WHERE'D I PUT MY GODDESS?

First morning of the weekend with L and S. So good to be here. Feeling my loneliness, not knowing what to do with myself. I woke up in the middle of the night so angry, thinking to tell M, “we should probably stop pretending that you are my friend.” I know I had dreams, but I can’t remember any of them. I was startled when my alarm went off this morning and somehow two hours doesn’t seem enough time to get ready. Though I only gave myself an hour and a half. I don’t know when I set my alarm for later. And I don’t know why I write all of this stuff down. What is it I’m trying to figure out about myself? I’m just like any other person. All the same things swirling around inside of me.

Our fairy tale is the handless maiden. I’m a chauvinist. M is a chauvinist. His whole family is. I suppose my whole family is too. Why do we have so little interest in the feminine? We want the energy and the gift and the light and the dark and the gold and silver and the shadow and the illumination, but we don’t want to do the work. We don’t want to have to understand her or open her or enter her. It’s all rape. It’s all a devil’s bargain. We want to have it and when it’s not given to us freely, we tantrum or we bully or we rage. The gift of the feminine does seem like something to be earned. It really has to be earned, or it is never ours. Does the masculine have to be earned in the same way? Or is it the masculine in us that earns the favor of the feminine? Sometimes they say it’s out the feminine that the masculine is born, but I feel like so much of the strength of the masculine is required. Oh, who knows.

Bullying and control. Control through withholding, control through tantrum. Certain things though, I’m tired of trying to accept them. It feels like lethargy and resignation. Certain things, I don’t think it’s good to accept.

Last night I said I was a hypocrite, a chauvinist, an accuser. A fighter. A secret lover, trying to be less secretive about it.

What I want to say to everyone is, “So, what’s going on?” Like, what is going on here? Here and here. And there. But mostly here. Right here. In me, in you, in between us.

I hate being ignored so much. It is so painful.

I just can’t do it right now.

I don’t know what is going on here. What is a connection and when is it decided? Instantly.

* * * * *

Days end. I danced and screamed and painted. I don’t know what I danced. I do know why I screamed. I don’t think I’m satisfied with my painting. It went too fast or it took too long or something. I feel ravenous and sick. I feel heartbroken and devastated. I feel shocked at the cowardice and hypocrisy.

I feel painfully lonely. I want to eat and eat until I’m sick. I want to sleep. I want to end this. I want to wake up and have it all be gone. I want to dream and be sent clear and decisive answers. I’m exhausted. My blood is drained from my face and my eyes are small. Could I go to sleep right now? Why not. What else is there to do. I have nothing left. Why do we do this work? Why do we suffer. Because we are human. Do only humans suffer? What a lot.

* * * * *

Next day.  Last day. Dreams. Lots of dreams this time. I had gone to some specialty store with my mom where they had shoes and leather gloves. they had a pair for me that i could pick up at my convenience. I was trying to sort my schedule. Trying to figure out when I could go. Trying to coordinate with going to E’s for work. I was around Macy’s Herald Square. I had a lot of bags I was carrying. Sopping bags. Macy’s bags. I realized I wasn’t too far from the place and it was around 7:30.  I didn’t know if they stayed open till 8:00 but figured they must and so I start walking that way. I was listening to my iPod. there was a Nina Simone song that i had overdubbed on and I liked what i sang. It was a bit acrobatic and poppy but still somehow good. I was thinking I’d like t to do it in a show. I was thinking about how I’d advertise it. Something about “vocal acrobatics that you’ll actually kind of like.” I was thinking about MH and J specifically. I wasn’t sure if I actually wanted a pair of leather gloves. I thought they would just get dirty right away.

Before that I had a dream that I was supposed to be going to a dinner with T and B. Something around their marriage, engagement or whatever. I was staying with them in Jackson. I was starting to shower and dress and get ready. In the back of my mind I wasn’t 100% sure if it was being hosted or if we were all paying for ourselves. I was worried about how much it would cost. (cost!!!) Then B said he didn’t think I should go, that it was something obligatory for them that wouldn’t even be that much fun, that I should spare myself the stress and we would do something more fun on another night.

I think I went to bed last night at like, 8:30 or something. No problem.

* * * * *

I am amazed at my own loneliness and how desperately I want to connect. Certain things didn’t bother me this time like they did  last time. For instance, I put two of my books on the altar and then one of the women started looking at one of them and wrote it down. Honestly, I was glad! I want her to read the damn books! I want everyone to! I want everyone to freaking snap out of it! Myself included. I just don’t know how I really feel about being here in this body on this planet. Is it really such a gift? Is the suffering worth it? There are times when I like it, but those times have always died.