white and blue wax, creating a candle. I browsed the store and found a beautiful candle in a wavy design, dipped in layers to create a rainbow pattern. The tag read $30.00, much less than some of the other, duller candles. My heart started beating faster in my chest and I felt warm and radiant. I wanted to make one.
I strode toward the front counter to find the shop keeper, but there was only the woman making the blue and white candle. Suddenly, a woman with glittering, dark eyes appeared from behind a thick curtain I hadn't noticed before.
"Hello, dear. Let me guess, you want to make the rainbow candle?" I was astonished she could read me so quickly, but she brushed it off with a gleam in her eyes. "I'm a psychic as well as a candlemaker. Each candle calls to a person for a specific purpose." She was interrupted by a good looking girl with short blonde hair coming in the door. In the dream I could tell she was gay, and she radiated sadness.
"Take a seat at the table, please, each of you. In the seat to the left, you may tell the negative aspects of your story, and in the seat to the right, you may tell the positive." The other girl began to speak, but the psychic interrupted her. "Positive first, please."
Words started to pour out. I was hyped up on all the sugar in the world. I couldn't stop beaming. My heart was expanding so far and so fast that my chest couldn't possibly contain it. "I want a rainbow candle because of this girl. Last time she didn't notice me and that was alright-"
"Was it?" she questioned. I wasn't sure. I felt so wonderful. Plus, wasn't this the positive chair?
"No, I guess I was heartbroken, but I learned from it," I quickly moved on, feeling happy and sparkling again, "but if there's only ever going to be a few people in my life who make me feel this way, I want to experience it. Even if it's only for a moment, like a comet." I couldn't hold still. My veins were filled with champagne and I was bubbling, effervescent. My breathing was harsh and I could feel my face was red with exultation. "I want it to streak across my life with such bright glory that it will sear into my memory and the beauty and love and excitement of this moment will never leave me!"
The psychic beamed. "I'll help you make it for free," she told me, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
I woke up. It was so disorienting, breathing so harshly in the dream, and then waking up to a body that was taking a slow, calming inhale. It felt weird, and wrong, almost as if I were waking up to the wrong body altogether.
I'm not sure exactly what this dream means. I never saw myself switch to the negative seat, and I never heard the other girl's story, but even as I wrote this, my heart beat fiercely against my breast and my face flushed. The joy I felt in the dream lingers on. It's a gorgeous feeling. I wish I could share it with you.
Oct 24, 2012
Day 2 Redux Dream Girl
30 Day letter Challenge Redux
Day 2 — Your Crush
Ohhh man. I have so many kinds of crushes. How about a little something different?
I've never been a dreaming kind of girl. My sleeping history has been riddled with mostly nightmares, not dreams, so when I met you, dear friend, what a surprise that my nightmares paused. My normal ratio is something like 3:1 in favor of nightmares, but for weeks it seems to have reversed.
Even in my happy dreams, I've never dreamed of a relationship with someone in future tense. I've never had a sleeping dream where my partner and I were happily together ten years down the road. For someone who has feared commitment most of my life, I am now dreaming of you in the most interesting of ways - introducing you to friends as my wife, watching as you stand up for me against an old adversary. These dreams are not sexual in nature but imply a deeper bond, a trusting, warm link that makes me feel safe and comforted - things which are hard for me to feel during my waking hours.
The fact that I barely know you makes this even more interesting. I hardly know anything about you, and yet, in my dream you become my everything: my fierce guardian and protector, my giggling companion, the person smiling and pushing hair out of my face as we linger in the quiet kitchen of a social gathering.
Who are you, and why do you make me feel so safe? Is it a psychology thing? Have I become more accepting of love and kindness, more willing to lean on someone else, and this is being personified through you?
Now when I wake I still feel distress, but only because I wish I could fall back into slumber with you.
-
Day 2 — Your Crush
Ohhh man. I have so many kinds of crushes. How about a little something different?
I've never been a dreaming kind of girl. My sleeping history has been riddled with mostly nightmares, not dreams, so when I met you, dear friend, what a surprise that my nightmares paused. My normal ratio is something like 3:1 in favor of nightmares, but for weeks it seems to have reversed.
Even in my happy dreams, I've never dreamed of a relationship with someone in future tense. I've never had a sleeping dream where my partner and I were happily together ten years down the road. For someone who has feared commitment most of my life, I am now dreaming of you in the most interesting of ways - introducing you to friends as my wife, watching as you stand up for me against an old adversary. These dreams are not sexual in nature but imply a deeper bond, a trusting, warm link that makes me feel safe and comforted - things which are hard for me to feel during my waking hours.
The fact that I barely know you makes this even more interesting. I hardly know anything about you, and yet, in my dream you become my everything: my fierce guardian and protector, my giggling companion, the person smiling and pushing hair out of my face as we linger in the quiet kitchen of a social gathering.
Who are you, and why do you make me feel so safe? Is it a psychology thing? Have I become more accepting of love and kindness, more willing to lean on someone else, and this is being personified through you?
Now when I wake I still feel distress, but only because I wish I could fall back into slumber with you.
-
Feb 24, 2010
Point/Dreams
As if the fates wanted to prove my point for me, today is m:girl's birthday. Twenty ninth.
Last night I had this terrific and somewhat explicit dream, but there was one aspect of it that was slightly bewildering. I was writing in a journal on a blanket amongst the grass, and I was with an older woman. She complained of feeling tired, and laid down by my side, curling into me under another blanket. I made the first move, and she willingly kissed me back, melting into me and under me with a beauty I had never experienced before. Without being too detailed and explicit, we made love. (And, oh my gosh she had a piercing that drove me wild.)
After it was over, I looked up and she was one of my acting professors from college. Granted, this particular professor is a gorgeous older woman whom I love and admire very much, but I love and admire her with an unprecedented respect that makes a sexual desire for her out of the question. She hadn't turned into another person, I just hadn't recognized her face before we made love. That is the start of our relationship, glowing with satisfaction on an old picnic blanket in the middle of a field of green grass.
The scene moves, and we are inside a room somewhere (it looks like a spaceship), making a movie about her life, her sexuality, and the scene is set for us to make love. It is the same conversation we had before making love on our picnic, however, the blanket is gone and it is clear that we are on this spacecraft. Though they are the exact same words we said to each other during our lovemaking on the picnic blanket, they are now harsh, false, and ugly. In the end, I can't stand to look at her, and as I walk away, I wake up.
Now that I am awake, I feel ashamed for having a dream like this about someone that I feel should be put above sexual fantasies. I feel dirty for having dreamed about her that way. However, I also wonder about the shift in scene. I wonder about how all of the sounds she made in the grass could sound like the sweetest of music, but under cameras and lights could sound so false and wrong.
It makes me wish I had a therapist or dream analyst who could tell me what my subconscious is trying to say.
Last night I had this terrific and somewhat explicit dream, but there was one aspect of it that was slightly bewildering. I was writing in a journal on a blanket amongst the grass, and I was with an older woman. She complained of feeling tired, and laid down by my side, curling into me under another blanket. I made the first move, and she willingly kissed me back, melting into me and under me with a beauty I had never experienced before. Without being too detailed and explicit, we made love. (And, oh my gosh she had a piercing that drove me wild.)
After it was over, I looked up and she was one of my acting professors from college. Granted, this particular professor is a gorgeous older woman whom I love and admire very much, but I love and admire her with an unprecedented respect that makes a sexual desire for her out of the question. She hadn't turned into another person, I just hadn't recognized her face before we made love. That is the start of our relationship, glowing with satisfaction on an old picnic blanket in the middle of a field of green grass.
The scene moves, and we are inside a room somewhere (it looks like a spaceship), making a movie about her life, her sexuality, and the scene is set for us to make love. It is the same conversation we had before making love on our picnic, however, the blanket is gone and it is clear that we are on this spacecraft. Though they are the exact same words we said to each other during our lovemaking on the picnic blanket, they are now harsh, false, and ugly. In the end, I can't stand to look at her, and as I walk away, I wake up.
Now that I am awake, I feel ashamed for having a dream like this about someone that I feel should be put above sexual fantasies. I feel dirty for having dreamed about her that way. However, I also wonder about the shift in scene. I wonder about how all of the sounds she made in the grass could sound like the sweetest of music, but under cameras and lights could sound so false and wrong.
It makes me wish I had a therapist or dream analyst who could tell me what my subconscious is trying to say.
Dec 7, 2009
Perfume/Dreams
I sprayed her perfume on my pillow. My mother used to spray lavender on my pillow before bed to help me sleep during the years that I had horrible night terrors. Of course it never worked, and now I have an aversion toward the scent.
Last night I had a nightmare, and the only scent that has nothing but good memories attached to it is the smell of her perfume. Maybe that makes me creepy, but I just want to have good dreams tonight.
The only problem is that now my bed smells like her. Her scent is intoxicating, inebriating. It clouds my judgment until I can think of nothing but her and the time I spent with her in her apartment. She'd never been in my bed. There was no reason for it to smell like her. But now it does, and I am stuck drinking her in. It's like sweet torture.
Maybe it's not as creepy because she is not my ex, she is attracted to girls, and she does know I am interested in her and is possibly interested in me. Or maybe I am only justifying this for myself.
If you would have dreamed the nightmare I had last night, you would understand my desperation for a change in environment.
Last night I had a nightmare, and the only scent that has nothing but good memories attached to it is the smell of her perfume. Maybe that makes me creepy, but I just want to have good dreams tonight.
The only problem is that now my bed smells like her. Her scent is intoxicating, inebriating. It clouds my judgment until I can think of nothing but her and the time I spent with her in her apartment. She'd never been in my bed. There was no reason for it to smell like her. But now it does, and I am stuck drinking her in. It's like sweet torture.
Maybe it's not as creepy because she is not my ex, she is attracted to girls, and she does know I am interested in her and is possibly interested in me. Or maybe I am only justifying this for myself.
If you would have dreamed the nightmare I had last night, you would understand my desperation for a change in environment.
Dec 1, 2009
Fear/Confidence
Can fear actually make you a more confident person? Can you be so afraid that you put on a brave face, and through that facade become a more courageous person?
I'm not suave and charming, and I have no idea how to woo the woman I want to be with. And honestly, she is going through a rough breakup right now and probably doesn't want to be wooed. Whilst I'm discovering women for the first time, she is discovering men. However, this doesn't mean that I am not cute and coy and a little sly.
Is it because I am afraid to tell her outright that I am interested and have her reject me? Or is it because I know she likes women who are more femme than her and I want to make her feel good by playing to her strengths?
Is one reason any better than the other?
I am afraid to go to sleep. I don't have nightmares. I have the exact opposite. Beautiful dreams of love, sex, relationships. Such real dreams that I can feel her skin, the heat of her breath, can hear the pound of her heart. Different, exquisite women every night. And then I wake up, and I am alone.
I'm alone in the supermarket when lesbians don't recognize that I'm gay. I'm alone at the register when the man behind the counter is chatting me up and I can't help but notice that the woman standing by the ice cream has the most beautiful mouth.
I can take it every day as long as I don't have those dreams. Those dreams that remind me what it is like to lay my head in [first:girl]'s lap and have her run her fingers through my hair. They remind me that I no longer see the woman who used to simultaneously hold me and make fun of me as I cry over an episode of L Word.
Fear is a constant. Trying to hide your fear is a constant. It's all constant. Stagnant. There has to be a way to break the cycle and create something new.
I am a good person. I am cute, sweet, smart, caring, warm, comforting, and have just a touch of sensuality. I'm beautiful. I'm all soft curves and a sweet face with big brown eyes and soft hair. I should be good at this. I should be able to walk into a bar and have everyone jump at the chance to take me home.
But for whatever reason, I'm too scared to walk into that bar.
I'm not suave and charming, and I have no idea how to woo the woman I want to be with. And honestly, she is going through a rough breakup right now and probably doesn't want to be wooed. Whilst I'm discovering women for the first time, she is discovering men. However, this doesn't mean that I am not cute and coy and a little sly.
Is it because I am afraid to tell her outright that I am interested and have her reject me? Or is it because I know she likes women who are more femme than her and I want to make her feel good by playing to her strengths?
Is one reason any better than the other?
I am afraid to go to sleep. I don't have nightmares. I have the exact opposite. Beautiful dreams of love, sex, relationships. Such real dreams that I can feel her skin, the heat of her breath, can hear the pound of her heart. Different, exquisite women every night. And then I wake up, and I am alone.
I'm alone in the supermarket when lesbians don't recognize that I'm gay. I'm alone at the register when the man behind the counter is chatting me up and I can't help but notice that the woman standing by the ice cream has the most beautiful mouth.
I can take it every day as long as I don't have those dreams. Those dreams that remind me what it is like to lay my head in [first:girl]'s lap and have her run her fingers through my hair. They remind me that I no longer see the woman who used to simultaneously hold me and make fun of me as I cry over an episode of L Word.
Fear is a constant. Trying to hide your fear is a constant. It's all constant. Stagnant. There has to be a way to break the cycle and create something new.
I am a good person. I am cute, sweet, smart, caring, warm, comforting, and have just a touch of sensuality. I'm beautiful. I'm all soft curves and a sweet face with big brown eyes and soft hair. I should be good at this. I should be able to walk into a bar and have everyone jump at the chance to take me home.
But for whatever reason, I'm too scared to walk into that bar.
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