i stayed home today

and cleaned, and hummed, and was happy and me and together somehow inside all day. hank called, and i have to admit to myself that part of me is still so in love with him, i get so happy to hear his voice and when i think about his stubbly cheek rubbing on my smooth one something aches in my belly, back toward my spine. he called and sounded wistful and the minute i began to he got all hard- that's what's been happening, as soon as i show some inkling of regret he hardens up- but if i'm hard and tough he's soft and touchy and all "so how are you" "i miss you" "oh i love you so much" "what can i do to end sexism" oh god if i'm not fucking exhausted of that conversation. he's getting better, but it seems such slow going- i'm banging my head against a cinderblock wall and i'm bleeding you can see my brain through my scalp and skull and finally the blocks begin to crumble and dust but will i survive to see the end of all this

it's true, he was right, i do feel hopeless, i am convinced that i will never be able to interact with men in the same way, and i won't. it's true. i will never be that woman again, and i feel as though i need to grieve. i've lost so many people- so many bio males who decided that i was too hard to be around. i remember trying to lighten the blows with lots of encouragement and compliments but they hate me nonetheless. not all of them, but somehow i believe that as soon as they get a load of THIS they will run run run, fast and far and maybe send me a friendster from their new home in Jersey.

but in the end j is right again. i give thanks for my diverse community- and white men are a part of that. i love hank, it's true, and i believe in his change. it's been hard, but i've been through harder and much more hopeless situations. mmm, maybe a meth addiction? maybe poverty? yeh yeh, i have a roof over my head and a strong network of friends and i have fabulous skills that i can get money for and i complain about dude's behavior.

oh, yeh- I now decide to no longer attack men, but to attack their role. what does that mean for me? lots of great things, i think. i need to find a more sustainable way to negotiate male defensive stuff- and perhaps that can be through identifying them separate from their role and then going at the role. now, how exactly to do that...

i'm back

after a very trying week. family reunions, especially ones with aunts and uncles burdened with the histories thrust on them like the ones my dead dead grandfather perpetuated, are exhausting. my grandfather wasn't an evil man exaclty; he was a man, conditioned into a violent and isolating role, furthered by his involvement in the military, where he stormed the beach at Normandy
crawled over the bodies of his dead friends
his jaw blown off

he returned to the states a different person, now an irishman taken to his hereditary lust- alcohol. it drove him to all sorts of lengths, abusive lengths, a diverse abusive. let's not ennumerate. my mother, one of ten children, suffered at his drunken, angry hand.

wouldn't you be mad if your jaw was blown off? i'm not sure that qualifies destroying the lives of your ten children. and your wife.

he's dead. may he have found peace.

nonetheless, there are plenty of living people to gawk at as they play out the damage the dead have caused. my uncle, for instance, is scared shitless of love. and of being out of control. and of powerful women. he noticed my mother had some power- ok, so she was being a little ridiculous at some points, but she organized the whole damn thing- and he began to systematically attack her. she cried over and over but did not let down. i was proud of her. it was over a PHOTOGRAPHY session, for fucks sake, it was NOTHING- but he couldn't stand not having the power. couldn't let his little sister have photos taken of their elderly parents (my grandma remarried). he FLIPPED HER OFF in front of everyone. So, i pulled out the big guns...

and hit him where it hurts. he hates my father with a passion; i told him he was just like my dad, and that he was the reason Mama married Papa. he looked at me like he was gonna smack me and told me to be quiet. i love being able to get someone like that- you don't make my mama cry and not pay.

i love him though, and apologized later, he seemed to have almost more problem with my compassion than with my anger. i have pity for him- he feels so unloved, unloveable, unhappy.

I, on the other hand, am feeling a whole lot better about my life. i'm getting great support and feel as though my male centric behavior patterns are shifting... it feels good after a good two weeks of deep depression. yeh. fuck that. i'm still sad, but it's a happy sort of sad.

there is so much here

that i am afraid to know. i don't want to know that things that my mother has to tell me.

oh well oh my god

some things are much too crazy. my mother, at this moment, is puking off the side of my house, drunk after a long night of double irish coffees. i told you i was irish. deeply.

she told me many things about my father tonight- many things that hurt to hear. i love my papa more deeply than any of you can ever imagine- i would, in fact, kill you if you ever threatened him. really. tear your throat out and kill you.

tell you more tomorrow....

my mother

flies into town today. she is planning on moving here- i think, which is like a breathtaking blow to the chest as well as an exciting thing. When i was small my mother and I had a great relationship- she was always there, even if sometimes she was nearly *terminally* depressed, she would lock herself in her room all day with the blinds drawn, crying, and my little brother and i would microwave corn from the freezer so that we could all eat. i think my earliest memory of that was when i was five, and my brother was three.

nonetheless, she tried. she had me too young. mama never had a life- first it was taken from her by her incestuous, physically abusive veteran alcoholic father, then by my coke addicted, physically abusive draft dodger alcoholic father. men running, and somehow finding safety in my mother- where she was never safe. i'm so sorry, mama. she had me when she was 22. i'm 24 now, and i can't imagine living her life- married, two kids with a man more than ten years older than herself. a suprise pregnancy (me) that jerked her right out of college, where she had a 4.0. my mama is a smart woman. patriarchy was stacked against her.

i have it a little easier, i think, though conciousness of our oppressive society is perhaps a heavier weight. i don't know. it's hard to watch myself play things out, over and over, almost like i hover above my body doing these unhealthy, self-oppressive things and tsk tsk tsk. I am unhappy that hank and i didnt find a better way to deal with our relationship, and i have to say that I'm almost sorry we didn't break up earlier. i would have liked to be more emotionally healed before otis and i started doing whatever we were doing- we fell for each other quickly, and i transferred all my "shit" from hank to otis, almost purposefully. and therefore destroyed something, that perhaps, would have been really fucking cool. we just get along so well, and have so many corresponding interests and analysis- i feel like i went down the "psycho woman" path, but i know that that thinking i am also just playing out some shitty self-oppression. i'm not crazy- i just come from some fucked up shit.

what do i want? space. i want me back, i want myself to be fully in my power and prepared to function independently and powerfully in every area of my life. i want to distance myself from folks that can't hear me. no more silencing.

consistently

i am happy with my friend j. i have to say, though, that tonite i was feeling a little over stimulated by the scene- happy dykes/bi wymn, hanging out, loving on each other, together, talking about vibrators and dildos and sex, and damned if i didn't wanna just get down right then and there, tear clothes off and drown myself in breasts and sweat and sighs and beautiful, beautiful pussy.

i have to be careful. i can't decide to not oversexualize my relationships with men and turn around to do that with my friends, my network, my support beams, my team. i love the women in my life, in so many ways- and it's true, that sometimes i love to kiss them, hold their bodies close to mine, make crazy love, but that is only a small part of a larger, wholistic and lovely relationship.

i love you all so much. may we never part.