Random Acts of Awesome

Man, what a weekend. Not just fun, but I feel like I made a truly good friend. It's not often that I relate so deeply to people, and it's happened twice for me over a very short period of time. I feel both a little shell shocked and very lucky. For the sake of privacy, that's all I put down in writing. But man, I'm still buzzing a bit from the high. :D 

I had a friend recently tell me that I should start handing out performance forms to people I've been with. I think that, if done well and kindly, this might be fun. Problem is, I rarely want to rate the people who I'm feeling kindly towards. I mean, fun is fun. True, there's more exceptional levels of fun that stand out in my mind. But if I had a good time and came away from an experience smiling and feeling good about the world, then it was a pretty damn good time. And experiences where I DON'T feel that way are few and far between. Because sex is FUN. Or it should be. Which brings me to this past weekend. I've been aggressively pursuing dating more. And by aggressively pursuing dating I mean actually answering emails that people send me on OkCupid and the like, or putting up an add on Craigslist. Because I like that little safety buffer of the internet, the net that lets me trawl for goodies while throwing away the psychos. And because those mediums are heavily g

It's days like today that I realize how much I truly miss my family. I'm making an apple pie with apples that grew in my yard, I cleaned my house so that it smells fresh and sweet, I've got candles burning on my counter, and food in my fridge. And I realize that I'm making a home. I'm always making a home. But who am I making a home for? Myself? The men who live in my house? My friends? I don't know. But it doesn't feel like enough. Because what I come from is so much more than that. It may never feel like enough, because I have no intention of living a traditional life. And with that thought comes a measure of peace. I do like who I am. I like my life, and the freedom and beauty it provides me. These candles on my counter are an altar, where I stare into the flames and try to create a world inside their depths that's full of sweetness, health, and happiness for me and everyone around me. I watch them flicker with my breath, I breath their heat into my l

I had an interesting conversation recently while camping with friends, sitting around a campfire. I was talking about my mother and how, after having had the conversation I needed to have with her about how her views of my sexuality fucked with my head, my feelings of resentment were gone and our relationship moved on. I was saying that I felt it was incredibly important in my own life, and maybe in others, to let things go. For almost purely selfish reasons, honestly. I don't believe in allowing past negativity to define my future, and in order to get to where I needed and wanted to be emotionally, I had to have a difficult, accusatory conversation with my mom. I'm not an accusatory sort of person, and if I'd had my druthers I'd have forgotten about it and moved on without needing a sense of closure (which is what I think forgiveness really is).  And as soon as that conversation was done, my feelings toward what happened changed completely. It didn't require her ap

I wake up slowly, consciousness coming reluctantly. I open my eyes, and I’m lying on my side with my face burrowed into my soft pillow. My eyelashes whisk against the cotton as I slowly blink, and it sends a shiver down the side of my body. My arm is lying under my head, and I stretch my fingers a little, almost anticipating the sharp tingle of blood returning to them. I feel my limbs reconnecting to the rest of me, and I stretch underneath my sheets. My calves are sore, and I can feel the muscles sullen resistance to change shape. I push my toes down, and force the muscles to stretch out like crackly taffy. I raise my arms and scoot further down the bed, pushing against the headboard with my hands. I love this stretch, the feel of my shoulder blades testing the resilience of my skin between the dense muscles of my back, my arms so tangibly connected to my slowly rotating shoulders, and the slow, cinnamon burn of muscles releasing a nights worth of tension. When I’m done I