untitled, untittied

yesterday,  at a work meeting, my creepiest co-worker sat too close to me. i was wearing a cute dress because i was going to sister spit after work and wanted to look cute. but, i forgot that if i look cute that’s just a fucking invitation for every creepy man in the world to try & look up my skirt. pgh  is not like new york or philly–guys will look, but not touch, or say anything. for a while, i thought that was good enough.

but not this guy. he has such bad vibes. such sexual-assaulter vibes. there are times when a man looks at me and i feel like he just thinks i am attractive. and there are other times when i can hear him raping me in his head. and yeah it’s just a feeling, not an action, but it wears on me.

the meeting went on & on. he was so close. one side was him. the other side, a lunchroom table, jammed into my ribcage. across the table was another middle-aged, possibly aspie man who was openly staring at my tits. i hunched over and crossed my legs. of course, this put me with my back to the director, who was speaking & who already thinks i’m a disrespectful young whippersnapper anyway cuz i have piercings and tattoos and don’t look like a girl. but fuck. i could not allow this man to see my thighs anymore.

the worst part was not being able to escape. surrounded on every side by men, & it’s a serious meeting so i can’t just get up and leave. and if i did, they’d just see more of my body anyway.

afterwards, i was visibly upset. my friend b. asked if i was okay and i said no. i told him a little of what happened. my friend agreed with me that he is creepy, and said, he hasn’t gotten laid in a while, everything catches his attention. i said, please don’t refer to me as a thing. my friend is a straight white dude from the sticks. sweet, but hasn’t thought about a lot of things. i’m glad i said that because i think it changed his perspective a little.

i saw my lover later that day, when i was on break. still upset. still visibly upset. he asked what was wrong and i couldn’t tell him. because he doesn’t get it. because he’s a man. i hated him for being a man in that moment, even though he’s sweet and nice and respectful. i just couldn’t talk to him. so i was quiet and fuming and weird and it was awkward. but the gap between us just felt so wide then. and i just knew he’d never understand. (note: i have since talked to him about it and he did understand, kinda).

i bummed a cigarette off a lady friend at work, because i couldn’t stop panicking. such a little thing, really, but it reverberated so deeply. i said, “thanks, r! i feel so much better!’ she said, “yeah, i think it’s the deep breathing.” i said, “i’ve been trying deep breathing all day, it’s not working.” “yeah, i guess you have to go out and hurt yourself.” we laughed bitterly. then she said, “well, it’s better than cutting yourself!” i have big self-inflicted scars all over my arms. we aren’t close enough for her to know my past. i stopped in my tracks. i didn’t know what to say.

left work early because i just couldn’t take it. went home cuz i’d forgotten to take my pillz that morning and i knew that was part of the reason for me feeling so badly. ripped the cute dress off. pulled out my binder and cutoffs. i don’t want to look nice for men anymore. i want to be a genderqueerdo again. i don’t want them to be able to see my tits. i don’t want to let them win. while i was pedaling & crying, towards the bus stop to pick up emily, a girl yelled, “hey, dykes on bikes!” at me. i couldn’t tell if she was validating me or just making fun. it really could have been either.

sister spit was fun and hilarious. pretty much all of the performers had good energy & good things to say. but i was still having some residual anxiety from my day and had to go home. breathe in, breathe out, even with lungs compressed tightly under layers of meshy cloth. breathe in, breathe in. don’t forget, people love you. people think you are sexy who don’t want to rape you. i had written “someday…” on my wrist in red ink and it looks like a cut. it was a reference to a powerful line in the sarah schulman book girls, visions and everything: “someday, i’ll kill a man.”

don’t read it and think i’m advocating murder. don’t tell me you aren’t the problem. don’t tell me i am crazy. think about what has to happen to drive someone to make that statement, what drives someone to appreciate it. think about it and then think of a solution. because i’m tired. i’m so fucking tired.

but i’ve got something, man, that your fucking money cannot buy

i’ve not been well lately. trying to take comfort in books & friends but it doesn’t really matter. doing stupid self-destructive things because who fucking cares? i am so tired of being strong. i am so tired of being brave. because, as sherman alexie wrote, “at three in the morning i can act just as young as i want, with no one around to tell me to grow up.” because, as nikki giovanni wrote, “i would not reject/my strength/though its source is not choice/but responsibility.” because, as i said on the phone to M. last night at 1:30 am, when he commented on how well-adjusted i seem about a certain shitty life event, “well, i have to be! what choice do i have? i can either deal with it, or i can fucking kill myself!”

anyway.

valentine’s day and all my co-workers are wearing black, even those of us who believe in love. i believe in love, and i have lots of it in my life right now. i am grateful. i love the two people who sit on either side of me. yesterday we had a talk; we all have crazy parents, we all spent our whole lives dealing with crazy, which is why we can do this job and not take it too hard. which is why we can smile at people who are screaming at us and flipping out, and still try to help them, and still want good things for them, because we know where it comes from. they get it, they fucking get it; and to think that i was so worried about getting through this work-year without a partner at home. when really, it’s so much harder to have a rich-kid lover who you need to understand you because they take the majority of your emotional energy who maybe wants to understand but simply, fundamentally, does not have the tools. so much lonelier. and these two people, even though we don’t touch, even though they don’t know my real name or anything about me, really, we share that burden & it’s lighter because we’re sharing it. you know?

but still. i can’t sleep because the bad guys are winning. can’t sleep because spring ain’t coming this year. can’t sleep because the shittiest people get all the breaks and the good people get shit on (and when i say ”good people” i am not, in any way, referring to myself) and that’s the way it is, and that’s the way it always will be, forever and ever amen. because “life isn’t fair” and that’s a good enough explanation for most people. it’s not good enough for me. but i’m still here and i’m still trying. to make it a little more fair. even though both things feel so pointless sometimes.

i have left everywhere that i have ever been. i don’t really recommend it though, not like anyone asked me.

lately when i am riding my bike around, a phrase gets stuck in my head. it’s from a zine i read a long time ago, by fellow sassy aries ammi emergency. i don’t remember the exact quote, just the idea behind it: “my body is the only vehicle i will ever own.” i think it pedaling up hills, bumping around on potholes, the wind slicing through my coat. i thought it when i was in philly, riding matt’s light speedy road bike instead of my beloved heavy clunker, my conscious mind forgetting where things were but my body knowing exactly where to make all the turns. i know that city like i know no other, after all those ten-hour shifts delivering food. so long ago, but it’s imprinted. i don’t forget.

it’s a nice thought, that quote, but an exhausting one. a sad one. keep pedaling even though the bike’s about to fall apart. no one can fix it. no one can drive you, not even the bus. this is all i’ve got. how do any of us keep going at all?

a. read my tarot cards this weekend. the final-outcome card was the six of swords. she was excited for me. “that means you’re leaving!” she said it was a good card, a happy card, but it looked so sad to me. a woman on a boat, clutching a baby, her back to us, staring across the empty and endless sea. six swords were stuck in the hull of her boat. a leaky ship & a broad sea. that sounds about right. today at work a 22-year-old client cried about her best friend, shot to death on new years’. they’d had their babies in the same month. “i saw her the other day, i saw her. she looks just like her mom, even though she’s so young. it’s so sad.” and we looked at each other, across the desk, across the valleys of our lives. i lost my good friend when i was 22 also, but who cares. i still didn’t know what to say, except i’m sorry, except stay strong. and i know it’s not enough. how do any of us keep going at all.

…?

i was doing really well until i hit my head and now things are hard & awful & hopeless again. last week i read a line in a book, talking to girls about duran duran by rob sheffield. i thought it would be stupid but it actually turned out to be pretty good. there is one line that changed my life a little bit, from a story he wrote about clipping his grandfather’s toenails, even though they bled and he thought he was hurting his grandfather. and the last line is so powerful, i’ve been repeating it aloud to myself all day: “learning, over and over again. the work of love will make you bloody, and it will make you lonely.”

how true, how true, how true. and how many times do i have to learn. and now i am both. now i am both. and the soothing voice in my head saying, “this isn’t real, not really, it’s just a reaction to that hard knock” but oh, the deeper and more real part of me knows it isn’t true. knows it can’t be. i know that this part is the true part. stephanie said yesterday that i think my life will be like this forever and that’s what is making me sad, and i’m not right, because it’s ups & downs like everything else is. but now i have no escape plan & no real hope that things are gonna be better. just this. to live out. just time to get through. somehow.

i rode all the way to the library in the hopes that my hat would be there. my hat is gone. i only had it for a month, but i loved it so much, i felt so adorable and adored in it. o’ryan gave it to me when he left. i saw him last night, and radio too, and it was sweet and warm and fun. yesterday was a really good day.

stephanie made me a quesadilla and i said, “it looks like a face!” and she said, “it looks like YOUR face, with one eye all fucked up!” so of course i had to take a picture.

we walked for a long time, through this abandoned neighborhood near our own. what a great street name!

this was a sweet, strange message in the middle of fucking nowhere.

and this cute, beautiful tile-work, in a house long abandoned, also in the middle of nowhere. it was an inspiring walk, reminding me of the good things that can pop up when you least expect them. today it’s like that hope never existed. but, you know, it does, somewhere.

i am at the library and some ESL tutor is trying to teach an old man something. she keeps saying, in slow, clear tones: “my husband is dead. my husband is dead.” the first time she said it, she laughed in a painful way. and still the man she is tutoring doesn’t understand, so she has to say it again, slowly: my husband is dead. how does she do it? how does she keep saying it.  after all, the work of love will make you bloody & it will make you lonely. we all just express it in different ways, that’s all.

ojos de majicos

i had to leave work. i was calling a client’s job to verify their end-of-employment date and the payroll clerk got snappy with me and i started crying, in front of the fucking client, how professional of me. “i’m sorry,” i whispered, “i have a concussion,” and then ran out to compose myself. how fucking great. how fucking professional. i got back to my desk and kept working, shakily. “you should go home,” the client said, and i wanted to say, thank you! thank you for the wonderful career advice! but then i realized she was right. and i realized i have sick time. so fuck it. i’m gone.

i’m scared. i know that i just hit my head and it’s a reaction to the trauma. but still. things feel so different. before i decided that i couldn’t make it through the day i was trying to listen to my ipod. every song i love sounds so violent. it’s too much to bear. i need something sweet right now, and even the happy songs are so sad. was it always there? did i just not notice it?

every picture i’ve seen of someone with a black eye, they look SO sad. nobody fake-smiles. mugshots & that picture of my brother i found on his computer & any other time i’ve seen someone. now that i have a black eye i know. i understand. you can’t smile, not really. there’s something holding you back. something blocking it.

i didn’t stop living after my head injury. didn’t rest. i had shit to do all weekend so i got back on my bike and did it. crossed the river at least four times a day. and i rode up and down penn avenue at least 3 times, looking for my u-lock and water bottle. wanting to know where it happened. in this city where trash sits where it’s been thrown for months, my things aren’t there. but i still keep looking for them anyway, every time i’m on that road. maybe a car just parked over them and i didn’t see last time. maybe they’re hidden in a pile of leaves. i still look, even though i know some things are just gone. you don’t get them back. no matter how badly you want them. no matter how hard you try.

a few other things.

i would also like to say HOW FUCKING DISTURBING it is how many random men have gone out of their way to say that i’m pretty now that i have BRUISES ALL OVER MY FUCKING FACE. SO DISTURBING. and so upsetting. and so….yeah, it’s only been like 3 people, but it’s also only been like 3 days.  pgh really doesn’t have a holla-at-you-on-the street kind of culture going on. and i’m not most guys’ cup of tea–which i’m fine with–so i often don’t get told that i’m pretty on the street. but now that i look like someone punched me in the face, i’m pretty…..

SO. FUCKED. UP.

anyway. i am a little scared about my brain. i am so happy that nothing worse happened. so happy that i just lost my phone, my water bottle, and my weekend–not my tooth, bone, or life. and now i have a new phone.

the last time i hit my head really hard i was depressed for months afterwards. i am so scared it’ll happen again. what will i do. who will look out for me. how will i survive. i don’t know, i mean, i know there is always some way. but i’m scared. scared of a lot of things.

i have a lot more i want to say here. i’m almost done with my new zine. i thought the bay area was closed to me but i JUST got an amazing opportunity RIGHT NOW as i am typing this. so who knows. who knows. saaaaaaaaaaturn motherfuckin’ return! oh what a cruel teacher you are, but what a sweet tour guide as well.

oh mom & dad, mom & dad, let me outside. i’ve gotta catch a ride to the rest of my life.

oh my god! my life has changed so much in less than a week!

monday:

-found out that our hours are getting slashed in half at work because the program i work for is REALLY broke.

-we all knew they were broke, but didn’t know they were THIS broke.

-so that mean’s i’ll be broke again

-and that means i won’t have enough money to move to the SF bay area this summer, which is what i was planning on.

-found out that paul died. we weren’t super close & this isn’t my tragedy. it does make me sad though.

-got a new tattoo! no pictures yet. but it is SUPER cute.

tuesday was uneventful.

then wednesday, oh wednesday….

-drank for 2 hours with steph as we talked about the love and the heartbreak that is social service jobs

-went to a queer dance party, got even drunker

-made out with someone new, which was fun & hot & interesting

-lost my phone, was re-united with it.

-rode my bike home. in my memory of the night, i was at the bar at penn & main, and then the next thing i knew i was at 19th street in the strip (about 2-3 miles away for you non-pittsburghers), pushing my bike, crying. i didn’t think much of it, because i was very drunk and i often cry when i’m in that state. i staggered home, made it in around 4:15 (nearly 2 hours after i’d left the bar–i live about a 30 minute bike ride away). i looked in the mirror to take out my contacts and then i saw my face. it was all bruised and my lip was swollen. i realized, “oh my god, i got into an accident!” i have NO MEMORY of this. and because i have no memory, i think i must have lost consciousness. yes, i was drunk. but i never black out while drinking. NEVER.

was i lying unconscious on penn ave? was i lying in the middle of the fucking road? for how long? how did i fall? how did i get up? my water bottle, u-lock, and phone are all gone. my wallet, keys and bag were safe (thank goddess.) i am SO lucky it wasn’t worse. so lucky i didn’t lose a tooth or break a bone. so lucky i didn’t get run over. so lucky i don’t have a concussion. thank you, helmet. thank you, guardians.

thursday:

-spent all day, until about 7pm, barfing up rum-mixed-with-bile plus anything i tried to eat

-occasionally looked at the carnage that was my face

-realized that my drinking is officially out of control and i officially need to stop

-pulled myself together & biked to eli & jessie’s thanksgiving. ate some delicious food with queers, felt sick but didn’t barf. a nurse happened to be there, she checked me out & says i don’t have a concussion. phew. a middleaged translady played the most beautiful and sad songs on the harmonica. and i felt happy and good.

today was mostly spent looking for my u lock and leaving notes in friends’ mailboxes. caught up with alyssa and pino which was good. pino took this cell phone picture of my face, so i’d remember, remember why drinking is a shitty idea, remember what happens when you go too far:

here is a slightly more accurate picture taken a day later:

i don’t know if you can see it in this shitty cell phone pic, but my eye is bruised & my lip is really swollen. keep making a lot of typos, right now, and i’m worried it’s because my brain is totally fucked.

so! wow! lots going on here.

i didn’t write about my plan to move to the bay on here–i didn’t want to jinx it. but now that it looks like it isn’t happening i can talk about it a little. i hatched it when i was feeling really bad about pgh. i hated my job passionately, thought i’d never date anyone again, thought  i had burned all my activist bridges. now, all of those things have turned out to be untrue.

i wanted to go to SF because i’m tired of the isolation. i want to be around other radical social workers. other queer writers. other bicyclists, goddamn it! i wanted to go cuz i’ve been here for so long and it doesn’t seem like i’m growing anymore. except i have been growing lately. you know?

and i still might go for an extended period of time. but i just don’t have the money to move there. maybe i can do a lucrative drug study. maybe something else will come up. i don’t know. so much changes every week.

RIP paul c., 1984-2011.

i haven’t seen you in years, but you were fucking amazing. the best cupcakes, hilarious one-liners, a perfect blend of bronx-faggot street smarts and sassy silliness. “spill that tea, girl, that shit is hot!” i hope heaven is full of fashion shows, good cookin’, and truly scandalous gossip. the world will miss you.

this is the place where time reverses. dead men talk to all the pretty nurses

so, the director of my job hates me, and randomly forced me to go back to training, for something i already know how to do. this isn’t, in and of itself, a super big deal. it sucks on multiple levels that i won’t bore you with, but sitting in a room for 4 days listening to someone talk about something you already know isn’t the end of the world. except for, it kind of is, because i am in a very bad place mentally right now and sitting in a room with nothing to distract me is so the last thing i need right now. i read. i write letters. mostly i try not to cry. sometimes i succeed and sometimes i have to run out.

i am so scared. i am literally hanging on by a thread. i have never, ever, ever been in such a scary place and i have no idea how to navigate it. never been here after 29 years of living crazy. never been here, even after everything.

today on our 15 minute break i went across the street, to work, and begged my supervisor to let me come back this week. i was fucking begging to do work! and he wouldn’t let me! he seemed like he was going to let me, and then went to talk to director-who-hates-me and she said no, there is no way i can come back this week, i have to sit through the whole fucking thing. i could hear her laughing maliciously in her office. fuck you.

and my supervisor asked if i was okay and i said no and really, really what i wanted to say was, i am going fucking crazy and if i have to sit in this room with my thoughts i think i really will go crazy, i think i will go there and never come back. i know you think that i am just making a big deal about nothing, but this is literally torturous for me right now. but there is nothing in the world, with the way it is currently structured, that will let me say that. there is nothing i can do, besides quit. that’s actually what the other mentally unstable queer person at my job who was bullied into re-training did. i thought he’d just gotten out of it, and i went to look for him, and everyone said, oh, he’s gone,

and how badly do i want to be gone. and how badly do i want to leave. and if i had any kind of financial safety net i would leave, if i did not have a big plan that requires lots of money, if i were not in debt, i would leave. but i can’t do that, i can’t do that, so i read a book under my desk, i circle breathe sitting at my chair. i think, please, please, i need a miracle. i am not a beggar. i am not weak. but i feel like that so much right now. i need something. please, please, please.

the following things have happened.

today my sister and i were treated to a really cute moment. an elderly neighbor of mine was outside his house, bending down and saying, “oh! how did YOU get out here?” we thought he was just crazy, but it turned out he was talking to his turtle! i asked if the turtle had escaped and he said, “yes! i’ve had her for eighteen years, now!” he looked overjoyed. i don’t think i can express how sweet it was, but it was really sweet and made us both happy.

i saw a pigeon pecking at the ground the other day and realized it was eating another pigeon that had been flattened by a car. it was really gross & upsetting, moreso than usual when one deals with roadkill and cannibalism.

i had two really healing hugs at the anarchist bookstore (same person, different events.)

i made a huge life decision. everything, everything is changing, and soon(-ish. not really soon enough in my opinion.) it’s kind of too huge to talk about here.

i keep seeing palindromes everywhere, and it FREAKS ME OUT. i am so scared of palindromes. but this made me feel better (warning: it’s long and very woo-woo). short version: they are signs that everything is changing. well, duh. and hopefully, hopefully, hopefully, a sign that i am on the right path. i really don’t know though. i’ve been so fucking lost.

be careful what you wish for: i was just re-reading my blog from october 2010, to see what has changed in my life, and i came across this paragraph: but here’s the thing. i know, for a fact, that i am better off alone, even though i love my partner, even though i acknowledge all the ways he’s bettered my life (and the few ways he’s fucked it up, i can acknoweldge those and still, somehow, love) and still miss those days before him, alone in my teal room on a twinsize bed, surrounded by words, living for words and art and activism and love. i miss those days, and i have been trying to relive them, going on adventures by myself, riding my bike long ways alone at night. i almost had an affair this week, with a straight boy (and oh how weird that is, how embarrasssing almost) and it didn’t work out but it made me realize how great it is to be queer, to make our own rules, to be fiercely autonomous and independent always,
i forgot who i was, i forgot for so long, but riding my bike home drunk i thought, it’s a good day to die, it’s a good day to die, not because i want to die but because i want to be brave again. i was brave for so long, and then it was easier not to be, but then i realized that’s not who i am. i’m not meant for safe, for nice, for easy. and oh boy, do i ever not have safe and nice and easy now. and i do live in a teal bedroom! a different one, and on a queen sized bed, and i am surrounded by words and living for words and living, pretty much, because of words. and oh, do i have to be brave, even when i don’t want to, even when i feel like i will absolutely die if i have to be brave for one more second. and even in this time of heartbreak i am very full of love, and it has come out in the strangest and most unexpected ways. so i guess i am living for that, too.

i am writing what may be the most intense zine ever (and, if you read my zines, you know that’s pretty fucking intense). i am also working on my 2nd book. i am thoroughly tired of my 1st book and don’t want to do anything to get it published anymore. i actually kind of hate it. but hopefully that’s just a phase!

i’m too busy for the internet. which is a good thing.

last week i had the thought, one day, i will not have to constantly remind myself that i need to breathe. one day, i will just be able to breathe.