Posts Tagged ‘exhaustion’
I’ve started crying on airplanes. It used to be ginger ale, now it’s wine. I probably should have eaten more than a bagel, should have had more for dinner last night than a whiskey flight and a kiss, but now I am crying and beginning to hear the beat of a second heart in my chest.
I am exhausted. I’d like to sleep for a year. By which I mean, I’d like to turn down my consciousness in order to have some rest. My rest has not been deep enough, has not penetrated my bones. Too much has happened in the past year. I opened up my chest from the back and wings sprang out, and now I cannot wear my shirts or binders or coats or old patterns anymore. Nothing fits. I am running, running to catch up with myself, when really I’m supposed to be flying. Why else would I have these new tools?
But sometimes my pen won’t move. I love and love and love, aching to make sense, make meaning, make love with my every movement, and sometimes all I can do is collapse because I’m overfull and not full enough. An underactive nervous system prone to depression and shutting down, a blank page. Still I ache and move and nourish and detox and meditate. Still I feel this pulsing in my chest, faint like something coming from within the walls, this second heart beating and every once in a while blinking a tiny little light like a pulsar star. I want to build. To do something with all of this love and throbbing energy and heat and pure life force I am lucky enough to have. I hope to never forget to be grateful for every breath of air I magically take in, every moment of reception, penetration, release, surrender, power. I can’t help but course it all through my every vein.
I am starting to cry on airplanes. It is a place I can rest, so high above my email inbox and big loves (I count five) and the ground floor surface of earth’s crust. I am lightheaded up here, stripped of the daily needs of the world, and when I drop down under my days I find this ache. This exhaustion. This ongoing fear of misunderstanding. This curse of a body, of mortality, of injustice. I haven’t reconciled. I miss the clarity and discovery of youth, of innocence. I’d like to make sense of so many things, like how the black holes grow within us and what it could ever take to fill them, like how stone can trickle away through consistent gentle water, like why humans destroy each other from the inside out. I can’t seem to find meaning in wars, but still I engage, sometimes late at night with the ones I love most. Sometimes silently stowing my own cocks in empty boxes unworthy. Sometimes desperate sorrow. Sometimes the silent blank faith of the line without the next word.
The first day I had wings, it was awkward and inconsistent. The second day I toppled over, top heavy. The third day my errands were effortless.
I guess that’s all I want. Less effort, more sweetness. Less struggle, more radical empathy. To cry because it feels good to release, above, hurdling through the sky, the taste of wine on my tongue.
I’m back in Brooklyn after a ten-day adventure in the Pacific Northwest. It might be the longest trip I’ve ever taken, aside from that semester abroad in London when I was an undergrad. Did you even know I was gone? I mentioned it a little bit on Twitter, but I didn’t make a big post about it before I left, partly because I was so busy preparing to get outta town. I grew up in Southeast Alaska, and took Kristen there for five days to see the little hippie town, and we also spent four days in Seattle, where I went to college, visiting friends and a few of my tantra teacher mentors, and we drove over to the Olympic Peninsula for a day to visit some fantastic friends and some of my relatives. The whole trip was pretty fantastic, though so full of events and people and exciting adventures and mini-events that I’m surprised we did so much.
Now that I’m back, I just want to curl up. I don’t really want to face all the stuff that is here on my desk waiting for me, the hoops I need to jump through, the things I need to tick off of my to do list. Though some of the things waiting for me on my desk do include new harnesses from Aslan Leather, a new glass toy from Don Wands, and a blindfold from Babeland—and those are really exciting, a little less of a bourdon and more of an adventure. I’ve also got a lot of books to read! I hope I can spend some nice down time on the couch with the air conditioner cranked up high (it’s in the 90s in New York, which is an instant reminder about why I want to move back to the west) with a cocktail.
And of course, the minute I get back online to work on Sugarbutch, one of the first things I did was break my theme by doing an automatic upgrade. Stupid, I know, that I didn’t back it up first. And now I’ve spent the last two hours fixing it, and it doesn’t look like it used to, I know. But it gave me a chance to implement a few things that I meant to do long ago, and it looks okay, I think.
Aside from this extra work I made for myself, I’ve got a lot of other stuff to do. I am itching to write, I’ve got some columns I’m working on, some anthology submissions, and have a long list of inspired posts, and I really want to write some erotica. I haven’t done much of that lately, have I? I’ve been spending most of my time trying to figure out how to get my life going, since I don’t sit at a desk employed by someone else all day anymore. And since I don’t spend as much time daydreaming, since I can just go grab my sweet girl if I want a sex break. I know, I’m way spoiled. It’s great. I highly recommend it.
Meanwhile, here’s a photo I snapped from my mom’s house, looking out over my little hometown. I do love that place, there are so many things that feel so right and calming, but it’s good to be back to my life.