Sometimes I Forget...

Sometimes I forget how easy it is to pick up the phone and hear an old friend's voice again. Sometimes I forget that sometimes each of us just wants to speak, and be understood.
Sometimes I forget how hard that can be.

Sometimes I forget how that the place I live doesn't matter, because I am me regardless.
Sometimes I forget that the place I live defines who I am, mattering indefinitely.
Sometimes I forget that I matter.

Sometimes I forget how curling up on the couch can be the one thing that saves you.
Sometimes I forget that curling up on the couch can keep you locked in.
Sometimes I forget how much others matter to me.

Sexism & 'My Breasts'

Two things that really irk me:

• A radio commercial for http://www.mybreast.org/--no joke, the jingle is 'my face, my body, my breast, my choice!'
• Adds on the Tube escalators for plastic surgery which promote 'being just you.'

What make me feel better:

• A sticker of the breasts of the Tube escalator ad with a handwritten message: 'Don't buy this sexist shit.'
  

Hell yes, sister.

For Wednesday - My Birthday

Yes, it is way past my birthday. And, I'm still thinking about it. It relates to the momentum taking place in my life, the changes, the building of energy I am trying to create.

Somewhere out in the world, and on the coffee table at Stewart Springs, there is a birthday book which tells you what kind of person you are based on what day you were born. December 20th is apparently the day of The Generator. As such a person, one is very good at short term bursts of energy, starting up projects, etc. with skill and enthusiasm to lift them off the ground. People of my birth, well, we generate anything from creative endeavors to technical projects. When I read that description, it really made sense: I love starting up a new project, getting it off the ground. And I am damn good at it. I'd also like to stick around a bit longer to see how it pans out.

For Tuesday - English Degrees

A good friend of mine related the story of how her and her boss were talking about people who have English degrees. He does; and, on the surface of his job description, you would not necessarily assume he'd studied the great novels of the last 500 years for his undergrad degree. But, you see, it made perfect sense to me. Mock us all you want, but English majors, Literature majors around the world, we are the writers, the meaning-makers, the interpreters of our daily lives.

Sometimes I Forget

Sometimes I forget that for some people my loving a woman presents a reality which they have trouble comprehending. Not that they disagree necessarily, or wish ill of me and my love, it's just that, for whatever reason, the synapses that would connect me to Alex haven't ever formed (or been exercised) recently in their brains and they're slow to adapt. I find people like this the most difficult; sometimes it would almost be easier if just outright thought I was an abomination (as long as they didn't want to throw me in jail, keep me from getting married, or kill me). I guess, it's more about my reaction really. More that I have trouble understanding how someone can really like who I am, be happy to be in my company and then suddenly...its the facial expression that changes, without words being said. The disapproval, confusion, something. It's the something I can't read. That's the hardest.

Highways & Anchors

On this day when I have turned in the final assessment + dissertation for my MA degree (and drunk a few glasses of cava), I find myself reflecting on the url I've chosen for this blog. Now titled 'One a Day,' the blog reflects my continued commitment to my writing practice and constant observance of my own life and surroundings. When I first started this blog, however, I was interested in what grounded me, and where I was going.

For me, the highways were my pathways through the unknown paths of my life in California. I-5 connecting my home to my future in Los Angeles, the coastal highways connecting to my university life in Santa Cruz as well. The anchors were people: my family, my friends, my lover. I knew which roads I would be travelling by but I was unsure of my destinations.

A year and a half later, I no longer travel by highway, but by bus route and underground train lines. The pathways that connect my homestate and my home-sweet-homes are most easily navigable by airways. My destinations thus far have been largely unseen, unknown--and at the same time, completely expected and make so much sense. My anchors have been, well, anchors: a community of people who unflinchly support and love me.

Highways & Anchors. One a Day. Where I've come from, where I'm going. And who's coming with me on the journey, I am ever-grateful.

School Girl Crush

As I've been researching over the last months into all things queer with regards to picturebooks, how love is constructed has resonated with me the most. And, like my community theatre director said during a rehearsal, once you start thinking of something that has real creative potential life starts bringing you all sorts of examples to play with, study, and relate. Tonight, this thread inspired me to Google the term 'school girl crush.' I know why I did: I've been using Urban Dictionary a lot lately in my papers and I was wondering if there was a definition for it. The answer is, well, I love the internet.

Firstly, a website called everything2.com defines 'School Girl Crush' as:

A crush is defined informally in the dictionary as:

• a. usually temporary infatuation.
• b. The object of such an infatuation.

I think that there are a variety of crushes that one might have over the course of their lives, but they all kind of boil down to being a school girl crush. One that makes you feel juvenile and powerless under the one that you adore. One that makes you feel silly and hopeful for all the wrong reasons.

These are the kind of crushes that create pipe dreams that, never fulfilled, will be mourned over for weeks if not months. School girl crushes are wishes never granted that consistantly give the promise of a broken heart.

Nice. Hopeful. Tidy. Yeah, right.

The second link to pop up is wikihow.com. But it's a variation of my question: "How to Tell if a Girl Likes You in School." And, it's a 30 step process PLUS a huge list of tips. All I can say is 'Thank goodness I'm not in school still.' (Cause this definitely only applies to school...right? Yeah, anyway.)

The third link, the THIRD, is an even more specific situation on a question forum: "I don't think it is just another schoolgirl crush, so what can I do about my feelings for my teacher?"

My first reaction: I laughed, 'Yeah, hello, of course it's a schoolgirl crush.' Like I instantly, culturally new how wrong (read: dumb) she was for even think the question.

My second reaction: I laughed again. A) because who the hell am I to judge, I'm the one WRITING about school girl crushes, and B) I totally wasn't think about boys when I did my Google search. In my head, the word 'girl' simultaneously melted into one and became both me as the girl with the crush and the object of a crush.

End result from Google: school girl crushes are lame. Wouldn't it be nice to change that?

In other news, I've just finished the drafts of all my university papers. Erica Marie = MA'd OUT.