“your life is your life don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission” | May 6, 2011


I woke up today and remembered…

This isn’t what I came here for.

Yesterday. All of my sprouts died. It was tragic. I left the lid on them and the sun fried them. My house mate also planted his sprouts over the other ones of mine I had already planted. So my harvest is dead and all I could hope for is going and buying already sprouted sprouts. I wouldn’t find any pride or accomplishment in that.

When I lifted the top to my sprouts, I screamed in my head, “ALRIGHT MOTHER NATURE! I GET IT!”

I didn’t come here to bring some epic love story to reality. I didn’t come here to be an anarchist.  I didn’t come here to live in a closet and be alone.  I didn’t come here to understand the deep deprivation possible in a community.

Jordan and I can be alone on the road.

“Mankind is like dogs, not gods – as long as you don’t get mad they’ll bite you – but stay mad and you’ll never be bitten. Dogs don’t respect humility and sorrow.”

I came here for strong relationships with women. I came here for the reality of community, for mutual growth. I came here to experience life!

I did not mean to fall in love. I did not want to fall in love. I did not want to be in a nearly entirely monogamous community.

I wanted to be supported in my choices.

I did not come here to be taught how to behave. I did not come here to be broken.

I did not come here to work at comfort dental and be a mediocre employee and spend my life writing, “The results are beautiful teeth that last a lifetime! :D”

I did not dismantle my life to be in another typical heterosexual relationship where I am treated like a dog or a trophy and I am a god damn receptionist. NO. I did not.

I did not come here to turn a blind eye to patriarchy in order to pretend we have results, to pretend there is a new reality manifesting.

I did not come here to pretend there is a new reality manifesting itself through our band aid “work”.

The truth is, even if I am a predator or abusive to those around me, this is not the path to change my ways.

 Ginsberg said, “Denver is hungry for its hero.”

So developers built Jack Kerouac lofts!

They “offer residents newer, luxury lofts with 10 foot ceilings, wood floors, Italian kitchen cabinets and huge windows to let in lots of natural light.”

It’s all a front.

I ran into some anarchists after every part of life fell through in the non-profit world. They said, “Come, join your friendly neighborhood anarchists.” I said, “I don’t know guys. I am not in good shape right now.”

But they’re all so cool! lol

So I says to them I says, “Collective, I’m falling apart.” and the anarchist solutions so far have been welfare and seeing a psychiatrist and starting meds.

…so apparently we’ll smash the state later, when I’m not being a pain in the ass.

 It’s all a front.

But trust me, I get it. I’m not their problem. I am not ANYONE’S problem but my own and I think I found my problem. I want a community. I yearn and hunger for a community. I want a place. I want to be accepted. But, frankly, I wasn’t raised for that. I’m like a hippopotamus nursing a kitten. I will kill you if you nourish me. I wasn’t taught love that way.

I’m a communal wankster, straight up.

I wrote a mother’s day letter to my mom whom I have not spoken to in over a year.

I wrote, “I think about what you’ve tried to teach me as I learn to parent Jordan. People treat me like they treat you. I am you in so many ways. I saw a picture of your face the other day and it was me all grown up. I live very much like you these days and I, if not my behavior, close me off into isolation. I have begun drinking at night afterJordangoes to bed to lighten the weight of life. When you were faced with this cross road in life, you chose to trudge head first along with your head down. You put in work. It’s hard for me to say that worked out well. I acknowledge that as adults we have no idea what we are doing.”

My mom has stayed in the same town her whole mammoth life. She raised 8 kids on her own and I am her youngest. She worked 40 to 50 hours a week my whole life and bought a home and paid taxes. She lost her mind in the monotony and she drank life into her bones every night. Pitcher by pitcher.

I am not here to imitate life with tequila.

I’m not here to imitate life as a spouse.

I am not here to imitate life.

People ask me what I want to teach Jordan. People tell me what I have to teach Jordan. I feel what I can teach Jordan is not stability. I don’t know what that is. I feel I can teach Jordan to hear what he wants out of life. I can teach Jordan the bravery of taking chances.  I can teach him what trusting your intuition sounds like. I can teach him what living for yourself means and how it is not necessarily bad but constructive.

We are so taught to fill a mold, especially as women. We can not fill a mold. Right now I am so skinny, I don’t even fill my jeans. I waste away living for others. I do not help anyone when I try to be what they want.

I also woke up today and swallowed my first prozac. It hovers like a lump that fell down my throat and landed on my diaphragm(hhmmmm).  I wonder if they make them to get stuck there on purpose because they know the people that “need” or choose to use them are the people with the most desperately broken hearts. They are those that constantly feel pain radiating out from their centers. 


(Side note:

Social diaphragm, a circle of friends, family, social circle

Thoracic diaphragm, a thin sheet of muscle under the lungs

Diaphragm (contraceptive), a small rubber dome placed in the vagina to wall off the cervix, thus preventing sperm from entering


A friend of mine wrote this blog about how our lives are compartmentalized. In life, this friend is a pretty strong advocate of de-compartmentalizing and processing transparently, but she wrote a blog about how annoying people are de-compartmentalized. What a mess, you know? If you know me, you know.

So I want to refocus myself from this moment on. I want to pack my own self up, compartmentalize myself as I pack my belongings and I want to go. I am transient. I am internally nomadic. I think I must stop fighting it. Besides, I need respite from heart break. There is none here.

I want to be bombastic. I want to be loud and obnoxious and bodascious.

Call it running away, you’re probably right.

I believe if I stay here I will die by my own hands.


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1 Comment »

  1. While I don’t know what it feels like to be a parent, I can relate on pretty much everything else. I have this list on my wall of things I want to remember and one of them is “Balance spontaneity and stability”. I don’t mean stability in the way of setting down roots in one place, but in the way of emotional stability. Having supportive people I love and respect everywhere, having books to read, putting myself in situations I know will benefit my self-growth, always have someone around who “gets it” and at least a few fellow adventure seekers. I know I’ll never be stable physically or mentally but I do realize that despite all irrationality we harbor as human beings, we always have the choice to how we react and for whatever reason that’s really comforting to me. I hope you find the things that make you feel truly “stable”…if an open road makes you feel that way, more power to you.

    I’m rambling now, as I tend to do. Mostly I just wanted to say that no matter what you are going through, you are still an inspiration to me. Your struggles and strength through them only serve to make me think you’re even more amazing. I don’t think you’re running away from anything. I think you’re running towards you.

    Comment by Dani — May 6, 2011 @ 8:45 pm

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    Mother Lover. <3

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