(no subject)

This getting up before 6:00 business is starting to get me down. Fuck you, obsessive internal clock.

(no subject)

Over the past week or so, when I pause to feel, I get the image of someone (probably the black and green girl) swinging an improbably large, two handed, flat faced hammer at the center of my chest. I'm not sure if this is an echo of the recent past, a reminder, or ongoing action, to make sure any lingering old habits or defenses aren't still around or reforming. It does an excellent job of reminding me of my metaphorical nakedness, of immediacy, and of painful opportunity.

Curiously, at other times I get the impression of an inset silver metal and white plastic handle, longitudinally and recessed in my chest under the sternum. I have no idea what that's for or about.

f'ed up shit from my head

I never seem to identify where I'm supposed to, where it would make sense for me to identify. ZB, I feel trapped around most mt* folks, struggle with resentment around ft* folks, and feel largely invisible around cis folks. It doesn't leave a lot of room for me. You can repeat this with just about any system: gay/bi/straight; kink/not-kink; hell, even political/economic affiliation (a lot of other socialists* make me almost as crazy as unthinking capitalist capitulation). Does this serve a purpose? If I were to design a system that would keep me feeling perpetually excluded, I'd be hard pressed to do a better job on short notice, but is that what this is about? I want to say no, but I'm not sure where that impulse, or intuition comes from. It doesn't have the feel of me just not wanting it to be true, but I don't know what powers it.

I want affiliation more than anything, but I'm afraid of losing myself, of losing idiosyncrasy and individuality in the process.


*even post Marxist dark green ecosocialists

(no subject)

One of the things I worry most about is my connection to shared reality, to convention that appears more or less natural to most. It feels like I'm missing something, some solidity or certainty on a lot of fronts, that things are loose and ephemeral for me where I get told they should be solid and fixed. Curiously, in situations in which fluidity, motion, shifting exists, is called for or even sought out, what do I do? I freak the fuck out and dig my fingernails in even deeper to the edges of convention, of the shreds of fake certainty I have. You'd think I'd be better equipped to let go because it's a place where I pretty much live (or at least on the outskirts of it), but I'm terrified that if I let go, I won't be able to come back, and that everyone else will get to go home to their solid lives with shiny gifts and unique experiences with which to adorn themselves, but I'll be lost in the flux.