Maybe it’s spring

Maybe I finally, truly have a screw loose. Maybe this is actually the way everyone wants to feel all of the time, but most people never even taste it; or can’t find it or give up trying; or only know how to get it through means that are frowned upon.

I have a friend, she will know immediately that I am speaking of her, who I used to describe as a very literal sensualist. That is, the miracle of every sense is a pleasure to her. The pleasure of every sensation is a miracle, every time. I used to watch this with a distant, scientific curiosity. Now I wonder how she survives. Because to be in the world this way is to love enormously, break your heat, and die over and over and over again.

I have been trying to understand this rage of feelings that welled up and took over late last year. It’s a complex landscape: the freest, utterest joy; that swoopy fear you get from looking down when you soar at great heights; frustration at reality, which even in all its beauty, holds you a little from moving forward faster, like running in waist-deep water; throes of gratitude that these feelings even exist and have come into your life; a knowing that such passion is a mantle; that prescient sadness (which is the true loss of innocence) from knowing that every moment will conclude; the rocket-fuel thrusters of feeling brightly, confidently potential.

I love this feeling. Yet it aches like old stab wounds; and sears like catching the sun in your eyes when new leaves dance aside on spring breezes. Not a complaint. More…a tribute, and a thank you, to those who have led me here. Perhaps I will grow accustomed to this space, which feels simultaneously, so constantly ready to shout with joy and so awfully, permanently, tentative. And that would be its own rich, exuberant loss.

Why Marriage?

So I wrote about opening to love. I wrote about deciding that my partner-type love would be with a straight man. Now on to a question that would be reasonable at any time in a society’s development, but which grows in importance as realizations about how thoroughly equivalent the two genders are come to light.

Why marriage?

You may have already guessed that I think marriage is irrelevant to society as whole. Western civilization would not crumble if marriage ceased to bond people into a different tax, and demographic status.

I don’t even think there is anything unassailably right or necessary about raising children with two parents, or one, or six; and I sure don’t give a damn about gender.

We all crave some of the emotional safety and comfort that a marriage is supposed to offer, but when you look at the number of people who are not married, or have neither safety nor comfort in their marriage it seems like marriage isn’t really pulling its weight there either.

So I don’t think marriage is making the world a better place.

At the level of individual humans, marriage looks like an option: something one could do. To decide to get married and participate in that rite of passage seems like the easiest part of love and commitment, and is thus a little suspect. Plenty of people it, seems to me, get married without any of the meaningful stuff in place.

Marriage starts to look like the rule men will follow for (supposedly) guaranteed sex, and women will follow fora (supposedly) guaranteed ‘father’ of, and/or for, my children.

And yet for all my ‘looks so boring,’ and snide disdain, I’m pretty sure I want to get married. Which is to say I would like to have a witnessed ceremony in which I committed to someone. And I would like the little nudge of that promise to keep me practicing and growing toward living out unconditional love with another person.

I don’t think marriage is important to our societal structure, but I absolutely understand it has enormous cultural power. And I think if some other type of commitment was ‘the norm,’ I would want that instead. I march to the beat of my own drum in many aspects of life and frankly it is sometimes isolating and exhausting. I would welcome checking one box in the same way as ‘everyone else.’ I also think that actually living the union that marriage is idealized to be, is hard enough without constantly having to explain to other people, ‘Actually, we are in a mutually pledged love bond, without a legal contract,’ or whatever.

Yep, I’d like to get married, take that risk. Learn how to do the hard part.



Shout out to the six people who will –from the heart– immediately pick up the phone when they read this title. Similar props to everyone who understands the fact that I won’t answer; and to the friend who will start our next conversation with, “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but about your last blog post…” Thank you. I love you for all that you are.  But nothing serious here people. I mean it, nothing deep. Just a Tuesday night talking to myself so I don’t go to sleep with today’s baggage dancing like sugar plums in my head.

Does anybody else ever feel that need? A desire for anonymous babbling? It’s probably my favorite thing about the internet.  Don’t get me wrong, Followers, truly I do love thee. The only thing more satisfying than yammering on without consequence is the thrill of some days’-later acknowledgement: Thumbs up! Some ‘bot in Outer Scamminya followed me! Thumbs down! Some ALL CAPS GUY with a dirty handle thought this was his ex-girlfriend’s blog, or is disappointed it isn’t a porn site. There’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?

So, what’s up Tuesday? Well, I made a mistake at work. I made the mistake last week but it didn’t come to bear until today. I’m big into the self-flagellation, mea culpa, walk in chains and carry stones kind of guilt. But my co-worker really nipped that in the bud for me, with an encouraging and optimistic, “Well, fix it!” We chatted briefly about the best strategy. I executed. Again. And I’m feeling confident that the situation is improved and rectified.

Then later I had to get mansplained about something that was old news, but was new news to the guy who mansplained me.  And also wasn’t my fault. Is there any party worse to be late to than the Windbagging About What Was Supposed To Happen party?  Be the person who gets the joke three days late. Don’t be the person trying to dole out blame three days late. #SisterCan’tCatchABreak #ManagerProblems. And, yes, I just hashtagged in a blog post. Ewwwwww.

Then later I got caught in the crossfire, and truly realized that I have too many distinct job duties, so I have to, like, advocate for myself and fix that shit, yo!

I genuinely enjoy all the pieces of my life. There is a bit of an elephant on crutches feel to it right now: heavy-footed and uneven. I want all the parts to come into balance, and I want to know there’s room for the creative parts to grow. So, faith. And one day at a time.


Why a man?

On Monday a friend engaged me in conversation about my last post (which was a cool thing to happen). He wanted to jump ahead to some of the information I don’t quite have yet — the specifics of who I want. But he also posed a question that feeds right into this (probably pretty long) post.

I’m a woman and I declared I am looking for a husband, but then all the part about wanting to love someone used the gender neutral terms ‘someone’ and ‘them’ and ‘partner.’ I was deliberate about that when I was writing that post, and I’m glad someone asked me about it. Below are a bunch of answers.

Why a man? – I am a heterosexual female. Marrying a heterosexual male seems like the best, most likely, mutually fulfilling option.

If you want a man, why indulge in the use of gender neutral pronouns? – Inclusivity, my ‘gender second’ world view, my desire for an absolutely equal relationship.

First –even though I was speaking about my desire to love someone specifically in the context of pair-bonding– I do believe that love, even romantic love, can bloom in any context. And when people read my journey, I want them to be able to relate without feeling that their emotions or experiences are different because they don’t match my desired gender combination. Whomever you want to love, their absence and the search for them comes with the same weight and struggles.

Second, I have a world view that we are all humans first, everything else second. The foundation of my empathy and joy in other people is my faith in the idea that we are all the same in every way that matters: made of the same materials, got here in the same way, facing the same challenges in living life (albeit sometimes in vastly different contexts), hungering, suffering, delighting in effectively the same ways. If every human is equal to you, the falling in love bit is transacted with the personality and character of your human of interest, and gender is secondary. It is in fact only necessary to specify your sexual orientation and/or your gender of interest, if you are only interested in sex with that one gender. Well, mostly.

I feel open to loving anyone. In fact in my late youth, I am finding a depth of emotion about many things that I did not used to indulge. This means I take great joy, and find much to love about every good person I meet, regardless of demographics.  However, I am only interested in having sex with men. So I have to slap on the label heterosexual. Which is accurate. Well, mostly

I say that I am “heterosexual, well, mostly” because I’m not sure sexuality is actually the right proxy for the relationship I want. I am very literally heterosexual in two ways: 1) I love and lust for men’s bodies and physicality. I am a fan of everything that makes a man physiologically separate from me. 2) Men are my preferred company. I want to pair bond with a man. Sounds great! Totally on the heterosexual track. But it falls apart when it comes to how I am supposed to work to attract a man, and what I want our relationship to be.

Third, and here I stray into some gender theory that may just be plain wrong, but it makes some sense to me and I’m trying it out. In a heterosexual context it is assumed the each partner actively desires their opposite. The man wants the woman because of all the ways she is not a man (and vice versa).  It follows then that in a homosexual context each partner desires their same. So, there is an underlying assumption of equality in homosexual relationships that is absent or at least very different in heterosexual relationships. Because the whole point of heterosexual relationships is union between different (opposite) beings, I think the assumption of equality is absent. Perhaps it seems like there is no need for that assumption because two things as different as man and woman could not possibly be equal. To use a (weak) food analogy, tofu and bacon will never be equal. They just aren’t alike enough.

So my heterosexuality ‘stops’ at a point because I want a relationship with an underlying assumption of equality. I’m not really interested in being desired for being a woman. I don’t want to have children or be a mother by other means, or look hot so he can impress his friends. I want to live in the world, and think about it and enjoy it with a trustworthy friend who is as curious about it, excited about it, and eager to find joy and humor in it as I am. In short, I want the kind of love 10-year-old best friends have for each other.

I know I can’t control why someone desires me, so I need to give that part up. If he will act like mine, and treat me like his, ’10-year-old best friend.’ That’s good enough. But I guess I don’t know how to get things started. Men who approach me because they find me attractive intimidate me. I get totally frightened and effectively run away screaming. Men I’m attracted to, I befriend and the message he needs to hear about my interest is totally lost. So I’m looking for a man who wants (a lot of) what I want in a relationship, and is similarly defective at speaking social norms. It would also help a lot if his approach was empty of any haste to get laid.



Looking for my future husband

I can almost feel the regret waves as they are born far away in the vast ocean of my subconscious. I make no promises that this post will be public longer than today. I may private it. I may start to post furiously to bury it days in the past. I may leave it, but let’s not get hasty now. One. Word. At. A. Time.

Last year, I started a blog I called ‘My Imaginary Unmet Boyfriend.’ The terminology ‘My imaginary unmet _____’ is the only thing I kept from a long ago friendship that went deeply and catastrophically sour. I have always loved the humor, optimism, and fatalism in the words. It is aspirational yet absurd. I think it speaks a lot to how wishes become reality. The blog didn’t live long. I still couldn’t get to authentic language about what I was feeling, and I wasn’t getting what I wanted out of posting. So I deep-sixed it.

Then this year happened. Well actually, the end of last year happened.  I don’t know why. There is no specific who, but finally, suddenly I want someone in my life . I want someone in my life for my own reasons. Not to keep up with my peers, or catch up with any social norms. I want to give myself the chance to love someone, and commit to them, and trust those choices in good and bad metaphoric weather. It often seems that most people started diving for this chance at puberty. What I learned from my adolescent experiences was that I was not strong enough for the heartbreak, too scared for the rejection, and not interested enough in the supposed perks of coupledom to do the work it takes to make a relationship a true joy and worth the time.  A  lot has changed. And I’m kind of proud and really excited that I want this. That in not-that-long-in-the-grand-scheme-of-things I have healed and grown enough to feel brave enough to face the rejection, strong enough for the heartbreak, and in possession of the tools to build a relationship, with the right person, that is absolutely a joy and totally worth our time.

I love you whoever and wherever you are, even though you’re not in my life yet!

So I’m excited about this change in my life, and I want to talk about it.  Also I grew up in this psycho-spiritual-emotional amalgam of new age mysticism and counseling psychology, both of which have elements of visualisation and mental rehearsal. Which all adds up to pouring out (and hashing out) some of these ideas and desires here. And maybe this will be a little like the “Bat Signal.” Maybe he’ll come to Gotham and find me.

First Sunday This March

Woke up blue this morning. The sky was dark like in the heart of winter, though we are now in her outskirts. I was thinking about everything anyone had said to me recently that I didn’t want to hear. Those thoughts crashed meanly into the things I said to myself last night that made so much sense. Knew my toilet was angry, but I had high hopes for it. Dashed. The tentative, mental hand I stretch out to remembered places and moments that warm me, recoiled. Everything felt so stale.

I woke up blue this morning, and I don’t want to be. It’s that simple. Direct opposition of the will and the heart. The heart should aways win you know. To stay in the present, you have to own its mood, its, sometimes peculiar, outlook. There is no denying the heart. It will out.

And so we are blue, my heart and I, until we are lifted. The will will have to sulk. No gain there. Turn it to other tasks: like a post. Each task completed is a tether cut free. Eventually the will can float, and caper in spite of the heart. So there, heart! The will and I will make a start of it. Catch up when you can.

Jotted. Released.

Decisions. Decisions.

I love feeling creative and burgeoning with ideas, but when the time + mental space to properly engage in bringing those ideas to life is limited, one must choose.

Revise or create? Cleanse the metaphorical palate? Relax and renew? Get inspired?

Yesterday, I finished a draft of the short play that is most likely to get submitted to this competition/workshop at the end of the month. I admit, I am still wanting to glow from that feeling of completion. And I want to let the idea cure a bit more.

The full length play has started, like the eyes of potatoes, to sprout ungainly reaching roots in every direction. I want to write actual stories about the lives of these characters before they came on stage. Those themes are inspiring other prose. And the play. It’s gotten big enough that I need to start formatting it.

I started to read James Joyce’s Ulysses (blame the BBC). To say I love it would be a vast overstatement. But there are times when that sort of reading is a great comfort to me. The lyric movement of the text seems far more the point than the meanings of individual words, or even  sentences or paragraphs, so it is possible to go into a bit of a fugue state while reading it, like driving on a sun dappled country road.

Due for a blog post. Check. The letter that needs to go in that box that I need to mail tomorrow or not til Friday. Bills.

Time. Responsibilities. Desire. Spin the roulette wheel. See where the ball comes down.