domesticity (stream-of-consciousness xvi)

i was left home alone by myself for the first time in weeks, it seems like, with instructions to "take some time, write a little bit, listen to music, whatever you need to do; take some medicine, and go to bed." he'll be back late; it's nice to get a break from being a drag wife. much as i might like to go protect him from the creepy gay men at this particular bar. at least they pay well.

yup, that's my life.

i rather like this idea of having a partner. someone to do things with, someone to team up with. and damn do we make a good team. the 160 or so jello shots in the refrigerator next door will attest to that.

i'm thinking about breaking out the guitar. interesting how certain things maintain their shyness.

writing has always been my anchor, and it's important [for me] to remember that. it's amazing to see him recognize that, even though the times i've mentioned it to him have been few. for a while, it seemed that he filled the space i became used to filling with writing--at the end of the day there was another person there, to debrief with, to break things down. spoken reflection. and this is still something i value. there are words floating around in my head like "novelty" and "impermanence," "self" and "other." it's not that writing or speaking becomes more or less valuable; i don't need a written record of my thoughts or actions. ink fades and paper decomposes, just like my body will someday waste. i am dirt, just waiting to forget this notion of consciousness, of humanity.

blogging is stupid, really. i have a thought, and pow, it's shared. this illusion of permanence, when really it's just code, saved and accessed on a server i do not control. i give myself over to whatever gods govern the Internet, what will someday become the hive mind when we evolve into robots (i'm convinced).

this is what happens when i go without, for too long. words pour.

i've started writing on paper again, but as soon as i start, something happens to break the habit. three days, it always takes. sometimes longer, depending on the strength of the habit.

i read something earlier today, glanced at, really, a debate on slate about the use of two spaces after a period. i'm fighting with it. i type two spaces usually because when i was a child i was taught to use the space of two fingers when writing with fat pencils on dotted lines, blue on the outside and red in the middle, to show just how far your t should go, your l or your j beneath. one finger between words and two between sentences. it carried over. i never thought about the typographical reasons why something might be different. my handwriting isn't the same, either.

god forbid, those unrefined mashes of meticulous print, a's without caps on and y's without boats, all straight lines and circles drawn in ways that made the left-handers cramp--i considered myself lucky.

revision has its place. i am slow in learning this.

magnetic poetry 12

peace & freedom
lets make it easy
if I call your name
and you come after
screw he or she
and make us

---

cleaning up. moving soon.

Graduation, again

i feel the need to excuse my absence from the blogosphere,
my unannounced sabbatical, as it were.
i had to go finish grad school.

(i can't decide if this would be better as poetry or as verse. it's been so long.)

my life has been caught up in the chaos of finishing what was without knowing what will be. i'm pretty good on "what is," especially in the very short term.

i'm looking forward to a summer off, and deciding what comes next! in the meantime, i'm hoping i'll write more, but my development there has taken an interesting turn. i don't seem to write as much anywhere as i once used to, and i think i know why, but i'm curious to see where that goes.

on my last day of grad school, i spiked out my hair and wore grey skinny jeans, skater shoes, a cowrie shell necklace, and the blazer from my power-lesbian suit. my boyfriend and my gay husband stood on a street corner with signs that said "FREE HUGS" and came back with amazing stories. i went out with a small group of close friends and enjoyed myself.

then a bunch of other things happened, and that's just this past week.

moment of the week:

"my boyfriend's a transgender veteran, so [the movie Mulan] kinda gets to me."
"he's a veteran?!"

Pronouns

he-she.
me?
ze.
s/he.
it.

his-and-hers.
mine and yours.
ours?

somebody
anybody
nobody.

us and them.

catharsis

it's amazing what can become important instead of homework or sleep. i'm going through almost a year's worth of locked text messages, getting ready to get rid of a defective phone. this is what i should have been doing at New Year's.

heterosexism strikes again

alone at the verizon store, upon telling the man who couldn't figure out why my phone doesn't ring that mine is not the main number on the account:

"whose account is it, then? is it your parents' account? your boyfriend's account?"

...am i the only person in the world who notices things like this? or just the only one who thinks making assumptions is foolish?