Sing Dammit, Sociologist

Right now I'm in Memphis...first trip. I am surrounded by black people, including black men so polite I hurt. It's nice.

I am on my first research trip, and it's fantastic. So many wonderful people who deserve researching, so little time.

I danced with Sandra Day O'Connor last night. For reals. It was wild-tastic to see her let down her hair. Will I post pics? Nope. It was like witnessing a deer family at the drink- you don't advertise something so rare. It's rare for a reason.

I miss writing. A lot.

The slam prize of my last post, is now my life's biggest prize. I got the guy. My road dog for the concert is my road dog for life. We're planning big things, things that involve kids and families and rings, not in that order. This makes me happy. We are happy- and cohabitated. Not because we're doing a trial relationship, but because we couldn't stand not being with one another. So we moved in. Now we're planning.

Life, in general, is good. I rarely wish for Before. Actually, I never wish for Before- except for Before's paycheck. Graduate school is not lucrative. Yet.

Namaste, bitches. More will be revealed.

Sports fans,

I promise to update more frequently...I promise to update more frequently...

That's all for now.

So, part of first prize for winning the CU Poetry Slam was tickets to see Saul Williams and Les Claypool in Denver.

Wow.

Les Claypool is a former member of Primus, and has this bass style that is sick to death. He has assembled this crazy road show called the Oddity Faire. It's a dark carnival, burlesque aesthetic, visually chaotic and beautiful, and meant to shock. And then there was the music. Wow.

So Saul as performer is like canonical, at this point. You know to expect a certain...Saul-ness of it all. But since he's branched out into producing with like, Trent Reznor, he's really adopted a rock star persona. I was really diappointed to be the ONLY person screaming the words to "Black Stacey," and being appalled/enthralled at his screeched version of Earth, Wind, and Fire's "Can't Hide Love," but that's Denver. None of my friends knew Saul's work, and the vast majority of the audience was, well, comprised of the majority group who were rock fans, not spoken word nerds like myself.

Anyhoo, I had a blast, and found a possible new road dog- my classmate Jason, who was a fan of Les' before the concert. I asked him on a humble, and the Universe made him the "right and perfect" person to have a chill night with. So yippee- go slam, go.

So I slammed for the first time in 5 years (give or take, probably give-) last night-

and I won.

First of all, I am incredibly grateful to have won, with only one new piece (written since 2004) to my name. I am the CU (University of Colorado-Boulder) Slam Champion. Yippee.

Second, I can't stop. Not out of any sort of fellings of invincibility, but the opposite. I took a big risk in performing yesterday. It merged the two sides of my life, academic and artistic, in a new way. In fact, I slammed against one of my students. That was weird. I also risked not connecting to the material anymore, and therefore the audience, Part of not writing new stuff was time, but I had not been writing before school started, and it is easy to stop writing, like it is to stop working out, because of time. It doesn't feel good, but the excuse of "no time" seems reasonable to justify inertia. In fact, I have been having bouts where I want to use a word, and I can't bring it up- they dance at the edges of my consciousness, peeved at dis-use. Use it or lose it.

If I stop now, I'll never get better. In no way do i think my craft is where I want it to be. I have too much poet envy, which means I am not reading enough, and not getting my own style enough. My voice is still suppressed to some extent- and continuing to put the work out there is a great way to guage how I'm growing, and to incentivize me to produce new work. Slams are not for the faint of heart- things go wrong, like the guy who got high nines and a 10 for trying to throw the slam with a rant about drugs...thank God for TPs in this case. But the random judges from the audience are a different form peer review. And Lord knows, with all the work I will need to put out there as an academic, putting my heart out, well, that's a co-requisite.

So, thank you CU. Thanks art- I missed you. And my department rocks hard in solidarity. As well we should.

I miss art- I miss music and writing poetry and acting. I miss them a lot.

I love academia, but can't wait to be able to incorporate the art. I need it to breathe. This is why I think I remain sick (a cold I can't shake).

In trying to do anything artistic, I have registered for the campus poetry slam and plan on auditioning for the CU version of Idol. It's either do that, or perish in a sea of articles- and we can't have that.

I got dumped last night. That sucks.

I took the 43 Things Personality Quiz and found out I'm a Creative Reinventing Self-Knower

Of course I am.

January-
4-day date; is this IT? Ran into 2nd favorite mistake, again. Slipped and fell, again. Started winter quarter…undergrad, again? Turn 33; party is a bust when Pugilist and Mr. It? act out; he’s a bully. Kick the bully to the curb, posthaste.

February-
Swore off men and focused on grad school- got The Call from CU Boulder. Got accepted to UCincy. Visit Boulder. Make snap decision- if they say yay, I’m goin’.

March-
Accepted to CU Boulder and add sexuality to my focus. Overtures @ work= hell, diplomacy, and shot nerves. So glad the end is in sight.

April-
Clean up from Overtures. Laying low at work to prepare for Dancing and Stars…booked movers. Applied to Sexuality program at SFSU.

May-
Boulder house search. Gave notice at work. Dancing was a success. Stepdad’s kidney match disappears.

June-
Last month of work. Much stress. Planning for Academy. Get tested for kidney match. Do song in Undertow/Fringe.

July-
Lose movers. Book new movers. San Francisco. Sexuality. Debauchery. New passion. Late to my own party. Breast reduction. Goodbyes.

August-
Judge shows during reduction recovery. One last recording session. Move to Boulder. Start teaching. Start grad school. Meet new people. Start tutoring. Stepdad's match re-appears.

September-
Biological clock starts ticking. I get lonely. First hike. Keep teaching. Stepdad gets a kidney, so I come home.

October-
Start dating. Second hike. Submit first abstract. It gets accepted. Win student award. Close friend gets engaged- thrilled for her! Present in San Francisco. Meet up with old friends. Get assignment for next semester- sexuality.

November-
Puerto Rico for student paper prize. Come home for Thanksgiving, see virtually no one. Meet a new guy, a great guy…potential? Study for comp.

December-
Third hike. End semester. Comp- ow. Come home for a too-long break. The guy with potential seems to be sputtering; I’m learning to let things do what they do.

With two days left in ’08, what I know for sure (yeah, O, I stole it!):

I know that Marianne Williamson was right; who am I not to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? My playing small does not serve the world…but remembering that, ah, there’s the rub. I am trying to play bigger; not bigger than I actually am, but bigger than I have been. It’s difficult to stop judging your insides by someone else’s outsides, or even your own evaluation of where you should be.

I know hiking is awesome, and my hiking does not mean I have stopped being black…I still won’t kiss a dog in the mouth (smile).

Quick story; mom and I, watching Something New last night. Sanaa Lathan’s character, at the climax and going to get her [white] man, sees his dog (whom she detested at the beginning of the movie), hugs him, and gives him a big kiss. I tell mom that the dog is a metaphor for her assimilation; her distance was just her cultural training kicking in, that dogs and people are separate. Kissing the dog indicates that she is ready to accept her white beau without feeling like she’s selling out….mom listened to this load of BS and nodded slowly- she agreed! (Jeepers. And yet…)

I know I am guilty of Othering. Don’t know yet whether it’s a good Othering, or anomie. We’ll see.

I know passion is required for this life to go well. I know that I have neglected passion, and fixated it on unworthy and unsubstantial candidates (people and things). Next year has to be about spending time in the passion pool.

Welcome, 2009.

Your result for Howard Gardner's Eight Types of Intelligence Test...

Linguistic

4% Logical, 22% Spatial, 75% Linguistic, 29% Intrapersonal, 37% Interpersonal, 43% Musical, 6% Bodily-Kinesthetic and 10% Naturalistic!

Take Howard Gardner's Eight Types of Intelligence Test at HelloQuizzy

Life is telling me stories- I selectively listen. It is telling me that I have limits- I cannot take 13 credits next semester. I must choose my battles.

Life is telling me that in large part, I am as bad as communicating with my students, as they are in communicating with me. The problem is, I am 13 years older than they, and I should know better.

Life says, "You cannot, nor is it your job to, take care of everyone. You are not the mama!"

Life is showing me my own worth- that my awesomeness entitles me to make an occasional demand, or at least, a specific request, without constantly bracing for disappointment or abandonment. This is kind of cool to know.

Life is especially showing me that nerd-dom, channeled and focused, is dead sexy, and it gets work done.

Life has showed me that every decision has both hidden costs and unknown benefits. You won't know until you walk through the door.

I think Life wants me to do more art.
I think Life is proud of me for fighting to use art as research.
I think Life wants me to get out of my own head more often.
I think Life wants me to be in better contact with friends and family.
I KNOW Life wants me to finish my reading for Theory.
I'm pretty sure Life wants me to practice gratitude.
And I hope...I hope Life wants me to date this man who I am drawn to. We'll see what Life says.

So Life...thanks.

 The subject of love- finding it, keeping it, not losing yourself in it- has been a hot topic lately. In conversations with friends, I have realized that I have come across some tools that can help any woman come to terms with her love situation, and develop a game plan for going forward. I say help- the reality is, I'm giving away advice I don't use all that often. But I can change, I can change (sung a la Saddam on South Park)...

So here are some books you can read or recommend. Sorry for the heteronormative tone of these books as well as the emphasis on helping women. I'm keeping it as real as possible, and in my experience, women fuss over this crap way more than men, and they also have more vocal complaints about enforcing boundaries. So here goes:

1) Write It Down, Make It Happen- by Henriette Anne Klauser. This is a good all-purpose book for making the stuff you think about come to fruition, but especially helpful for love-seekers is the chapter that relates the story of a woman who wrote letters to her soul mate almost daily, before she met him- to sharpen her vision of what she wanted, and to prepare herself for his entrance into her life.

2) The Five Love Languages- by Gary Chapman. This is brilliant. it is a communication book by a minister. But he never beats you over the head with religious rhetoric. Instead, he offers practical tips on how to identify how your mate registers loving gestures, and exhorts you to find and speak your partner's "love language-" saying and/or doing things in a way that your partner will appreciate, not the way you feel like expressing love, which may register as a big dud on your partner's scale.

3) A Return to Love- Marianne Williamson. This book makes me throw it across the room every time I read it. It is frustrating and makes me feel guilty. But I love it, because it is all about being in a truly loving place, and being responsible to love, and not ruled by "falling" in love. Culled from years of teaching A Course in Miracles, Williamson gets you thinking about your motivations and actions in a way that implicate you, but also gives you the power to change your circumstances. Good for codependents.

4) Getting to "I Do-" Pat Allen and Sandra Harmon. Another tosser. The main author is a relationship coach who suggests women pick the energy they wish to express, and breaks down the consequences for making a choice. She deconstructs energy into "masculine" and "feminine" expressions, and argues that by choosing one, your mate will have to be your opposite, in order for the relationship to be free of the gender role confusion we so often see in relationships. She also advocates abstinence until commitment, which we all know is not my strong point. I hate the book because it makes so much sense, and, once again, makes me responsible for my own happiness, and not some man "out there."

I don't advocate a wholesale swallowing of the ideas these authors put forth, but a careful reading of these texts can result in new thinking about relationships, behaviors and expectations. I'm going to go back to them and see where I stand on the issues they present. Who knows? I may just get a great relationship out of it.

This has been a very, very good week.

My abstract was accepted- I will be going to San Francisco to present my first-ever paper, "Out of the Mouths of Babes: Feminist Research as Sexuality Research" at the Western Regional Training on Sexual Literacy. This paper breaks down the experiences I've had, many chronicled through this blog, producing and writing shows that combine poetry and theater, centering women's voices and interrogating sexuality in new ways. The premise for the paper is that when I began these projects, I was not thinking about feminist research, but through producing them and having talks with my mentor, Mr. Purcell, I realized that these shows can be seen as feminist action research, and the writing process can lead to new research questions.

So that was exciting, but wait- there's more! My abstract won best student paper, and I get to go to San Juan, Puerto Rico to SSSS- the national conference for the Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality! I am mega, big-time excited. It's one of those things I never thought could happen to me, and is another piece of evidence that I am headed in the right direction.

The dating exercises continue, although now that I've broken the drought, I'm in no rush to make up for lost time. I'm still adjusting to my new body, and for now remain unwilling to share it with anyone else. Time also remains at issue. I love school, but between tutoring my athletes, teaching my classes, and doing my own reading and research, I am pooped! I got to go out and do karaoke on Friday, but whoa, Nellie, does my voice need a workout! I am out of practice. So yeah, dating regularly might be a bit premature. More will be revealed.

 A Reason, a Season, or a Lifetime

People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you figure out which one it is, you
will know what to do for each person.

When someone is in your life for a REASON . . . It is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally, or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are! They are there for the reason you need them to be.

Then, without any wrong doing on your part, or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end.

Sometimes they die.
Sometimes they walk away.
Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand.

What we must realise is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled, their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered. And now it is time to move on.

When people come into your life for a SEASON . . .
Because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn. They bring you an experience of peace, or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it! It is real! But, only for a season.

LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons; things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person, and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life. It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant. 

Author Unknown

 I submitted my first academic abstract on Wednesday night. The same university that hosted the Summer Institute on Sexuality Studies, is hosting a Regional Training on Sexual Literacy, and I threw my hat in the ring to present a paper that frames the poetry theater as feminist inquiry that interrogates sexuality. Said in plain-speak, I want to talk about how letting women write about their own lives in their own words is a political act that empowers women, and can lead to research questions for further study. I'll know this week whether I will be presenting. Meantime, I'm doing some freewrites that will hopefully help me to figure out what to say in the darn paper.

In other Sociology news, I am beginning to fill my toolbox with a list of research questions to explore. For those who know me well, you know I have no shortage of ideas, but tend to lack the stubbornness to finish what I start. In this case, which is the precursor to finding a dissertation topic, I have a problem linking all my major interest areas into a cohesive research project. Luckily, six weeks into my first of seven graduate years is really early to even be considering dissertation stuff, so I'm ahead of the game in this sense. It looks like I'll be doing a mixed-methods project that looks at race and sexual politics and citizenship through a gendered lens, and if the gods smile upon me, I'll be able to work some crim(inology) in there too. My cohort reminds me that my interests have changed rapidly since the Open House in February, and they have; I just am more aware of what will get me out of here faster, and what it takes to get a job. I am still interested in the same broad topics, like the African American female experience, but I'm learning, and those learnings impact my research. That's what grad school is all about.

Finally, in the vein of my addiction to HGTV, I am teaching myself how to date. I don't know how to date, and I especially don't know how to date in graduate school, as a black woman in Colorado. So I'm practicing. This involves much hilarity (because it's me), and much angst (because it's me). I had my first date in almost a year (the last being the guy who didn't leave for four days, but turned out to be a big bully). Yesterday's date was a largely relaxed affair, complicated by an awkward ending and my own inexperience with such matters. This seems to be a good guy; the jury's out on whether he's my good guy, or if he should be thrown back into the sea. But the simple fact that I reached out to someone I don't know, and made the effort to do more than hook up, is huge for me. And like I tell my students, the beginner's mind is key to deconstructing things sociologically. Assumptions are detrimental to analysis, and trying new things helps a fish to know (and put language to) the difference between wet and not wet. More will be revealed. Wish me luck- it's a jungle out there!

 Wow- I should post more often. I am, like my grandmother says of the brethren during testimony, "full."

I'll start with sociology updates. I still love my cohort of 15 diverse classmates; I still love my program and my professors. I know my teaching assignment next semester; Social Constructions of Sexuality. I'll be TA-ing for the same professor I work with in Intro (this semester). This is awesome. I am rapidly joining the ranks of CU-Boulder's "Perversity Clique;" my name for the small cadre of sexuality researchers within the department. We have different interests- BDSM and identity, Black Female Sexuality, Exotic dancers, you name it. But since we're politely marginalized, we support each other.

I have been having a great semester, networking with academic crushes, and learning the ropes of the department. I have three straight up, full-on academic crushes so far, and I get to work with one this semester learning Feminist Methods. She used to work at my undergraduate institution, and we often share stories and know many people in common. My advisor is another huge crush, and a professor who has this semester off, but came to talk to our cohort in a departmental seminar, is the third. Can't wait to work with them.

The only blemish on my graduate career, other than realizing that this is my home now, are my students. I teach (now 88) mostly freshmen, and they just took their first exam of the semester. I have tried everything I know how- I have tried to bribe them with candy; I've tried to quiz them into doing the reading; I've tried the Socratic method, and I've tried the Black Mama browbeat. None of it has worked. The scores were abysmal! I don't know what to do...and I want to feel for them, but I really want to give them a good, old-fashioned ghetto a$$-whuppin'. They aren't even trying. I mark papers, they don't change anything on the next paper. They refuse to follow directions, come to office hours, or even remember their recitation number, and yet- they somehow want to make this my fault! Honestly, the more they push, the more I tighten my butt cheeks- if you need a diamond, see me at the end of the semester. I'm sure I will have pressed out a few by then.

So those are my freshmen. The thing is, I really care about their success. I want them to do well, and I want them to pass this class. But I can't lower my standards to let them coast by. I actually had a student tell me she couldn't come to recitation because 1) she had been ill, 2) she couldn't find the building we hold class in, AND c) 8 a.m. didn't fit her sleep schedule- could I please give her some make-up work?

I laughed, and then went out for drinks with my cohort. Today I sent a short note indicating that emails were insufficient; she'd have to come see me during office hours. And she's not the only one of her ilk.

Thank goodness I compared scores with another TA- her tests had the same range I did. So it's not just me.

Wish me luck, ya'll. I am full, and my outlets are few. I might just blow!

I'm really freaking here.

Damn.

I'm in Boulder, in grad school, and I'm teaching. Me.

Langston Hughes writes about a dream deferred..."does it explode?" I have the opposite scenario- what happens to a dream realized? It's still a bit of a mind-screw, to be honest. I'm living far away from my family for the third time, and this time, I realize what I am missing- my grandma's smile when I walk in the door for Monday night dinner, midnight trips to Meijer with mom, a routine that requires fairly little and affords lots of spending power.

But now, here, in Colorado, I'm finding a new aspect of myself. I am smart- I am well-prepared intellectually for this endeavor (so far, knock wood). It's phenomenal that my summer experience at The Institute has provided me with information I can share with my department. Coming in as a pseudo-expert is awfully nice.

I am becoming much more of a homebody- I like being in my tiny little space, and without the bar or the Pugilist or my own expectations to dog me, I'm much more still (and a bit healthier- I drink water like a mofo here).

I still know relatively few people, and I don't have habits yet- kinda good. In the soup of not knowing, I am free to play, create, experiment with very little at stake.

So that's all Zen. The hard-core Over-the-Rhine in me says this is a good place to get work done. I think I can handle being here to do what I have to do. It helps that my department is phenomenal, so far. I have wonderful professors, and my cohort is cool if not yet cohesive. My students, though...

So far, I give myself a C minus in teaching. It's only been a week, and I am hard on myself, but first impressions are everything, and I don't feel like I connected with any of my recitation sections. I have one that I could tell everyone was alive in, but one is silent and one, actively hostile. I teach them again tomorrow, complete with dashiki and a clip from Rize, talking about culture. If you can't befriend them, scare the hell out of them. I figure, it was my mom's philosophy for raising kids, can't hurt me none.

So that's week One. More will be revealed. I miss ya'll.

So it's been a week since the Great Cut- I'm no longer a zaftig FF-cup wonder. I'm not quite sure what size I am, swelling being what it is, but I'm much, much smaller. My San Francisco friends will understand this part well; I dressed yesterday in black button-front shirt and black pants, and looking in the mirror, presented much more androgynous than I ever have. And it didn't bother me- I thought it was cool.

Being defined by any physical trait is a double-edged sword. It gives you a touchstone for identity, but it also makes you paranoid about who you are without it. Many people will tell you that, up until the moment they knocked me out (probably to keep me from yammering about my doubts), I was not sure I could go through with the reduction. I mean, who would I be? Would I have a problem not busting out all over?

It didn't help that most people reacted like I was going insane. Men literally mourned the upcoming loss of The Girls; women asked for me to transplant some of my excess to them. I wondered if this was really a necessary surgery, or was I just being vain?

One week later, I still can't answer questions about whether it was worth it. I am smaller, but still sore and drugged and generally useless in the upper body area. I pride myself on being generally productive with bouts of laziness, and this is the reverse. I spend more time asleep and watching judge shows than anyone ever should. But I'm enjoying the opportunity to break out of one more stereotype I hold for myself. I have always been "the smart girl;" "the busty girl;" "the girl with glasses," etc. If I'm not that girl anymore, there's a clear new space to play in, and from the tone of my last few posts, I seem to desperately need to break out and do a new thing.

Today I have my stitches removed, and the drains come out (this surgery ain't all glamourous). I hope to gain more range of motion soon, and I hope to be able to stop sleeping while sitting up. And I'll continue to keep you updated on how a life less busty goes. I'm looking forward to the journey.

So a friend write me this (edited by me) email:

I'm sorry.

I know that you're leaving. I know that tonight was your shindig, and
I had every intention of going. Until I sat and I thought about it
for awhile. I really wasn't up to being around all of Cincinnati's
collected [general nastiness].

It may sound stupid, but it's still pretty damned painful to me.

I wish that I could be strong enough to say that I don't give a damn,
and that I would just walk in there and be fine...but I can't. I want
to see you before you leave, if you can forgive me for not showing.

I miss you. Really I do. You are dear to me.

There's more, but the crux of the message is there. And this is a response to that friend, as well as a general heart-rending out-pouring of emotion about me leaving this town and the collected group of personalities that I have gathered around me.

To you, friends, I say, I am trying to work out a version of friendship that does not consistently require me feeling bad so that you all feel good. I have heard more "sorry"s that the law should allow, and, at this point, I don't have any response to them. I am numb.

I know that things are very often not personal, and I don't think enough of myself to believe that it's all about me, but for once, on my leaving, I wanted it to be. I wanted to feel like the years I've spent in Cincinnati mean enough to folks that they could stop by for a quick beer, if only because they knew I would be a non-drinking, limited mobility invalid for my remaining time in town. I wanted them to recognize that I planned a going-away party (for myself, how pathetic and telling), built so my friends could come, built to not hit the surgery or the San Fran trip (slight miscalculation). I want my friends to know I didn't even want a going away party, but everyone told me I owed it to my friends to let them say goodbye.

I didn't have the heart to tell everyone that I suspected very few people would show up, that I feared very few of the folk I call "friends" would be bothered to come. And I was proven somewhat correct.

When you give yourself a party, several things come to mind. Will anyone come? Why am I planning this myself? Is it because no one else can? Or no one else will?

In my case, I realized that my mother, once again, is correct- be careful who you call friend. I have a series of acquaintances, from different lives, with varying levels of connection and communication. It's hard to bring all those folks together in one place. I tried four times- only the first was a rousing success. I feel like I should have followed my first mind and just faded into the sunset- but that felt melodramatic as well.

So it's said, and done. I won't see many people before I leave- I'm too sore and drugged up and tired to do more than connect via Facebook, and I've got family trading organs tomorrow. I'll write about this time in my life, and maybe that's the payoff- I get another life experience to write about. Sometimes, that's all I can ask for.

I love you, Cincinnati, and I am grateful for the folks who I have laughed, cried, fought with and loved. I'll miss many of you, and some of you know where to find me. Peace to you all, and really, it's ok. It's all ok.

I am home from San Francisco, which deserves (and will get) its post. I have also had the breast reduction I'd been planning an fearing for months. Now I'm recovering at my grandmother's apartment, waiting to heal and to begin my new adventure as a graduate student.

The surgery has given me much time (and plenty of drugs) to think- about pain, and limits, and saying no when you mean yes, yes when you mean no. I'm a consummate people-pleaser, and I realized after San Francisco, many of my so-called friendships are predicated upon me feeling bad so that others can feel good. And I've had it. San Francisco gave that to me (so I say Thank You).

Going across the country will give me a new space to recreate myself, but my mother tells me, and is true, that "Wherever you go, there you are." And if I don't deal with the attitudes and behaviors that created my life here at home, it will just be the same in Boulder. And so...

- I am giving myself permission to not talk to folks if I am too busy or just don't want to.
- I am giving myself permission to call people on their junk (and to have them call me on mine).
- I am giving myself permission to say a few, well-needed F&^%- you's.
- I am giving myself permission to say "ouch, demmit, this hurts! And it is not ok.
- I am giving others permission to not keep in touch with me, or care what I do next.

So, Other People, you are off the hook. This is a period of renegotiation, of resetting limits and reconstructing relationships. Some will be let go, some will emerge stronger. And it's all good. Some folks I will be reaching out to, and others, I will retreat from. And it's all good. My experiences are showing me that there's a great big old world out there, and when I let them in, wonderful people show up and take me higher than I ever thought I could be. So I will have no hard feelings, but neither will I contort myself to fit others' images of me, nor will I let others piss on my leg and tell me it's raining.

I'm reclaiming my writing, and my dance. I'm releasing that part of me that needs to be a professional YP. I'm totally withdrawing from questionable alliances with other women's men, and from men who are as unavailable as...well, who are pretty damn unavailable. Girlfriends, I'm done being jealous of you, of trying to talk you out of destructive behavior, and of letting certain topics be off-limits. If we're going to be friends, we're gonna start going there about any and everything- because I think our lives depend on it (more on that later- it's a legacy from San Francisco).

I'm not the best correspondent, and I don't check in as much as I would like. But let's change that. Let's create authentic relationships, let's build, let's support each other. This is how it's gonna be from now on, at least for me. If you're in, let's go. if you're out, goodbye. Go in peace.