Tag Archives: women

Life is interesting.

8 Sep

SO, remember that one time two weeks ago I said I didn’t ever want to date again?

Yeah …… well ….. lies.

Clarification– I want to date, but I don’t want to date seriously. I want to date in a way that is not complicated, that is fun and doesn’t make my heart hurt, that I enjoy doing. I met this gal. 

I know, I know.

I told you I went on this date the other day. It went really well. We proceeded to then spend another 4-5 hours together on the next day, and most of yesterday as well. She is lovely.

I am excited. 

I haven’t had that fluttery excited feeling about meeting someone new since I met Lovely. I will call this gal Adventurous. Adventurous and I have a lot in common, including our perspective on relationships and life. We just met 3 days ago, but I feel like I’ve known her much longer.

I can kind of relate to Lovely’s month long relationship becoming intense fairly quickly.

I don’t want things to be intense though, just to set the temperature in this place and keep it here. Fun and light and exciting. I love that phase.



Recognizing privilege

20 Aug

I have had a rough week, to say the least. My whiney blog posts.

Sometimes not making a choice, is a choice. Sometimes silence screams the loudest. (Okay, how many cliches can we fit in here).

One thing I am sad about with Lovely is that we had SUCH rough times and by golly, we NEARLY MADE IT. We were THIS close.

I wish I could share being happy with her again. We chose to be so joyful over the hardest times– we just naturally brought that out of each other. We laughed through it all- and some of what should have been the hardest of all hardest are some of my favorite memories with her. I just– I wish we could show each other that even though life was amazing the way it was— it could be EVEN BETTER both being in a content and happy place in life.

I am so excited about my new job. I am so excited to learn. And yes– I am realizing more and more that there will be risk associated with it– but you know what? I am so incredibly blessed. Incredibly. I have been given so much that I do not deserve, and there are women ALL AROUND this world that have never had a chance to use their voice. Some of those women are 13 year olds in my work place whose boyfriends and mothers are pressuring them into giving them babies. Some of those women are in countries where having a voice and a thought is such a threat that it drives people to murder and maim them simply for having the audacity to pursue education.

My Love doesn’t love me anymore.

I am powerful, though. These girls– oh, they have no idea how powerful they could be! And I am in such a privileged place to be be given access as a trusted person in their lives. To talk to them about what they could want, what they could dream. To talk to them about being vulnerable, being scared, feeling worthless, feeling lovesick, being afraid of what their bodies are doing and what people want to do to their bodies. I have been granted privilege, and I am very, very aware of it.

The days I want to stop existing because I am too tired to exist any longer; the days living 60 more years alone or 60 more years painfully in love and writhing and exploding from it because my heart cannot hold how much I love those who I’ve made mine—those days I remember that there are women who never had the chance to know who they could be and I am grateful to be alive then.


Nostalgia, men, women, and hope

12 Aug

I am so prone to nostalgia, and it is a problem.

I cried on the phone to my sister today about how I wanted to come out to my parents, and talk to my mom about my heart-ache, and how unfair and mad I was that my relationships seemed invalid. I know that is awkward for her, because she has been dating her boyfriend for four years. I talked to my friend in Africa, Cassie*, about love and leaving and how tired I am of it. I am worried a bit, and not quite sure what to do. I am only 26, and I feel done. I’m over it. I don’t want to do it anymore, and that scares me. I am just so tired of investing in people and loving them and having them love me, and I feel like I just can’t do it anymore. It makes me feel numb– and back to the scary kinda wishing I just could stop existing type feelings. I don’t know what that means, and I tried to explain it to my sister– which I feel so bad for doing, because what a burden “Um… so I’m feeling like I just am tired and don’t really want to participate in ever baring my soul again/ ever loving anyone” right? She is 22 for goodness sakes.

I have felt this way traveling and experiencing and loving deeply and richly and I come to this conundrum: everything else is okay, in comparison. It works. It’s easier. It doesn’t hurt. But it pales in comparison really living– and thus the catch 22.

I always hate leaving, and I know that. I know it. But there are multiple issues at stake now. One is– I am afraid that in general my “bi-meter” (cute right?) is tipping more towards gals. I mostly am annoyed by men. Which sounds mean to categorize a whole sex as annoying– but men are so… simple. I don’t like being gawked at or hit on by men– and never really have. In fact, that is a super big turn off for me. When a guy has never talked to me in my life, and is suddenly all friendly– I’m like: it’s the boobs, right? It’s my particularly shiny hair. I get weird. The times I have fallen for guys is when they are super nerdy about their weird passions– THAT I like. Or like, when he heard me speak about mine, and then admires that passion. UNFORTUNATELY, I have found that at first, for guys, it is my clothes, hair, body that they like. Again not like in a mannnn I’m gorgeous way, but more like, I can dress this body if I want to. I don’t like it. I think all they want is what this body could do for them, and that makes me resentful. For not *seeing* me. Is that weird? It ISN’T insecurity because to be frank I could care less. It’s more like— disgust I guess that all they want is how I look and that is far from anything I really am. It makes me feel like the encounter is not genuine.

But women…. women want to know who I am. Why I’m here. Who I’ve loved, why, and what I want. So I have had this nibbling uncomfortable realization that I just am more comfortable (at least initially) with women. Which coupled with afore mentioned frustration with not being really known by my family, recent independence due to completing school stuff and finding job, and just the general openness and accepting nature of Denver— has made me reconsider what I want and what I deserve. I never thought I could justify coming out to my family because of how very much I love them, and how very much they would struggle with how I see love and what it can be. There are also just SO many gay/bi women here like EVERYWHERE and a lot of them seem like super strong amazing people who are actually interesting and not boring. I think that’s it… guys just seem boring sometimes. And not “fast processors.”

I thought I was trapped and just would never be able to tell them— but my life is mine, and I beginning to think NOT telling them is more toxic to me than I would have liked to compartmentalize. And then…. going down the road of telling them… it brings up a WHOLE BUNCH of stuff that I kind of thought was off limits and that I would never get to have. And then I get excited, like, maybe I can consider these things and still be me and marry all the parts of my life and maybe my family would still love me. But I feel like those thoughts just torture me more– so I don’t know if they are a good or a bad thing.

And in comparison to that, I suppose my nostalgia and heartache and desperate attempt at apathy are better than hoping for something. But there is this sneaking maybe, which hurts oh it hurts, because even a week later I feel more mine here.

June 13, 2013

13 Jun

My body is a stranger

It unwillingly lumbars from place to place aching all the time under the strain of having to carry itself from the garden back to the concrete and swelter under the heat of airconditioned vents and the keys chattering away on a keyboard.

Sometimes we shut our eyes and there is the burning when the oxygen hits them and every breath is ours and we fought goddamnit for it and sometimes

the only thing I can say I’ve done is made it until I could crawl into my sliver of a bed and move the dog to the right side and, stretch out my muscles and tendons and all the other things the body is and

try and recognize my life as mine and not some distant life that I keep watching happen to some distant girl, like a movie that I have muted on in the background while I 

iron my clothes and yours too, and make food for the men in our house (because that is what the women do)

and clean the food scrapes and scraps off of the table and sweep them onto the floor until the boys then step on them, barefoot, crumbs sticking to their toes and

trying to sleep after a long, long day of apologizing

(because that is what the women do).


Binary Differences

25 May

Dating boys: 

Option A: don’t like you, don’t like you, you like me, okay I kind of like you, dating!

Option B: eh, you’re okay eh, you’re okay eh … you helped a small child buy a new ice cream, DEAR ME OH MY YOU ARE SO FUNNY AND PERFECT AND NICE AND PROBABLY MY LOVE OF LIFE

Option C: We’re hanging out? Uh… okay.. I mean is that dating? Like do you “like like me or just like me?” 

Option D: Shit you have a girlfriend. I am now obsessed.


Dating girls:

Option A: Wow, you are pretty and funny and nice. Wow, you are so smart. Wow, we should hang out and be best friends forever. Slash make out. And watch chick flicks after we get pedicures, cook dinner together, and have fulfilling conversations. Then cuddle.