do you crave light like I do

The stars said I need to write. I know they see me. The world is coming back to life and the draft is still unfinished. Do I start it all over or try to land the plane in a random field somewhere, just to say it’s done?

The shitty first draft. A play that can be worked and reworked and cast and rehearsed and turned into a story playing to a room of people who might or might not care.

When I started writing it, quarantine had just started and I was lonely. Am still lonely. Writing a play about a three-way in quarantine seemed fun. Create characters when there aren’t any around you. At first it was fun. The words came easily. Scenes and ideas and dialogue, funny and dark and sexy.

Things eventually started getting murky. Nothing felt like it had a point. Theater didn’t exist. Anger and fire were everywhere. The story felt frivolous and privileged. The words stopped coming.


But we aren’t there anymore. Not in that exact moment anyway. Even if that moment is still felt. The sun is out and people have emerged. Theaters are opening and their stories are full of timely heaviness that we are all too accustomed to anyway. I crave light, maybe other people do too.

So there you have it.

full moon trance

I am back from paradise and last night I had sex.

It had been several months since we had seen each other. An entire summer. And yet his voice purring out “I missed you so much” was enough. Like velvet.

It took me 85 years to finish. Some moments felt like shooting out into space and leaving my body. Then I would slingshot back and worry that I had left that body too inert while skyrocketing through pleasure.

Every time he exhaled, his moan vibrated all over me.

The sweaty sheen that appears over you. Even if you don’t think you’re doing anything. But in reality my entire body was pulsing, thrashing with periodic electric shocks. Feeling everything so deeply for hours.

Toy after toy. He had one that vibrated and one that mimicked a sucking sensation. I think they made things a little too sensitive. Eventually my own hand was enough.

There’s a strange trance to sex. And he seemed intent on building it. With the music in his apartment, and the various rhythms of his mouth and fingers and body. I guess it was my role to melt into that trance and become the instrument he played and pulled pleasure out of. But sometimes I snapped back into the moment. Felt guilt. Selfishness. Anxiety. Until his mouth did something new and I melted back into the trance.

When it was over we stared into each other’s eyes and he ran a hand through my hair, softly, over and over.

“I want to pull out everything any shitty boyfriend ever did to you.” he made a motion like he was pulling it out of my hair. “Any moment that ever made you feel small. I want you to know that you are beautiful.”

His voice melted on the last word and I felt tears in my eyes. I just nodded and said thank you.

And then I learned he is monogamous. Who knows what will happen here. But the moment was beautiful.

standing by some water

I bristle at the phrase “never forget.” As if it’s possible to forget. As if it didn’t utterly transform the world and the ways we behave and history as we know it.

I feel annoyed when I see movie ads about it. They feel exploitative to me, and like a sharp trigger for anyone who lived through it and is now just trying to be a person.

It bothers me to see that day being capitalized on and profited off of. But maybe those movies are also a way someone somewhere can feel like they’re paying respects to the whole awful thing by watching. I don’t know.

I’m standing by some water right now and it’s beautiful and so is life. We have such an incredible ability to endure so much. That’s all I can say. Big hugs to you wherever you are and however you’re processing today.

Hawaii has pigeons too

I just landed in paradise and I feel like an idiot.

20 minutes after a 10 hour flight, I am talking to an incredibly confused customer service person and then buying another plane ticket. And I don’t even care. I just want the interaction to end and I feel so stupid I could die.

This is how I felt the last time I left Hawaii too. That time, I hadn’t brought the right credit card and I was not used to staying in fancy hotels. So I didn’t know that I couldn’t just “find a way to make it work.” Cut to me telling a concierge that I don’t have enough money to pay for my stay at the nicest hotel I’ve ever set foot in. That was fun.

Cut to 5 minutes later, me crying in a lovely courtyard garden and trying to figure out how to get into a lyft without anyone seeing me. I can safely say that this was one of the worst moments of my life up until that point. It was 2019 after all.

And here I am sitting at the airport in paradise, telling you about a horribly embarrassing thing that happened to me 2 years ago.

Well you know what I’m back now. And a fucking pigeon just flew in front of me. Hawaii has pigeons. Because New Yorkers probably brought them with us because we are gross.

I’m back. I made it back here after a freaking pandemic. I’m going to stare that horrible embarrassment and feel it and deal with it. And then I’m going to move on with my life.

Maybe after all that I can sit in the sun on a beach and not feel bad. Maybe I can even (gasp) relax.

but that’s okay right?

You’re in a boat and I’m swimming out to it. But the water gets deeper quickly. Soon I am gasping with nothing to hold onto, and you have gotten no closer.

I push forward until my arm muscles burn. Waves are constantly coming at me. Sometimes I float above them, and sometimes I submit to them. I cough and flail.

Meanwhile you are teasing me with your invitations. It’s been so long. You’ve missed me so. Once I get there everything will feel so good. We will melt into each other like we did before, will go even further beyond what we did before. You didn’t actually disappear; you were just too far out on the horizon to see, but you wanted me there the whole time.

I’m so close, and when I come it will be amazing.

Water stings my eyes but I push ahead. Fueled by lust and fantasy and promise.

I open my eyes and you are pulling up your anchor. The boat is leaving. Plans have changed. You’re so sorry we keep missing each other.

Then you disappear. And the shore is so far away.

queer guilt

I was supposed to have a date with a beautiful girl on Saturday and I just cancelled. I feel like a monster.

The same thing happened that has happened before. Swipe right, stunned by her photos and her hair and her face. Chat chat. Number exchange. Find out she is lonely/looking for something serious/monogamous. Realize she is getting excited about this date. Panic, cancel, block.


Better to do that now though than to go along with it and hurt her later.

I have done that before too.

In my old city, I once had dinner with an extremely sexy lesbian. The conversation was so good and she was sweet and so pretty. Then on the night of our second date I sent a really long text about how I couldn’t do this. I remember clutching my own chest and wincing right before I sent it. As if I was giving myself a heart attack.

How do you go so quickly from an excellent first date to a humongous wall of panic and then a freak-out-and-cancel?

For me it happens right in between that excited glint in her eye, and that rising wall of dread over inevitably disappointing her. By not being “experienced” enough or committed enough, or being a selfish lover or too committed to my friends or I don’t know, any of the other weird accusations my ex-girlfriend threw to me at 3 am right before we broke up.

There’s a lot to unpack.

I’ve been hurt by women I dated, and I haven’t exactly faced all of that. If anything, I’ve run away and ignored what I’m feeling there. I’ve also doubted my own bisexuality in moments like this, and I know that self-erasure is really the last thing we need in an already biphobic society.

If I’m not queer, why do I keep getting myself into situations like this? Why do I keep getting crushes on women and swiping right on them?

Testing the waters of solo poly seemed like a good way to dive into this. This way it’s possible to enjoy women (and men and everyone, yay) and not crush feelings by not wanting an exclusive relationship.

Yes there’s still the unknown and that’s nerve wracking. But there doesn’t have to be so much overwhelming *expectation.* We can connect and find each other fascinating and enjoy what it’s like to touch each other, and even keep in regular contact afterwards. And that doesn’t mean we’re now married.

Anyway that’s where I am. It’s always better to just be honest. Turn that spotlight on your monster self and maybe see that it isn’t really so heinous.

tipsy mcgee

On a subway home. Not even that tipsy. You’d think I would be.

People in masks everywhere. Seeing people from my old job for the first time since this all started.

A friend who used to recommend plays she’d seen. A year and a half went by and now she has another play rec. I could’ve cried. And somehow none of it feels any different. But all of it is.

What are we supposed to do with all of this. Is it really just a matter of moving forward with things like they were before. I don’t think it is.

But it’s not about being afraid either. It’s figuring out the movement that makes sense for yourself. It’s learning to ground and get clear and hear yourself. Listen to that quiet voice in your head that knows exactly what it needs.

It’s learning how to alchemize the hard emotions. The anger and fear and loneliness. Thoughts that you know are insane even as they speed by and light up anxiety in your stomach.

Feel them all. Deeply and intimately. That’s what’s recommended. Stare at them even though it hurts. Even though it makes you feel like a gross monster. That feeling is proof enough that something is happening.

Then the skies clear and you see someone else going through pain like that. And you soften in your heart because you have a sense of how that may feel. Pain sees pain. And empathy can slowly emerge. And there’s the transformation.

It’s hard to see that when the heavy hits. It can feel like a train slowly rubbing over you. Or imprisoning you. Or suffocating you. But it is possible to move through them. And that can lead to rewards. One moment of connection can melt pain into empathy. And all of that can lead you into the sunlight.

well here we are

Went to a party in Brooklyn with a friend. After a day of working too hard for no particular reason.

The party was incredibly fun. It was outside with trees and those big swingy Christmas lights. There were tacos and spicy margaritas, and everyone was super friendly. At one point a couple of strangers showed up, clearly on drugs, and started literally hugging trees. I was entertained until they got too close to me.

It was just nice to be around people who were genuinely friendly.

After the party, my friend and I went to a bar with this man she’d previously hooked up with. I thought I’d be playing wingwoman but instead I mostly avoided dating questions from him.

My friend and I vented to him about how hard it is to be the “cool girl” when you’re dating. You go on the date and you have sex and you feel like you are posing and acting like an unnatural version of yourself. Is this sexy? Am I doing this right? And then that extends to texting behavior and pretty soon you’re not enjoying the flirting anymore because you’re so hung up on whether you’re behaving appropriately.

That’s why I’m doing whatever the hell I’m doing. We are all just trying to figure it out.

Oh my god it is 2 am and I have to give a client presentation in 8 hours. This will be fun. No regrets. It’s worth it.

whatever the opposite of horny is

I told him yes I’m a voyeur. That I like to watch. He took that to mean I like to send naked pictures. I was more thinking that I like to secretly watch people touch each other from my window across the street.

He asked for a photo and I sent one. Not naked. The stakes are so much higher with these things for me than they are for him. He sent me a ridiculous photo of him with a towel barely covering a set of abs. Instead of slobbering over them, I felt anxiety. As if I was waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to not find me attractive.

No that is not healthy but at least I’m recognizing it.

It was a few photos later when I realized he is not good at sexting and I wanted to stop talking. I had made myself anxious over seeking the approval of someone who wasn’t even turning me on.

It took me until I wrote that down just now to realize how weird it actually is.

she’s on a train

CW: mentions of eating disorders

On a train going all the way across Pennsylvania. It’s long but I like it so much more than flying. For 8 hours you can just look out the window, stare at trees and water, and space out while you listen to music or podcasts or a book.

Was just listening to a podcast interview with an eating disorder therapist. There were several moments that made me unexpectedly tear up, but she had a particularly fascinating point near the end.

She said anorexia is incredibly selfish, and she didn’t mean that word with any kind of judgment. It was literal. You are constantly thinking about yourself, about what you need to put in yourself or do to yourself to burn what you put into it. And your starved brain has no bandwidth to think beyond that. It’s desperately working on fueling and thinning itself. There’s no room left to see outside itself or pray or connect to the universe. It can’t meditate on anything when it’s starved like that.

It hit pretty deep.

As soon as I get back to the city I’m going to spend the rest of the weekend with a friend. He loves to cook elaborate meals and never lets me help. And obviously the meals are absolutely beautiful but I feel uncomfortable having someone do something like that all the time. He loves to “plan the menu” without telling me. It’s always delicious. But I don’t like the feeling of being spoiled like that. My brain spirals to try and do something to make up for him making dinner. It never comes up with anything good. Just paying for his dinner next time.

I know I’m literally complaining about someone making a beautiful lavish meal for me. I know that sounds selfish and insane. And I know that right after I listened to that eating disorder podcast, he texted that he was buying pasta and my stomach dropped. I was feeling gross and resentful about something that hadn’t even happened yet.

So I was listening to *another* podcast earlier today where I heard the phrase “wherever you are is your assignment right now.” Whether you like it or not. If you truly enrich yourself in it and ask how you can show up and serve, if you fully engage in it, you’ll graduate.

Weird feelings about pasta are an unexpected assignment but here we are. Hello how can I show up.