confession: one of my writer friends (like bar friends, because you only see your writer friends on thursday nights at writing workshop or weekend writing retreats, like you only see your bar friends when you go to the same damn bar every week) is doing a project prompted by the theme “punch fear in the face.” the first time i read about the project, i wanted to punch fear in the face, too. i began taking inventory of my fears in order to prioritize punching them in the face. guess what? i can’t find anything i’m afraid of that is face-punching-worthy. i used to consider myself someone who was afraid of everything. that was a lie. i’ve always been courageous, i just haven’t always given myself credit for my courage.
confession: i’m taking a break from therapy for a few weeks (a few months?), not because i’m all healed, but because i’m happy, and stirring up old shit doesn’t feel like a productive use of my time or joy.
confession: do you ever wonder what happened to that old flame that you almost never think about until her name pops up on your yahoo messenger as “available”? (by the way, i only open yahoo messenger accidentally, and this old flame is someone i never “chatted” with, and she wasn’t even an old flame, she just wanted to be, and i didn’t like her like that.)
confession: i love being in love. modification for accuracy–i love being completely platonically in love. romantic love can suck corn husks off unharvested field corn.
confession: i keep finding myself in the lacy lingerie section of every clothes store i enter. i haven’t bought anything (lie) because i’m not inspired (lie). i love flimsy see-through lacy get-ups embellished with strategically-placed little bows to direct the eyes. i think my inner-lingerie-lover must be stuck at age 22. (except that when i was actually 22, i wore leather, not lace.)
confession: three weeks later, i’m still happy. and getting happier. my happiness increases when i stay home at night, read a book, write a letter, and go to sleep, wake up five hours later, work out, and eat avocados.
confession: i sent a “happy birthday” message to my ex-best-friend from middle school via facebook today. our friendship fell apart because she judged me as a sinner and lectured me about my long list of sins when i came out (at age 18) as bisexual. fuck her. i’m grudge-holding. and i still love her. because i can’t help but love forever, which means once i love you, then i love you, no matter what happens or how much time passes. she responded to my happy birthday message asking “how are you?” i assume her inquiry is sincere and caring, but she is now a baptist minister’s wife, and the only thing my grudge-holding-but-still-loving heart can think to respond to her question is “still bisexual.”