Don't Deprive Me of Eating and Fighting

I forgot one yesterday on the boyfriends that I want.

I also want to have a love-child boyfriend. His parents should be named Moonrocker and Valley and he should have no pictures of himself in clothing before age 5.
I want him to have grown up hearing about the Movement and I want him to know everything there is to know about hallucinogens.
When we go up to NoCal to visit his parents, I want to see four or five VW Buses and at least two of them should have other aged hippies living in them, still working on the theses they started in 1971.
He, of course, would not be a Long Hair and he would probably have spent a great deal of time in the California punk scene, perhaps even growing up with the dudes from Green Day which would make me love him all the more.
He would be sort of skinnier than my Southie boyfriend, or the Professional Athlete but he would have presence and drive a Volvo.
He would be an architect and be conflicted by his politics vs. his tax bracket but he would somehow avoid the cynical, New Yorker sounding bullshit that makes some successful liberals feel like they righteously can judge me or my friends for being the real deal.
As long as I never met my Texas Fantasy Boyfriend, me and Lovechild would probably end up married.

I've got a not-so-secret plan to walk directly into the swollen liver of a beloved beast.
I'm taking it on because I feel like it's the honorable thing to do, to put my hands all in it and shape my own understanding of it in a way that can be put in a kiln and fired so I can look at it and keep it with me while I give up something terrifically huge and tied to my formerly low self-esteem and my father-issues.
.... well I'm taking it on-ish anyway.

I think derby has changed me.
I sort of recognize some things that I never saw before.
These are things that were pointed out to me or graphically illustrated across my ego and my emotional map but I never really SAW them, dig?

I didn't see them until I was innocently putting some new wheels on my old skates last night and sort of listening to some slurred ramblings on my speakerphone that dipped into the territory of, "That's fucked up you have to do all that shit. You can't even skip one thing."

My reaction scared me later.
There were no tears.
There was no breaking off into tantrum.
I DID consider pressing "end" and hanging up on the talker but my hands were covered in skate grease and so I nixed that plan.
No, my only reaction was to instantly recognize that this is a little person who wants to be dangerous but isn't.
Any more, at least.

This person wanted to find a soft spot in me and then work it to bring my attention away from something that's good for me and that conflicts with what the person needs in terms of time and attention.

That's how it all starts little children.
Gather 'round and hear me when I tell you that anyone who makes an effort to separate you or tries to destabilize your involvement with something so good for you SOLELY for the purpose of bringing your attention back to him is an abuser.
Maybe you haven't been abused or you never will but someone snaking around and looking for ways to make you think that you are shorting him by having your own pursuit is someone to run from, hard.

So now I'm in a pickle but I think I've got it sorted out, thanks ironically and in no small part to derby which is better than church, mostly because it allows me to eat staggering amounts of food and be physically aggressive with my peers.
Yup, fighting and eating - two of my favorite things in life have finally found a place to come alive in a way that's good for me.


arizonasarah at 10:08 a.m.

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