too much love
I have so much on my mind right now. This rant will say a lot of things to a lot of people, but know that when I say “you” I mean the figurative “you” plural, at large, and not anyone specifically.
There are some people in my life . . . one, two, some. Who are challenging me now. Some are old old friends from before the dawn of time (figuratively… at least it feels that way) and some are new friends who are still learning my language, and I theirs. Some are old friends who feel new again. Some are new friends who feel ancient. I’m starting to feel that familiar pressure on my chest bone, like someone is pressing their hand against it. A warm ache. A warning.
If I knew. Oh if I knew.
And. I’ve been in my hometown long enough that I’m starting to get anxious to leave. I’ve made it longer than I normally do. I’m usually surprised if I make it six months without that antsy feeling. I’ve been here doing the same thing for a year now. Existing. Alone. I’ve made progress, I suppose. No – I have made plenty of progress. My temperament dislikes stability. As soon as I have settled, I run.
She… she… she.
My heart, the capacity of my heart is so big that it makes my aloneness seem greater. I have so much love to give. So much affection and compassion. And I have not given myself the opportunity to express it. Either that, or the universe, god, people, have not given me the opportunity to express it. I’ve had my affections set on so many people in the last year. Maybe if I had one (or two?) people to focus on, then I would not scatter like marbles the gifts my heart has to offer.
Wait. Weight. Wait.
This may not be true. Lord I hope this isn’t true, but from my perspective, all the butches I’ve met, in this town anyway, over the course of the year, have been drawn to thin femmes like deer in the headlights (if they are into femmes at all – which several were not). I’m getting to the point where I’m wondering now what’s wrong with me, that I’ve been “on the market” so to speak, and not get snatched up by some adoring lover. Any. Is it because of my shape? I’m pretty, kinky, feminine and smart – what more could you want? Maybe I’m too smart. Maybe I’m too kinky. Maybe I’m too feminine. Maybe I’m too fat.
My inner feminist is screaming at me now to forget all that – she’s trying to preserve my self esteem. But if men can be attracted to big girls (and they have been believe me) then why not butches?
Disagree with me all you want. Please do. I think butches like skinny girls because they can wrap their arms all the way around and hold onto them. Skinny girls fold themselves into your strong arms and make you feel big because you’re bigger than them. Skinny girls. Puff up your big bad attitude. Somehow, their shape makes you more masculine. Isn’t that it?
Big girls just don’t do it for you, eh?
I’m indignant. I’m sorry. I know this is not what you mean to say with your actions. This is how I read it from my end.
I have so many hard conversations to have in the next few weeks. I’m going out to dinner with my best friend from jr. High and I’ve been meaning to tell her all year long. I can’t imagine a good outcome to that. And other friends have been stirring up unexplainable feelings that I don’t know how to sort and categorize. But I have to start, and talking is the starting.
P.S. If I don’t have your address. Tuesday is my last day to ship your little gift before Christmas – E-MAIL.