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The first time Delia told me she loved me was 15 years ago … the day my dad died. I wish he’d been able to know her … he would have loved her so much. Their loving kindness and senses of humour are so exceptional and similar.
And just over ten years ago, near Mother’s Day of 2007, is when Delia decided to transition. My memory of that day and her announcing this beautiful change is one of the happiest and most hopeful, joyful memories in my whole entire life.
My #wife @deliadelions ... feeling a lot of love & good fortune ... watching #longstrangetrip with her, thinking about our shared #values, & our #work together (and our work adjacent). Thinking about #fears & #possibilities. Thinking about #collaborative #introversion. #whenintrovertscollaborate #fearlessintroversion #justbeweird Thinking about our purposes here. Thinking about why we two were brought together ... believing it was bigger than mere accident and how we made & make it so. Thinking about this beautiful long, strange trip of our own we're on & how supportive, patient, uncritical & faithful she is of me & my experiments. Thinking about how she confirms that even if we lose everything, we will still have everything.
I fervently wish for everyone to be able to be their best, happiest, truest, most green-growing radiantly-thriving selves, and be surrounded by love, safety and the certainty that we all want the very best for each other, and allow each other the freedom to determine what is best for themselves. It may not be true today, and it doesn’t seem probable … but it is possible, and I want to focus on believing that kernel of goodness is in everyone as much as our capacity for fear, willfully self-centered comfortable ignorance, and cruelty.
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I’m also way excited about this tuna-fish sandwich. I remember hating tuna-noodle casseroles and tuna-fish sandwiches as a kid (I fucking HATED mayonnaise and the smell of hot tuna baked in goo used to gross me the fuck out so bad). But today … YUM.
In spite of feeling happy in the sunshine, I found myself asking what the fuck my purpose is. Then I turned to look out the window and this chubby little charcoal-ombre bird said TO FLY. And, like, feel the sun on your puffed-out chest!
I hate being so absent from my own site, but I’m getting better at prioritizing. Right now my top priority is redesigning the free area of DeliaTS.com. The magically-efficient good news about that is that all of the work and learning I’m doing with that project will pay off here, and on all of our other sites. Tools have changed A LOT (and so have we) since I started building websites in 2001. I’m excited to implement complex features and more-efficient methods we could only dream about fifteen years ago.
What did you like to do with your free time when you were 3, 7, 12, 16? What was a treat? What did you hate doing? What did you have to keep a secret? What did you want to do TO FEEL GOOD when you grew up? What stuff did you feel was denied you because you were NOT grown-up?
What would you have done if you’d had adult power denied you as a child? Now that you’re an adult do you still want those things? Do you allow yourself to have them, or are they still denied you? What was your favorite place to be? Where did you feel safe? Where were you most yourself, and who were you most yourself with?
What did everybody try to train out of you?
What sacrifices are you making because you want to be good, or you’re trying to be “normal”?
This week I started practicing being something like an eleven-year old me placed in a lucky middle-aged life.
I’ve gone to a couple of “workshops” to learn stuff and be around people in structured settings, and eaten McDonald’s in bed. Eaten LOTS of things in bed. Letting my real priorities rise to the surface. Starting work that is risky.
Learning to not waste energy on guilt or compromise FUCKING RULES!!! But it’s been taking me way too long to plunge into it. Just been dipping my toes in it for the past few years.
Tomorrow my project might be “pretend you’re eleven with a weekend alone at your grandma and grandpa’s. Hump the mattress. Spend an hour with (today’s equivalent of) the tv guide to plan every hour of Friday and Saturday where you have a tv all to yourself. If they leave you alone in the house, go use their back massager for as many orgasms as you can tolerate / until your pants feel like they’re going to catch on fire. Stay up all night. Read naughty books. DO NOT BATHE. Hump the mattress again. Eat lots of watered-down canned chili and a six pack of root beer. You feel like humping the mattress again, don’t you!?!” Unfortunately there is some not-eleven-year-old work I have to do, but if I do it as if, just PRETENDING I’m doing grown-up stuff with money — no consequences, only a detailed game — it will probably be AWESOME.
My pussy is totally slimy right now from masturbating.
I’m going to do things that I love, make things only I can make, and experience things other people are scared to or don’t even know are good. Most of those things aren’t going to be about sex. Most of those things aren’t going to be with other people. But they will be for other people. Weirdos and dorks, mostly. And the people who love them.
A song we sang at “sundown” at this one Catholic camp I went to once (I’m not Catholic, I just wanted to impose myself on my friend’s experiences). I’d never heard “Hurry Sundown” prior to that so I believed the counselors who said one of them wrote all the songs we sang, including this one, which I did not recall beginning so hilariously creepily (and without the trumpets it’s actually a pretty cool song to sing on a beach, especially if you completely disregard the beginning or you’re a melodramatic teenager in the 1980’s):
The blue light in our apartment reminds me of one of the hottest most frustrating prettiest movie scenes from one of my faves as a younger woman: Dangerous Liaisons. When Michelle Pfeiffer can’t breathe and she’s on her back and he won’t fuck her and she’s so horny and confused and she starts crying and stuff.