warning: this gets kind of horny

I’m feeling stuff so I’m going to write about it.

First things first, I have a girlfriend: K. I don’t know why that word feels scary to write when it’s true. She is the coolest person ever. A sensitive and curious artist. Extremely hot. Fun. Communicative. Adjectives. I feel incredibly lucky, and that scares me, so I try not to think about it like that. More on that later, I’m sure.

We are kind of open. We’ve gone to queer sex parties; I watched her zap a line full of curious people one-by-one with an electric wand (it was awesome). I told her that sometimes I hook up with men and she was okay with it, “as long as you don’t feel used afterwards.”

I also told her that deep down I’m really submissive. She got me a little leather collar that is on its way soon (taking a while to be constructed). Huff. She is the best.

Relationships and commitment scare me but I’m also just feeling flooded with how much I like her.

She’s mentioned wanting to try out being a professional Domme. That it would be really fun and fulfilling to help people actualize their fantasies. People are beautiful and complicated.

One of her friends is a trans woman with a fantasy about being pregnant. She is currently having dinner at K’s house. It’s a friend hangout but also kind of a date. K has played along with this woman’s fantasies before, telling her things like how she wants to impregnate her and take care of her, that kind of thing. They are going to make soup tonight. K’s focus can be really intense and I know this is why she hasn’t texted me.

I feel okay about her doing this with this person, but I’m finding that the not-hearing-from-her thing is not fun. But I’m dancing around my apartment doing chores and trying to keep occupied in the meantime.

…this includes reading a super-horny book by Anne Rice and texting men. [covers face with hand]

There are three men that I talk to, and lately I’ve felt weird about seeing them so I’m basically acting like a cock-tease at this point. But then I had a breakthrough fantasy today: that when I’m with them and making them feel good, K is in the background whispering approvingly in my ear. Or she’s trained me so well that somehow pleasing men is still coming back around to pleasing her. Or… something. *fans self* Is it hot in here?!

I don’t really know anyone who won’t think I’m a complete slut weirdo if I tell them all this, so I’m writing it down here. Thank you for joining me while I make sense of my own brain.

tidal waves

My dad is depressed. It gets into the air and makes everything feel thick, heavy.

He is not sad without reason. But he doesn’t have the right tools for handling his feelings. I caught him in the kitchen sneaking “sips” of vodka, which he is absolutely not supposed to be doing.

My dad has regularly gotten drunk on vodka for most of my life, but over the past year was told by a doctor not to have it anymore. Because it makes him fall down, forget things, say stupid shit, etc. Oh also he is on a really strong anti-seizure medicine that counteracts with alcohol. I wanted to go out and throw the whole fucking bottle onto the driveway.

But we had company over and I didn’t want to make a scene. So I hid the bottle instead.

Not anywhere difficult – just four feet away, under the sink. I mostly just wanted to see what would happen.

My mom said “this is between you and him.” He also apparently called me the “women’s temperance movement” but, in typical repressed midwestern fashion, didn’t say a word about it to me.

A day passed. Then this morning I checked the hiding spot and the bottle was gone.

My mom made jokes and I tried to smile over my nervous, sad stomach. But I couldn’t shake that this was alcoholic behavior and he’s been pulling this shit for years.

I blurted all of that out and my mom rolled her eyes, like “ugh, do we have to keep talking about this?”

I have watched my dad get drunk, fall down, and get sad about it an uncomfortable number of times. But I can’t stop this. If I hide the bottle in a brilliant place, he will just buy another one. I am so sad and angry about this that it makes me want to scream in his face. But that won’t stop it either.

Luckily I have a therapist. We talk about ways that maybe I could establish some boundaries and try to find a little peace. We talk about the good things that are in my life too. She reminds me that I’m at this lake house that I’ve been craving, and I’m doing everything I wanted to do. There are other personalities in this space too, but whatever they do is not a failure on my part. My dad needs to choose to help himself and he just…. isn’t.

So at least for the next few days, I guess my strategy is to figure out how to take care of myself (that age-old question), and then remove myself when things are too much. My therapist also reminds me that I always have a choice.

This family does not let itself feel things. But I do. So I feel all of it. Sometimes that is like getting crushed by a tidal wave. But it’s way fucking healthier than the alternative. So I keep doing it.

..but maybe I can step out of the way of the tidal wave once in a while, and lovingly towel myself off.

[image found here: https://www.etsy.com/listing/112266137/apres-moi-le-deluge-fine-art-print-by?epik=dj0yJnU9WVE4RjBmQ01pTnVoaFE0cGdBTnZOTE1oRjlUb09QbUEmcD0wJm49Sm1GMFJIMVN0bEpZcXI2dHNVQnVRZyZ0PUFBQUFBR01UMGdZ%5D

just need to breathe

when you are trying to take a selfie of us and I don’t know what to do with my hands or face or body

when I am at your house and you are wrapped around me and I’m feeling trapped

..or terrified that I’m not good enough for you

just breathe.

you once told me that whenever you see me, at first my eyes and body language are always nervous for a few minutes. Like I’m subconsciously begging “please don’t get mad at me”

you said “but don’t you know by now how much I care about you, don’t you know yet that you’re safe here”

I just need to breathe

and move beyond being scared you’re going to think I look fat or bad

because things are different now

let all of that go silent

sink into my body and know I am enough.

[image found here: https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/jlarriva/tempest/ ]

mermaid report

There’s always lots spinning around. Even when you’re out of the city.

Parents are humans and sometimes they have outbursts. Sometimes your dad has road rage and threatens to beat the shit out of a random child that made a face at him. Or your mom tells you about her sadness and grief over your uncle + aunt getting divorced; and their daughter having a girlfriend; and your sister coming out as trans.

“This has been a huge year full of heavy shit,” she says. So it’s probably for the best that you don’t tell her you’re queer. Or that you have a girlfriend… and also sleep with men sometimes. Maybe don’t tell anybody that. Like, ever.

Meanwhile you feel guilt for not enjoying yourself. Not as much as you think you should. But there is still sun and lake and breeze. There is time to read books today. Beyoncé’s album exists. You picked up a giant piece of bright blue, beautifully smooth sea glass. The waves are calming.

So I don’t know. Things are complicated but there’s also love. We’re here and breathing and feeling the good and hard things.

(Image found here: http://www.mcbridegallery.com/nizovtsev/nizovtsev_paintings2.html )

oh and by the way you should thank us

I’m at a lake and it is Friday. The water is still like glass from my window, barely moving. It was so hectic getting here but now I’ve made it. Take a deep breath of cool air.

The city was hot madness but now from what I hear, it is cooling itself off a little too. Come live among the rats and trash, in this paradise where winters make you depressed and summers melt away your sanity. Where you’re paying way too much for way too little and everything is too close together.



Why aren’t you having fun?


Bonjour, I have Covid.

Wow what a wild and fun time to be alive.

Am I even allowed to write that? Is someone going to censor me for saying that? I’ve had my shots. But this new one is really contagious so I got it. I also had it right when this whole thing started. That first time was a lot scarier. This time I mostly just kind of feel like I’m high.

Earlier I was meandering around my apartment and tidying up. Because if I don’t, no one else is going to. While I was tidying up, I was dancing a little. Even though I was a little dizzy.

But then it hit me how strange it was that *no one* could come into this space and see me right now. How this silly and innocuous little scene was completely closed off from the rest of world (and honestly, it would have been anyway). But now I was officially Sick. So it was closed off for the sake of public safety, not just privacy. That made it feel a little heavier.

I took two tests and both of them had two angry red lines, pretty much instantly. I thought about making a joke that woops, I’d accidentally bought a pregnancy test instead. But I didn’t.

It hasn’t really been all that dramatic. My parents sent me comfort food groceries and I have been playing video games and watching TV all day. I feel loopy and feverish but I’m okay. It’s hot as fuck outside and everything is so weird but I am okay. I feel tired and wired but also okay.

notes on fading a little

I went dark on social media. Because things were feeling overwhelming and I wanted peace. Stayed off for the span of a Mercury retrograde. Now that is over.

But I have to be honest. I haven’t gone back on yet. I don’t think I want to.

Everything is just… a lot. Still. I thought going offline would bring some sort of relaxed exhale, but it just clarified the parts of my brain and heart that hurt. The clarity is nice — just not exactly blissful.

Good things did happen. A lot of them did, actually. Dating certainly did not slow down. My play is going to a festival this summer. And I got back to therapy yesterday!

Because it turns out, you don’t have to do this alone. People want to help you. And that already feels so much better.

eclipse after a birthday

I’ve been learning about myself. That’s all I ever seem to do.

The sky rumbles and planets crash into each other and you think, is this really going to affect me this time? And then you’re awake at 3 AM in a panic over how invisible you are. But you’re not.

I get lost in my own head. A personality test revealed this even though it is so obvious. I get lost but it doesn’t feel lost. It feels like reality. That’s the danger of it.

So many stories to tell you, sweet one. It was my birthday and I didn’t tell anyone. Bought myself a cake and threw most of it in the trash (sorry).

When your tendency is to lose yourself in your own thinking, a solution is to make contact with other people. This can feel awkward and anxiety-inducing in its own right. And that’s ironic. But it’s still what you should do.

So on Friday I did that. My friend is a songwriter and he was having a show. He hadn’t performed in 3 years. So I thought yes, I will go to this and pretend to be the cool girl whose friend is the lead singer. Even though the idea gives me nervous stomach.

Sometimes you step out of what’s comfortable and everything feels weird. Other times you do that and you find a seat, the venue is cozy, and your friend plays music that hits the exact soothing spot you needed. Then you hug him after the show and he asks if he looked nervous.

I’m so good at telling myself stories that sometimes I paralyze myself.

vulnerability hangover

Okay but what was the point of that. Why did we open our hearts up and why did I cry and why did we journal about each other if none of that changes anything.

This is my stubborn contradiction. I crave closeness. Emotion. Connection. Then I get it but sometimes it feels suffocating. I float out of myself and ask “why did you do that? was there a reason to open up those old wounds?”

We broke up three years ago and I knew I was over him. We are still in touch. He mails me postcards but I look at them with a kind of detached fondness, oh that’s nice. But last night I was typing on my phone, bearing more of myself than maybe he deserved to see. Tears pouring because something had been newly reopened and for what purpose. Healing? Is that what this is?

At what point are we just picking at things for the sake of feeling something? What’s the difference between “doing the work” and just plain hurting yourself?

“I’ve changed so much.” he said.

“You have and you haven’t.” I replied.

write where it hurts

I read a playwright’s bio because I want a reference for my own. Hers is a page long, spectacular. Award winning. Artistic residency. Mine is a paragraph.

At my most masochistic, I scroll through a theater’s “Past Playwright Fellows” section to see if any of them have blonde hair. They don’t.

Obviously that doesn’t matter. Everything relies on the writing. Regardless of what’s happening or how you feel. Did you write it down? It is a muscle and a meditation practice. It is blissful catharsis and maddening frustration. And you show up for it, always. Look at whatever is felt and write it out.

After work, he comes over and reminds me of my masochism in other ways. It looks scary but is consensual. Pain on my terms.

Then he let me in on darkness from his past. Traumas that bubbled up when he saw a play. Memories that he can only start to process now. None of my words felt helpful so I just listened and wrapped myself tighter around him. Closeness.

Do I write a play about the healing power of getting my hair pulled? Do I want to turn a spotlight on something so raw?

He went home and I fell asleep at 9:30. Woke up feeling clear.

Then this morning my ex revealed that he is also polyamorous. This wasn’t a surprise but it did set off a lot of sparks in my brain. Questions. Curiosity. Anxiety (because of course).

When we were together, I was so scared and jealous at the end. I shoved all of it away because my heart was bruised. I was scared of that pain.

But why did I act like that? If we are the same, then why couldn’t I have let him do what I also wanted to do? Why did it take pandemic loneliness for me to lean into this?

He asked me if I was dating multiple people. I really did not want to know if he was. The old fear bubbles right back up. Dating people does not mean you are not available. But tell that to my primal abandonment terror.

And anyway this ex is now in a completely different state so what’s the point, what are you even feeling?

It’s mostly just the ego not wanting to be hurt again. Especially not by this person who has accidentally hurt it so many times already.

Oops sorry I didn’t know how to communicate and neither did you so we left marks and scars on each other’s hearts.

I grow and make choices. And I still get hurt and skitter off like a frightened animal at times. I guess none of this was meant to make those feelings go away. But at least we’re still in each other’s lives, even after all of that.