I don’t like this word. “Owning” it isn’t something I want to do. Don’t use it near me even if you’re joking around or attempting to appropriate it to diminish its power. Just don’t. There’s too much pain for me and others I know that’s associated with being called that word in ways meant to hurt and oppress us. It makes me cringe, makes me angry, and I will lash out at whoever uses it, even if it’s a friend being “funny.” It will never be funny to me.
“Write about what you’ll be worrying about five years from now. Ten years from now. Thirty years from now.”
Jazz bought me a book called 642 THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT by The San Francisco Writers’ Grotto. Apparently, I’ve mentioned not having anything to write for the blog just a few times too many :P Anyway, the instruction up there was the first one I flipped to, and it kinda took hold.
Five years from now, I’ll be worrying about a toddler. That’s been the plan for a while at least, I mean, wanting to be a parent before I’m 25. Sophie’s actually asked me recently if I’m ready to knock her up yet — which always makes me laugh — but I haven’t said yes yet. Not yet. But, yeah, five years from now, I’ll be worrying about my bitty little kid.
In ten years… Hmm… Probably mostly still the kid. I’ll be in my 30s and Jazz will be in his 40s. I’m betting somebody’s going to have a mid-life crisis or two in there. We might be looking at getting a bigger house or a whether we’ll have enough for the kid’s college. Jazz’ parents will be in their 60s, my dad in his 50s, and Grams… Well, let’s not rush thinking about that.
Thirty years from now seems kinda incomprehensible. We’ll be our parents’ ages! The kid’ll be 25 or so and might be making us grandparents ourselves! O.o I’ll be in my 50s, Jazz in his 60s. We could be thinking about downsizing our lives and his retirement. I’ll be a multi-published author, of course, with a movie franchise under my belt. He’ll have had his Ph.D. for a couple decades or so, but I’ll still call him Dr. Jazzypants ;) We’ll celebrate our thirty-fourth wedding anniversary in the fall.
You know what I just realized I’m seeing? Right now, my “worries” look like some pretty darn awesome life events. I’m sure there will be plenty of things to worry myself into a tizzy over, but… I’m actually looking forward to all of it :)
This new painting means a lot to me because “Fight Song” by Rachel Platten means a lot to me. It’s my go-to song when I feel like I need help remembering how to smile, you know? I’m not so bad. I can do it. Everything’ll be OK. I just have to believe in me :) That’s what the song means to me and, I hope, this painting conveys a little of that feeling.
Because, let’s face it, no one’ll get far in a paper boat on the ocean without a lot of resolute perseverance, right?
It’s based on an image I found on Dreamstime.com — which is a great place to find cheap images — and when I saw it, I knew it was perfect for what I’d envisioned while listening to the song (over and over and over).
It’s here. They did it.
We can legally marry!
WE CAN GET MARRIED!! 😀❤️
I honestly don’t have the words. I was so afraid and now it’s done and real. We are equal. They have to support us and they aren’t going to fight it.
The phone’s ringing off the hook! I’m so in love with my husband! We’re gonna get married! ❤️
In real life, I get comments from strangers about how I should act like a man. Even on my most masculine days, I still flame bright — if I don’t, I’m probably depressed, so hug me.
I’m guessing that most of the people who feel the need to comment on my behavior are straight, cis, and God-fearing individuals.
But I know some of these people are friends of friends who are gay men and can’t stand me. Like Brendan said in the video, I’m accused of pushing our cause back 50 years.
I just don’t understand that.
We all owe the femmes and drag queens of the past for our ability to be who we are now. They stood up and fought to be themselves. Why would anyone want me to now knock it off and act straighter?
Blending in won’t free us. Shine on, girlfriends. Let’s be us and damn the haters.