my turtle ring

When I was in Hawaii I bought a little golden ring with a turtle on it. I wanted to have a symbol to carry with me and remember how magical that place is.

I’ve been back in the city for about 3 weeks, and I’ve been wearing my ring on dates – not really thinking anything of it until I find myself in… a compromising position.

Even though it spends most of its time in a box, let’s just say that turtle has witnessed some stuff.

“Oh my, never seen this person before. He looks… angry?”

“Why do they look like they want to eat you?”

“You’re squishing me.”

“Is he… is that… well and now we are tied to a bed.”

“Oh he seems like a nice boy. Aw you’re having some ramen and laughing, that’s nice too. Wow what a nice apartment. Oh that’s…. Oh. Oh my.”

“There’s a mirror by his bed! I can see myself! I can also see……. Oh my!”

My gut reaction is to apologize to this turtle. But that feels like I am slut shaming myself. Also this turtle is an inanimate object.

And also, maybe this turtle is having fun! Maybe it’s like being on a rollercoaster! People scream in a fun way on those too.


Got exceptionally high last night.

Wasn’t even expecting to. Didn’t think it was possible to go to a store and buy gummies that could do that. But a beautiful loophole has been discovered and now it is.

I ate one and cooked dinner and everything was fine, and then one hour later, BAM. I was grinning into space, making up little songs to make myself laugh. Dizzy like my body was tripping over itself.

I laid down and listened to a livestream about the new moon in Libra, all while my body felt like it was losing its edges and dissolving into energy. It felt wonderful and intense and like something I couldn’t stop.

Everything seemed to come up in this state. At one point I woke up in the darkness with loneliness and anxiety screaming at me. I’ve never known a lonelier city than the one I live in right now. It’s hard to remember that the lonelies I feel are not necessarily my own. That doesn’t make them feel any less heavy. I guess they are looking for someone to feel them.

When they pair up with anxiety, they make a dynamic duo. Anxiety over age and not being conventional, the classic “what the hell are you doing with your life” that only seems to be backed up by the lonely feelings.

Dissolve into energy and giggles and then wake up to the cold stare of your shadow. The new moon is activating my shadow side so I guess this makes sense. Shadow, meet softness.

denying myself

The past several days have seen a lot of denial. Of certain types of food. Of touch. Of…. the weather.

Trying to feel good through eating better. Denying myself touch because I have a date tonight who told me to abstain until I saw him next. But I’m the only one doing all this to myself.

Denial does not mean starving. I don’t really know what it means. An astrology app told me I have a tendency to try and soothe myself by depriving myself. That’s something that makes zero sense to me and yet here I am doing it.

No wonder I woke up feeling off. Sad about the slow denial of warmth in this time of year. It can’t always be paradise.

Or maybe paradise just takes different shapes at different times. I’m not sure how to find it in this particular autumnal moment. Maybe all my problems would be fixed if I gave in and had something with pumpkin spice in it. Or maybe I need to admit to myself that it’s fall and bring out the big cozy sweaters. The tea. The spooky movies.

People love this time of year and so do I, but I also get anxious. Anxiety leads to more denial. Begging the sun not to leave me while I walk around in flip flops when it’s 55 degrees.

But there are worse things than curling up with tea and watching Beetlejuice. Will report back.

lucky and lonely

Didn’t think he was going to catch me being sad but he did.

He said he had been sad too.

We hugged and I knew it wasn’t right but I was lonely and his touch was nice.

I thought about being alone in my apartment and it made me cry.

A lot of things did that today.

Surprising things.

Watching Edward Scissorhands and realizing he reminded me so much of you.

The silliness and the sad eyes and the quiet.

Realizing as the music swelled that I really miss you. So much. And crying some more because of that.

What would I even do if I saw you,


It had made you so uncomfortable whenever I did that

But I probably would anyway.

And hug you tightly and thank you for everything.

Thank you for being an incredible loving person

Even if it all freaked you out.

You said the city broke you and I understand why. It’s hard and lonely and constant. But it didn’t break you. Not really.

We just need to superglue ourselves back together somehow.

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.

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.