Sábado, 21 de septiembre 2019
I feel really happy despite my new and itchy reptilian skin. I have to wait 6-10 more weeks for my smooth, silky surface to return. I want to read instead of write this page, but it’s a morning page. I must show up as I am. Make of me what you will, I surrender.
Oops. I have stopped to overthink.
I’m no longer surrendering. It’s too raw in here. The rawness scares me a bit. I’m exited for life nonetheless. So far, all the stages make sense—looking forward to others. Feeling like I could share the opportunity of going through the stages with someone. Having a child, or adopting one, I mean.
Could my ex and I ever have a friendship one day? Why is that so hard? I miss him. But not in a sexual way, just in a you-matter-to-me-so-it-would-be-better-to-have-you-around-kind-of-way.
Well, that’s too much information, but that’s life nowadays, learning to live with too much information while wanting even more. I’m finally relieved to always want more. It feels ok, not necessarily capitalist.
I also think we need post-communist and post-capitalist words. Dream words. A _______ society. Not communist, not capitalist, not socialist. A ____ist society. I can’t think of it. Maybe you can. A term that doesn’t scare us. A name that invites us to wonder, to lean in, to wrestle with what sucks for as long as we must, so that it gets better, because it will get better, or it wont. And when it’s better we will have to fight for it to remain better. And we will all be in love with that kind of struggle.
And we will have plenty of time to hug those who have given up, or those who are about to. Yes, it’s time to hug the quitters. A quitophilic society.
P. P. P.
Ahora: retomo el pie forzado original de este archivo digital - documentar mi práctica diaria de movimiento en la orilla en 100 palabras