stepladder
March 31st, 2010I wrote this back in September in the long wake of my breakup with the Lawyer. It’s dated, but I think it sums up why I wasn’t blogging, and why I’m not teaching right now.
I also think it’s topical because Maymay, a good friend and a creator and champion of sexuality unconference KinkForAll, has come under attack by “Citizens Against Trafficking”’s Margaret Brooks and Donna M. Hughes . It’s an ugly mess, but it’s a sign if I ever saw one that he’s doing something right.
Tonight’s post comes to you only because I was repainting my old room white. I put on two coats of primer, and I’m just one coat of eggshell away from getting the security deposit back.
The problem is that at 5′5″ I can just barely get the roller to bump the ceiling. The last time I painted the damn thing it took two days and I did have help. This time I finished alone with blisters on my hands, surrounded by the inch of tangerine paint just out of reach. Far from feeling accomplished, I wanted to sit down on the floor and cry.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited about my new apartment with my roommates. It’s unreal: 14-foot ceilings, a private patio. I’ve spent a few hours this week watching the sunlight stream in through my gorgeous window, and believed fiercely that this is a place I could settle, have guests, have a lover.
But acknowledging how much I want that makes me feel like a fucking mess. I keep telling myself that expressing need does not make you needy, and asking for help does not make you helpless. I don’t follow either of these pieces of advice. But maybe someday I will, and in the meantime I do believe them.
Every day for the last week my phone has brought up the reminder to post about KinkForAll and I have ignored it. I don’t want to get up in front of a room and talk. Some educators do skills, but I’m all theory, and in this mood I’m not much of a poster child for my new world order.
I know I should go. Even if it’s not a lot, it’s the least I can do. This seems to be a common belief among bloggers — that what we do on the Internet has a ripple effect, and helps create the world we want to live in. I want that, even when phrases like “consciousness-raising” and “creating safe spaces” and “starting conversations” ring really fucking flat. So often I feel like we are just patting ourselves on the back for vocalizing our discontent. Changing things is hard, even when the alternative is good behavior and quiet despair.
Basically… tonight I don’t have anybody to paint the tops of my walls, and I’m sad.
