Suppose you tell me darlin’ — who do you think I think I am?

I laughed at both of my older brothers as I watched them go from most of their lives griping about how they’d never have kids, they’d never want kids, they didn’t understand how anybody could want kids… to settling down and raising families of their own. My oldest brother has… 9 or 10, I think? One adopted, the rest carried by his wife.  I remember the same thing with my next-younger sister, there was no way she’d have kids… and now she has two, and is happy.

And now I’m standing in the mirror wondering what’s happened to the woman I knew, the one who used to casually joke about how “I love kids! Just gotta tenderize ‘em first, back the van over them a few times works well, then marinate overnight and grill for dinner!”  Wondering what happened to the rage that accompanied being in the same room as any child under about 12, and the frustration that came with every sound they made.  Wondering what happened to the woman who would cross the street when someone came walking along pushing a stroller, or leading a toddler or two along. Because that’s the woman I keep expecting to see…

…but instead I’m looking at the reflection with a puzzled look, because the woman I see looking back at me can see herself settling down, can see herself not only as a housewife (and that’s something I’ve hoped to be for many years) but as a mother helping to raise her children.  Not just “can see herself” doing these things, but genuinely wants to do these things.  It’s a very, very weird feeling, and although I know that I’m the woman looking back, I’m kind of wondering “who are you, and what have you done with me?!”

What, I ask, is life — without a touch of music in it?

I miss singing.  I love singing, it’s as natural and essential a part of life for me as breathing and sex, but much like the latter I do far too little of it.

I grew up surrounded by music, was seldom without. Weekly church services always included singing, hymns for four parts — soprano, alto, tenor, bass. I often sang specially arranged choir numbers, practicing near-endlessly my parts.  I would participate in each year’s “Sing-Along Messiah” in December, as one of the people who knew what they were doing who could help the other less sure voices.  My family would frequently gather together around the piano and sing, flipping through various bits of sheet music, much of it religious tunes.

And I miss the music.  I hate the dogma and doctrine and disgusting deity tied up in all of that, because that was the package deal.

But it is possible to have the beauty of the song without the bullshit of the sermon — I’ve certainly appreciated stage musicals for much of my life, and there’s some good stuff out there that fits what I need. It’s just that… I don’t want to dedicate a chunk of my life to rehearsal for performance, and I don’t want to perform at all! I don’t want to sing to anyone, or sing for anyone but myself. I want to be able to enjoy the synergy that comes from voices raised in harmony, to feel the thrill electrify my body as the room swells with a chorus of voices.  I don’t know where to find that.

I want to sing like this, with others, for nothing more than the entertainment and joy it brings:

Closer to heaven above, and closer to you

It’s really great that the internet can connect people like never before.  How a queer kid in the rural Midwest, for example, can have the World Wide Web in their hands on a mobile device, and find other queer folks online, can chat and discuss and interact.

It’s also really shitty how the internet can only do that much, as far as connecting goes. Sure, you can find people who are like you, and get that validation that you’re not alone, that there are others like you… but this is a very large world for as close as technology brings us.

Lots of people in far-flung places across the globe who I would love to spend some face-to-face time with — or more likely body-to-body time, in many of those cases. But without lots of money and access to other resources on my part or theirs (for any particular “them” involved, and there are dozens) there’s not much beyond longing, and the disconnect of the distant connections.

She’s so good that you won’t see it coming

I wonder if anyone will ever fall for me who isn’t weighed down by major self-esteem issues? That seems to be the kind of woman I attract.

From my “first love” whose control freak tendencies were only outdone by her verbal and then physical abuse, she was so desperate to make everyone around her small and ordinary so that she could seem brilliant by comparison… to the most recent ex who could not hear her praises being sung by so many for what they were, whose consistent expressions of inadequacy could not be balanced out by my efforts alone, nor by those of so many I enlisted to join me in countering them… or the one boyfriend I’ve had, who began publicly posting suicide threats when I attempted to set and maintain boundaries, who spent much of the time we were together telling me what a bad man he was… or the psycho ex who needed so much to matter that she couldn’t simply be herself — she was Connor Quentin McLeod, an Immortal, a Highlander; she nearly broke my jaw and used me to get herself pregnant… the friend who has been so much to me, but who also consistently martyrs herself so that she can “let me be happy,” as if her happiness and mine were mutually exclusive, that mine comes at the cost of her own…

And the ones who don’t get attached, the ones who are friends-with-benefits but never “girlfriend” — Lime, Plush, Again, SoCal, and others — sometimes more “together,” sometimes not, but it doesn’t matter so much when none of them are the ones who share my life. I may be significant — the “friend” part of “FWB” — but not significant in that way.  And I don’t want to be that kind of significant with most of them, and that’s okay — but I do want to find someone who is that kind of significant, and who wants me to be the same.

And I want that to be a woman who knows how fucking bad-ass she is, and for us both to build each other up in our bad-assery instead of collapsing in on each other like a house of cards outside in a thunderstorm.

Seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go

Dear Internet,

I’m trying to find a place to live.  It’s not going very well so far. I was supposed to already be out of this current place 3 days ago, and I’m lucky right now that the property management company is turning their heads while I scramble to leave.  I’m really scared, not knowing where I’m going to end up, and wherever I land will be my 10th address in barely 5 years — not by choice, just by circumstance.

I have a Craigslist “housing wanted” ad posted, but so far all I’ve seen in reply is a handful of automated phishing attempts, plus one guy who did little more than (very suggestively) invite me to “a bed that’s out of the rain” — thanks, but I’m (gratefully) not in a position where I need to turn to survival sex work…

I’d really love to find a place where I’m not constantly fighting panic attacks from loud noises all the time, or dealing with PTSD and hearing gunshots (real or video game/TV/movie sound effects…) It’s been hard to keep going through the consistent depression I’ve been dealing with and still try to find a roof to keep over my head.

Just in case it does any good, I’m copying the text of the ad here — check the link above if you have a place and want to contact me, though:

$575 Queer girl seeking East Bay housing

Heyo! I’m looking for a place to live, a long-term home to settle down and spread some roots in the East Bay.

I’m open to sharing a space with other women, and if possible I’d like to end up around Berkeley / Emeryville / Albany / Temescal — that’s where I’ve been the last couple of years, and I’ve built community and support networks here that I’d like to be able to continue to access. Yes, I know there may be cheaper rent elsewhere, but transit costs (and limited transit availability) make those less-than-viable options for me! My income is fixed and limited, but reliable; SSI shows up at the start of every month and my rent check can do the same.

The $575 listed above is the most I can afford — I’d prefer that amount to include utility costs, but I’ll still consider a place if it doesn’t. That’s the highest I can go though, and that maximum amount is not negotiable.

I’m a computer geek (been working with, on, and around them for over 20 years), I love music (and am rarely without a song on my lips or in my ears), I enjoy food and the opportunity to cook/experiment with it (no dietary restrictions, and I eat meat regularly.) I’m friendly to other people’s pets, but I can’t live with animals — allergies make that sadly impossible. I don’t smoke, and would prefer to live with other non-smokers.

If you’ve got a place and think I might be the right fit, please let me know! Any questions, feel free to ask.

Feel free to share this, spread the word to others who might have a connection… my goal is to reach outside my own limited networks here.  I really don’t know if anything will come of this… I’ve exhausted most of the resources available to me, and I don’t know what else to do.

Again and again, again, again, again-again, never stop

I usually don’t bother even writing it down or saying anything, because it’s so common, so frequent that it just turns into a droning mess…

I need to be fucked. I need sex. I’m horny and alone and unsatisfied. I need sex. I need more sex. I need different kinds of sex than I’m getting. I need to fuck.

I need to be eating better. I need to be eating more often. I’m not eating enough. Need food. Pink pervert needs food… badly. I really gotta eat. I should eat something. I haven’t had a meal today. Need to eat.

It’s too loud! Wish I had some peace and quiet. So noisy! Fuck, this noise is driving me crazy… it’s so loud here, I can’t think! Another panic attack, things are so noisy here. Too much noise!

I don’t know where I’m going to live. I need a place to live. When do I find a home? Gotta find something long-term and stable for housing. I need a place to live… where am I going to live?

It’s the same thing on repeat. The same thing on repeat. The same thing on repeat.

I’m just going to go to sleep for now… again.

Now all the odds are in my favor, something’s bound to begin.

August 2012. Last time I was fucked by a phallus made of flesh instead of sculpted from silicone.

January 2011. Last time anyone came inside me.

I’ve had more sex in the last year or so, more consistently, with more wonderful women, than in the entirety of my relatively short sexually active adult life, and I have several wonderful people helping me with that in the present – Lime is distant but travels on occasion, Again is around plenty, and even sometimes has had Crowbar and Machinehead (new name!) along with.  Angeles (also new name!) has been a gift from… well, I wouldn’t accuse her of being from heaven, she might be offended by that — but she’s definitely been a wonderful thing in my life since she recently came into it.

With all of that, and all the associations that they have, I would hope that I can make something happen. But as it is, I’m still not getting anywhere near the amount of sex I need, let alone the kinds of sex.

But, as the title of this post references… maybe this time, I’ll be lucky.

Really wish it would happen soon.

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