Writing

There's this thing that happens, to me at least, when I'm in the habit of writing. It's that if I don't write, I have this sense that the things that have happened to me didn't really happen. I used to be terrible about having to blurt out stories to people immediately when I'd see them, especially if the topic of the story was recent. I hated waiting, the need to tell was immediate and if I didn't get the chance to lay it all out right after it happened, I just wouldn't get around to it.


I've changed a bit I guess, but I have been having this sort of funny relationship to writing period these days.


On the one hand, I want to tell all my stories, even if they are just in little lists, things that have happened, fun moments so forth and so on. On the other, I've been dreading sitting down and focusing lately. Even this piece here was fought for, in terms of me chasing myself around.


I don't know what I'm saying.


It's been a pretty wonderful few days, so far as parties go. Thursday was the SVT Salon, in the beautiful Eponymous Garden. Golly, that's the house I've always dreamed of. Old, classic, wrapping porches, large rooms, modern flairs and hip edging. Gardens. I have no gardening ability. I lack a few skills and don't have the will, I suppose. But it was a glorious house, and wonderful to see so many talented artists all in one place, as well as the people who want to support them. Moments like that, I wish I was a very wealthy person for I would patroness the shit out the artists here.


Friday was the Queerbomb Fundraiser. Chris and I dressed up, inspired by Heat and Snow Miser from those old Rankin Bass shows, though I suspect very few people even know about those anymore. It was a completely shiny, sexy, spangly, sparkly good time, with music and dancing and gorgeous people and I generally flitted about soaking up all the glamor in the room, and hopefully emitting a tiny bit back.


Saturday Chris got up early to train for his Team FX half marathon and I went to the gym and swam a 1/2 mile (which does wonders for clearing away a post red wine haze). I had so much glitter still on me I hoped I wasn't leaving a trail in the pool. We went to the Wheatsville Arts Festival and talked to some wonderful and talented artists. I found this amazing sculpture that I would have loved to buy. Again-oh to be rich, to be rich.


Saturday night we went to the Team FX Holiday party, and then wrapped up the night with some late night cocktails with some special dear friends.


Today has been a more introverted day, television, cooking, thinking. Thinking, mostly, about how we just really are all we have. People. We have so much in each other, and so little else. Art? Yes, I suppose. Politics and work, but all of it is connected to people. One of the artists we spoke with at the Wheatsville deal, Alan Pogue, said that at the base of all of humanity is communication, more than sex he said, more than self preservation, for it is only in communicating with YOU that I am mirrored. I found that to be a great little unexpected gift.


Petty arguments, differences, what does that all mean, in the grand schema of life, death, connection and loss?


So that's me. Communicating with you. Whether or not it is needed or necessary isn't anything I"m going to worry about. It just is, right now.

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