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greenstormI've been reading back through my 2009/2010/2011 journals. I've been trying to remember who I was, what my life was like then. I more-or-less don't have memories but sometimes I can jog things loose with the right prompt. Sometimes I can infer things from the words I wrote.
It's tiring just reading it sometimes. I'm glad I don't live in that world anymore.
When I first came north in 2015 to work in forestry for the summer, that was the first time I existed unsexualized in my body. It was the first time I didn't have demands on my emotions. I could exist freely up here and I had not been that free since my very early teens, before I really knew any humans, when I poked around 5 acres and a library with no outside steerage. It felt amazing.
Now I'm old enough - 40 this year - and no longer skinny so I suspect even if I went back I'd be less sexualized. That feels gentler on my gender stuff, for sure. I'm curious if the city has any use for people it doesn't sexualize. I wonder if it's possible to be friendly down there?
I want to write but I'm tired. I'm contemplating a big change in my life, moving down to the coast. Seems like that's shaken a lot loose. I'm also cometing around, as gently as I can, with one of my longstanding people. There's stuff to explore there too, and also to put down so I remember it ten years in the future. I'm well-loved right now.
Meanwhile my tomatoes are up and growing, thinking about their first set of true leaves. I have Seville oranges to make vanilla marmalade. Eggs are rolling in and in and in, goose eggs primarily. The snow is melting and pooling and I can see the ground under the trees and in a couple select places. The draw is filling up with water into the seasonal pond it will be for a couple months, depending on weather.
I'm a piece within this pattern, a mote, temporarily bestowing meaning on these events.
This morning that is enough.
It's tiring just reading it sometimes. I'm glad I don't live in that world anymore.
When I first came north in 2015 to work in forestry for the summer, that was the first time I existed unsexualized in my body. It was the first time I didn't have demands on my emotions. I could exist freely up here and I had not been that free since my very early teens, before I really knew any humans, when I poked around 5 acres and a library with no outside steerage. It felt amazing.
Now I'm old enough - 40 this year - and no longer skinny so I suspect even if I went back I'd be less sexualized. That feels gentler on my gender stuff, for sure. I'm curious if the city has any use for people it doesn't sexualize. I wonder if it's possible to be friendly down there?
I want to write but I'm tired. I'm contemplating a big change in my life, moving down to the coast. Seems like that's shaken a lot loose. I'm also cometing around, as gently as I can, with one of my longstanding people. There's stuff to explore there too, and also to put down so I remember it ten years in the future. I'm well-loved right now.
Meanwhile my tomatoes are up and growing, thinking about their first set of true leaves. I have Seville oranges to make vanilla marmalade. Eggs are rolling in and in and in, goose eggs primarily. The snow is melting and pooling and I can see the ground under the trees and in a couple select places. The draw is filling up with water into the seasonal pond it will be for a couple months, depending on weather.
I'm a piece within this pattern, a mote, temporarily bestowing meaning on these events.
This morning that is enough.
