While My Guitar Gently Weeps

Jeff Healey was a guitar god. The end.

So the gender thing has been in my head since Elliott Page came out.

In my head a lot.

So I don’t feel like I was born in the wrong body. And I have never felt like I am a man.

But I don’t feel entirely feminine. Or I feel feminine in a slightly masculine way?

My inner self when I was a child was always a boy. Favourite characters? Feminine boys. Who did I write about? Boys. Traumatized boys more specifically.

I know that biologically I am a 43 year old woman.

But I am definitely, oh my gods definitely, genderqueer.

I feel like a feminine guy or androgynous NB person. Or genderfluid.

Fuck I don’t even know. It doesn’t actually matter in the end.

It doesn’t change anything.

Not to me, anyway.

But for the record.

That Bitch

Lots of swearing and stuff.

So I’m in a mood.

I’m not sure what mood, but generally the song I pick to link to does say something about said mood.

Although really I’m not angry like this song suggests. More like “Fuck yeah I’ll be that bitch!”

It’s a cry of victory, lol.

So I had sex today, in a sad effort to be self destructive. Turns out I’m not actually feeling self destructive, and although the sex was typically meh as I always find it to be with men, the guy himself was a perfect gentleman and did everything right, unlike, oh, every other man I have ever been with. So kudos to you guy.

So I will take the fact that I’m feeling badass right now as a win, thankyouverymuch.

Croire

Oh my god I have nothing good to say guys.

I walked for 5.5 kms yesterday. That was good, but today I am full of OW.

Life is settling into this new normal. You know. The one where I *don’t* text someone from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed. The one where I communicate a normal amount with the people in my life.

But I miss my friend. If she ever existed. Sigh.

I’m currently arting in 4 different sketchbooks, all four are what I imagine to be 5×7 or some such. They are small. And half of them aren’t meant to be painted in.

But that’s the best kind.

I Love Me

So it’s a quarter to three in the morning and I just had quite the thought.

A couple weekends ago I took part in a Journal Jam Retreat with the ever awesome Effy Wild. At one point we were discussing the Inner Critic, or that little voice that tells us we suck, our art sucks, our hair is bad, whatever.

I don’t have that voice.

Don’t get me wrong, I still get fucking depressed and anxious and all sorts of other fun BS. But it is not so directly tied to my self-esteem. I don’t think there’s anything (beyond the average) wrong with me. I just think people are assholes.

Hear me out.

I’ve been thinking about this. What has been different for me? I was bullied to the point where I first wanted to kill myself when I was 12. My family and home life was traumatic in ways I couldn’t describe to you, and if I could you might not believe me. There was a lot of bad. But I never thought any of it was my fault.

Because I have Cerebral Palsy. That (and my Mom, but that’s a whole other post) is the difference.

When kids bullied me, when people treated me like shit, sometimes when I didn’t get jobs, or when I got cut off at bars, it wasn’t because of who I was as a person. It was because I was disabled (and poor but again, another post). Being disabled wasn’t about me. It was about my body. And there certainly wasn’t anything I could do about it.

So unlike kids who got bullied for other reasons, I didn’t turn it inwards because I had something “external” to blame it on, my Cerebral Palsy.

That is not to say that CP is the cause of all my problems, or that I was even right to blame it for the way I was treated. Maybe it *was* me, lol. But it’s too late now.

I kept my self esteem because I was disabled.

(And my mom, lol)

Someday These Will Be The Good Old Days

This is now.

I feel like somehow I’ve hit the afternoon or autumn of my life. It’s not a bad thing. The light in the afternoon, and the light of autumn, are both a special kind of light, one that is beautiful and less jarring than that of high noon or summer.

I’m starting to get comfortable here.

A (wise) friend of mine recently said something along the lines of “I think we spend the first half of our life gathering, and the second half ungathering.”

I think that makes perfect sense for where I am right now. Ungathering. Cleaning my inner house, so to speak. Yes, that means getting rid of things that no longer serve you (oh if only it were that easy!), but that allows you to focus more on and appreciate more all that is left.

I’ve lost a lot in my life.

I like that now I get to choose. And it’s not a loss any longer. Not when I choose it.

When I choose it it becomes a cleansing.

This Should Be Fun

I won’t lie, I’ve had a wee bit of a joint at this very early point of the long weekend. So this may be a very short entry.

Today was actually quite a good day. I didn’t have any urges to text her, so that was nice. I wrote a very tiny snippet of a story with two of my favourite characters who are ridiculously cute together. I ordered in terribly unhealthy fast food (sitting in my fridge right now is a *huge* garlic potato poutine, (putting together two of Ottawa’s signature foods, Shawarma and Poutine), which future me will thank me for when I inevitably get the munchies.

Here. Have another song:

Cheers all.

Ok so

Yeah this is us

It’s not the first of September, so I missed day fucking ONE of the blog along, but it’s 5 am on the 2nd so I think this counts.

So I’ve been rage blogging lately. You know how they say it takes 7 or 8 attempts to actually quit smoking? Apparently that’s the way it is when you break up with your best friend. We’ve had this Fuck You I’m Done With This Shit fight about 5 times this last year, but I think this time is actually going to stick. I just cannot be friends with someone who won’t let me ever be angry with them. Yeah, I gotta get a hold of my temper, but *damn* I’ve tried and I think I’ve done well. But apparently just texting “you make me so angry” isn’t acceptable.

And I am SO FUCKING DONE WITH THAT SHIT

So here we are. Here I am I should say. Alone and hella lonely. It’s very rough. But I’m holding up. The problem is that she and I talked (texted) ALL day. From the moment we woke up until we went to bed, and we did this for almost 10 years. We texted a lot. So much that it’s so bloody hard to stop.

But I have to.

It’s very much a love/hate kind of thing for me right now.

So I have a ton of free time to fill now. That’s not a bad thing, per se, but it’s lonely. And the pandemic has not helped. I’m double vaxxed and stuff is opening here in Ottawa but I’m still not really doing anything and still staying home all the time. And so are my friends. So there’s not much to occupy my time.

I did actually watch TV last night. I rarely do anymore. Last year I turned on my PVR and the last recording was from 2018 I think. But my brother recommended the Disney+ show Reservation Dogs (which, if you know Rez dog jokes at all is a great name). Only episode one is up, but it’s a comedy/drama that takes place on a reservation in Oklahoma. Great stuff. Highly recommend.

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