warriors for the working day

it's been a week of a massive head cold, theological crises and a very, very cute dog.

I'm craving attention like it's a snack, like if I can narrow down the craving to salty or sweet, I'll start to to be able to figure out how to satisfy it.

I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of what feels like chasing everything, I'm tired of feeling like I'm always watching what I say. I'm tired of my knuckles being chapped, and most of all, I'm tired of the universe being crappy to the people I love.

I feel like I'm coming up against whatever the narrative version of a biological clock is. Not having a functional belief in the afterlife leaves me looking for meaning in the present, and being deliberately childless, without the desire for progeny, leaves me flailing in the face of questions of what do I, what do we, do next? And the answer is probably acquire pets, love each other and finally install a dishwasher. Love what I can as hard as I can, and maybe start trying to write more of it down. I don't think I'll be a writer, but I can be someone who writes.

Light looks over at me on the couch, quotes something I said earlier back to me and tells me "you're funny" and everything is suddenly just plain better.

I'm working on a prose tattoo next, and there are two choices, both of which have been resonating with me for years. And I think that they probably aim at the same thing from different directions. I suspect that getting a mastectomy will be the defining incident that makes me choose, or makes me decide that it's not one or the other, but that maybe they're a set of bookends for me.

( other people's words )

warriors for the working day

it's been a week of a massive head cold, theological crises and a very, very cute dog.

I'm craving attention like it's a snack, like if I can narrow down the craving to salty or sweet, I'll start to to be able to figure out how to satisfy it.

I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of what feels like chasing everything, I'm tired of feeling like I'm always watching what I say. I'm tired of my knuckles being chapped, and most of all, I'm tired of the universe being crappy to the people I love.

I feel like I'm coming up against whatever the narrative version of a biological clock is. Not having a functional belief in the afterlife leaves me looking for meaning in the present, and being deliberately childless, without the desire for progeny, leaves me flailing in the face of questions of what do I, what do we, do next? And the answer is probably acquire pets, love each other and finally install a dishwasher. Love what I can as hard as I can, and maybe start trying to write more of it down. I don't think I'll be a writer, but I can be someone who writes.

Light looks over at me on the couch, quotes something I said earlier back to me and tells me "you're funny" and everything is suddenly just plain better.

I'm working on a prose tattoo next, and there are two choices, both of which have been resonating with me for years. And I think that they probably aim at the same thing from different directions. I suspect that getting a mastectomy will be the defining incident that makes me choose, or makes me decide that it's not one or the other, but that maybe they're a set of bookends for me.

( other people's words )