Friday, June 14, 2013

Lesbian separatism, hula hooping, and The Fosters

The morning did not go well. I cried four times, once from worry, once from frustration, once from joy, and probably the fourth time because I was just raw and vulnerable and generally open to crying as a response to anything the day was about to throw me. 

(NB -- there was nothing to worry about, everyone is fine, and communication with men is sometimes hard. To think, 25 years ago I was part of a group of women building womyn's land, and I almost moved on to it, and I was seriously invested in a mostly female-oriented community, and today I live with 2 guys, and I have 2 landlords who are also guys, who are also in and out of the house all the time—all with, shall we say, different communication styles from me. Some days I fantasize about what my life would have been like if I had moved onto womb-land. Yes, that's what it was called. Also, not to point any fingers here, but I do want to point fingers away from my kid, who was not the one causing the worry and frustration.)

So the morning. Not good. But then I saw Laurie, and she helped with her clarity and groundedness and personal experience, and then I talked with Claire, and she helped by going out there at 50, pursuing what she has always wanted to do (and ROCKING IT, btw) and then I got home and had just a bit of time to myself before going back out into the torrential rain back to work, and I baked these insanely good no-flour brownies made with chickpeas (I used 1/2 the sugar) and while they were baking, I put on the DVRd episode of The Fosters, and had blessed alone time watching TV while doing jumping jacks, crunches, lunges, stretches, and hula hooping. Nobody to negotiate with, nobody to watch me, nobody to care if I back the show up to re-watch a scene, nobody to shush, nobody to block from seeing the TV with my hula hooping bad self.

True, I didn't make it to the gym as I had planned. True, I didn't get time to write the emails I had wanted to. True, my best-laid plans went awry. But maybe all that made my little window of womon-only time even more precious.

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