When you neglect your work
it’s like a mine disaster
I think of all the people
trapped inside you
(after Richard Brautigan)
Emo Femme Shopping and What It Won’t Give Me
A while back, a friend of mine posted on Facebook that she wanted to indulge in some “emo femme shopping,” but that she was resisting the impulse. And she summed up the post with a phrase I wish I were uninhibited enough to write: “world love me NOW!”
I knew immediately what she meant. This friend and I have a lot in common. We’re both queer femmes, we’re both plus-sized girls, and neither of us had Mrs. Cleaver for a mother. Her post also made me aware of how I’d been indulging in my own emo femme shopping for quite a few weeks. And what, pray tell, is emo femme shopping? It’s an attempt to lift one’s mood via the purchase of a pink/fluffy/sparkly/cute/fashionable item. And given the nearly unlimited number of pink/fluffy/sparkly/cute/fashionable items available via the miracle of the Intartubes and Paypal (not to mention the nice bump in salary I enjoyed when I came back to work full-time this April), it can reach dangerous proportions.
I’m sure we’re all familiar with the phenomenon of attempting to change our moods via some outside mechanism. Some of us use booze. Some of us use food. Some of us use sex. And some of us use things like this! or this! or this!. I’m actually not very interested in any of these items, but they do a good job of representing the kind of twee, impractical things I tend to crave when I’m in a particular kind of mood.
Emo femme shopping can very quickly turn into the hell of the hungry ghost — a hell of intense craving that’s impossible to satisfy. A tiny mouth and a huge belly. Like most hells, it’s an illusion. In this case, it’s the illusion that more material possessions will fill the god-shaped hole inside of me.
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Weekly gratitude practice: strawberries, kleenex, cold air, cold baths, sweet smells, someone else does it
- First CSA delivery. Are the strawberries sweeter because I know where they’re from? Or are they just sweeter?
- Hugs and kleenex.
- Free air conditioning.
- Cold baths and LUSH products.
- The health care and home health aid industries — imperfect is still better than absent.
Weekly gratitude practice: if it’s not one thing it’s your mother
I started this post last week but never finished it. Which pretty much describes my mental state for the past seven days or so. Posting it now, almost in time for this week’s. Sigh. Time to stop trying to play catch-up with my past imperfections.
- Doing things differently. Mom is very sick right now, and she’s a two-hour drive away from me. In the past, I would have charged down there and tried to save the world, exhausting myself in the process, crashing, and actually not contributing much to her health or well-being. This time, I listened to some feedback from trusted friends and gave love and support through the miracle of telephony. I was also able to help with some practical matters, like finding a pharmacy that she can reach by bus. Her health has deteriorated to the point where it’s not necessarily a good idea for her to leave home without assistance, but — miracle of miracles! — there’s a little something called the Home Health Aid industry that was created to remedy exactly the situation she and I are both in. I would much rather be down there in person enjoying her company — or even being annoyed by it, because, really, if it’s not one thing it’s your mother — but I’m especially grateful for my ability to listen to suggestions and to break out of old patterns of behavior that have outlived their usefulness.
- Mom herself is a pretty wonderful gift. Like most folks, I have a complicated relationship with my Mom, but overall our relationship is a source of strength and support for both of us. When I was a fresh-faced little babydyke with a tiny hickey on my neck from Yoolia Lanina, the Russian vixen from the Bronx with the Sinead-O’Connor haircut, my Mom turned to me and said, “I love you and support you just as you are, and I will no matter who you bring home.” I spent the next 15 years or so bringing home folks with an assortment of gender expressions, skin tones, and native languages, and she never reneged on that promise. When I was suffering so badly from my chronic illness that I couldn’t safely care for myself in my one-bedroom apartment, she took a few weeks off of work to stay with me and be my Mom. And when I called her bright and early on Wednesday and discussed the situation with her, she was chipper and positive and grateful in spite of the debilitating physical symptoms she’s been suffering from. I love that woman to no end, and I want her to be well and healthy and a part of my life for as long as possible.
- Telephony. It allows me to do so much with my life.
- A steady job. Having lived without one, it makes me especially grateful to have one now.
- Decent health insurance coverage. Ditto above.
Weekly gratitude practice: lush and blooming; a/c in the living room; temperate heat; supported perseverance; Dyke March Boston
- It’s June and Massachusetts is lush and in bloom — past bloom, actually, and into that green place between spring’s first blossoms and the second wave of flowers that comes with July. I took a walk through the meadow next to the Fresh Pond Reservoir this week at dusk, and the air was alive with the sounds of birds singing and small animals rustling in the grass. The blue lupine punctuated the green with its hand-like leaves and its sentinel flowers, the yarrow had its lacy stories, and the clover was up to my shoulder.
- I didn’t even have to carry the air conditioner upstairs by myself this year — Army Guy did it for me with very little grumbling. I’ve got it in the living room window, which comes in handy on hot afternoons when I am working from home.
- While we’ve had some hot, close days, the evenings have been cool enough to sleep with fans.
- The beginning of this week was very difficult, but the love and support of my closest friends gave me the strength I needed to persevere in spite of those difficulties. On Wednesday morning I was feeling hopeless and useless, but by the end of the day I was almost back to my old self.
- Tonight I’m meeting up with two dear Circle Sisters for a picnic dinner before the Dyke March. While I have fond memories of Pride from years past, I’m still on the fence about marching at all this year. The crowds, the sun, the heat, the anticlimactic ending… it makes me feel old and un-hip. But the Dyke March, on a Friday evening, is always an event I enjoy attending. It feels more intimate and somehow more inclusive — for me, anyway. Plus, there’s an aerialist performing at one of the afterparties — I might actually set foot inside a club!
A Juicier, More Personal Kind of History
My freshman year of high school, I came up against the first class where I couldn’t break a C average. I was used to sailing through school on a cloud of As and Bs (well, except for that one F in Algebra in 8th grade, but that was clearly the teacher’s fault). But when I confronted my history teacher with his obvious mistake, he just replied “I just don’t think you’re doing more than C work.”
That’s because history was, to me, largely a matter of things men did. Things men built, countries men sailed to, wars men fought, gods men prayed to. In my relatively short life, I’d had yet to meet a man who was worth that much time and effort. Men were mostly things to be avoided or tolerated, so I wasn’t really all that interested.
Years later in my 20s, I discovered the work of feminist historians and archaeologists like Marija Gimbutas who would challenge this very male-centric approach to history. But it wasn’t what they taught at my high school — and certainly not what my mustachioed, L-7 professor had on offer.
I can still remember one class in the autumn of that year, after the leaves had begun to fall but before they’d left nothing but the bare grey skeletons of the trees. I sat in the far-right row, three desks back from the front. We were probably still studying the ancient tribes of mesopotamia and the Middle East — a subject that fascinates me today. But back in 1987, the official textbooks didn’t mention Inaana’s Descent into the Underworld, domain of her dark sister Ereshkigal. They talked about tribes and territories. They showed pictures of bones and relics in dry, brown places.
Weekly gratitude practice: summer, work, Friday, clothes, love
- Summer arrived in force a couple of days ago. After months of shivering under rain and clouds, I will gladly take it. In typical New England style, we moved right from the 40s-50s to the 80s. But I’ll still take it.
- I’m especially grateful today to have steady work and a steady paycheck.
- It’s the Friday before Memorial Day…
- … and I am wearing a cute little summer outfit: a print skirt, a sleeveless top, and gladiator sandals. 75% of this outfit is new, which is lovely. I tend to put off buying new clothes for as long as possible. At a size 20, I’m not a fan of the buying process, but I’ve come to a level of acceptance about mail-order shopping. It’s not more convenient, it’s just a different kind of hassle. I’ve traded crowded Saturday parking lots for shipping fees, return forms, and trips to the Post Office. And it’s okay. Online stores like this one make it worthwhile. Last week I also had a closet consultation with Julie Foley, which is totally worth every penny. We revisited my colors, put together a bunch of new outfits, tried on some clothes I’d gotten in the mail, and made a shopping list. I’ll be busy for the next couple of months putting it all together.
- I’m feeling especially grateful for the love that surrounds me: the love of friends, of family, of Army Guy. As a society we tend to focus on romantic love, and I’m not discounting its importance in my life. I’m often struck with my dumb luck in that regard — as usual, it happened when I’d given up on looking for it. But it’s the other kinds of love that really sustain me. Without them, I doubt that my relationship with Army Guy would work at all. One of the reasons it does is because both of us continue to cultivate a wide circle of friends outside of our relationship. Without the sustained support of my friends and family, I wouldn’t be able to function half as well as I do now. I’m grateful that it exists and extra grateful that I know its value and work to maintain it.
Weekly gratitude practice: office space, windows/kitty, space, Friday, not a teenager
- My fingertips have been cold from the chill for the past three days (my tiny cube is directly under a vent), but I’m still grateful that I have an employer that pays for my office space. When I was self-employed, I looked into renting a timeshared space in Harvard Square, and it was NOT CHEAP.
- Earlier this week, I was very happy to be able to work from home. Specifically, I was happy to have windows, and a kitty to look at while I worked. Kitties are very helpful for reminding you when it is quitting time, because it coincides with feed-the-kitty time.
- I’m making space in my life for new things. I’ve always been a crazy overachiever, loading my plate with more than I could possibly enjoy. Less things, more space between them, more enjoyment.
- It’s Friday. Hallelujah and thank you Jesus, it’s Friday.
- I am so very, very grateful that I am 20 years removed from the slings and arrows of adolescence. No desire whatsoever to go back. I’ll take a few grey hairs and a few wrinkles in exchange for that, any day of the week.
Weekly Gratitude Practice: Haiku, Lilacs, Sisters, Tai Chi, Melting Pot
- I still think of haiku from time to time. Am considering a weekly haiku post. If you like reading them, please tell me.
- The lilacs are in bloom. The cool, rainy weather means they’ll be in bloom that much longer.
- On Saturday our unnamed writing group (3 women, once a month, 2 hours, hijinx) invested time and money in a workshop with local writing teacher and all-around awesome person Toni Amato. He reminded us that we have something very lucky: a group that supports us in as writers. It’s funny that I didn’t really realize how rare and precious a thing it was until he pointed it out. It happened when I wasn’t looking — actually, it happened after I’d made more than one attempt to create that kind of community. Those connections are what led to the group forming, but what makes the group so wonderful is that it formed organically with equal energy and participation from each member. Bonus from the workshop: spreading poems all over the floor and making maps/chapbooks with them.
- The tai chi class I’ve been taking ended today. I can now do something called the sampler and three (well, 2.5) of the animal forms. Â It’s the perfect form of exercise for me right now, especially because there tend NOT to be mirrors in martial arts classes. Last night, I found a place close to my office that’s affordable and with classes that fit in with my schedule.
- China will probably be running the world by the time I’m ready to retire, but American culture has always been about a melting pot. And I’m already a fan of tea, tai chi, and the Golden Mother of the Western Mountain. Maybe Chinese hegemony will make Daoist teachers more accessible in Massachusetts.
Posted at Standing Loud: Loudness and Lovingkindness
A woman named Calliope invited me to join a group blog called “Standing Loud: A place where a loud, proud woman can speak her piece.” On Friday I published my first article on the topic of Loudness and Lovingkindness. Please take a look and comment if you like. Here’s an excerpt:
Which brings me to the subject of loudness — loudness and lovingkindness. Loudness versus silence, that’s something I think I’ve found a happy medium about. But lovingkindness is another alluring, foreign concept that I’m learning — through practice and more practice — to understand and incorporate.
Garden of Words 