Tag: writing

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A schedule slip! It happens. I’m extra proud of myself for sticking with it for that long. Besides, I’m still cringing in embarrassment about other things.


I make it a point to tell dates and potential dates (at least) three things: I’m polyamorous, I’m non-binary/agender/NA using they/them/themselves, and I’m absolutely fucking clueless when someone is into me (so please tell me outright, as unsexy or unromantic as that sounds). And I don’t mean that in an endearing Manic-Pixie-Dream-Girl (ick) kind of way. I cannot think of a strong enough word for it at the moment, but I’ll just say that it’s… not endearing.


So imagine the scene: you’re sitting at a cozy table and you’re watching the stage. Or, you would be, if you weren’t distracted by actually wanting to talk to somebody. They seem really cool, and you notice your bodies are actually touching as you sit, and your heart stops a little when they reach for your hand and compliment it. And hold it for longer than deemed socially acceptable in anything but a romantic situation. Conversation is easy-flowing. It was nice.


It wasn’t until hours later that I was tipped off that their interaction wasn’t just platonic. In our text conversation they asked me point-blank:


“Were you aware that I was flirting with you?”


I replay that night in my head and I remember all of my dismissals:


  • They’re just being polite.
  • Well, this booth is pretty small… not much space, anyway.
  • I get a lot of compliments on my tiny hands, cool!
  • Oh, they’re just being oversharey. Some folks are like that.
  • Are they…? Nah. Who would be into me, anyway?
  • No way.
  • They’re just being sociable.
  • I’m three beers in; I shouldn’t read too much into these interactions.
  • Nah.
  • They’re
  • just
  • being
  • friendly.


There’s my lack of self-esteem, yes; you become the punchline of too many “s/he likes you!” bullying jokes in middle school and you initially distrust anyone showing interest in you. And generally, I get down on myself a lot.


An image of a bee sitting on a windowsill.
“I dunno man, what if my knees aren’t that great?” (Probable Source)


But I’d rather point out the main difficulty I have with most flirting: if it isn’t overt, I just don’t get it. And even then…


A lot of it is just hinting– and since I haven’t memorized the dating playbook (and most social cues outside of dating, if I’m really honest…), I’m caught in a loop of ambiguity. I also never want to be That Person that mistakes a friendly interaction as flirting, so I err on the side of caution and dismiss it.


So of course to the aforementioned text I responded rather un-eloquently:


“NO I HAD NO IDEA YOU WERE FLIRTING I AM A DINGUS”


I’ve grown a little better in telling when they’re flirting with me now, and they know now just to rip off the bandaid (?) when it comes to that sorta thing.


So there you go.


That’s why I’m a dingus.

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Not too long ago I received my first singing lesson since grade school:


He picked up his guitar and tuned it; I sat in his computer chair. Back straight, deep breaths, sing loud and deep and hold that note. Listen, and match this note. Deep breaths. No, deeper. He had to get close to really listen. He had to correct, and praise, and guide. We practiced together– voice and cords, to our favorite songs.


It was a different sort of intimacy than what we were used to.


My voice was strongest when I really felt the song… really connected with it and my emotion carried the notes through. I felt so proud of myself.


I daydream the mic in my hands, confidently singing the words that resonated with me, then through me… to you.



This week, we had our karaoke outing, the first after a long hiatus. It’s supposed to be a group activity, but most of the time it’s just us two. Which, sometimes, it’s fine: when my heart flutters as he sings my favorite lines, or I’m forcibly transported into my past by nostalgia, I’ve no witnesses and thus no questions (and if the other patrons ever noticed, they were nice about it and left me be).


In the audience I sometimes find myself warbling along, almost compelled. I always have before, but now I’m remembering my lesson. Still, only the people nearby could hear me.


I believe I heard him say that night, “you should go up there.”


I’m too shy– I don’t know all the words– I’m not as good as the others– I need more lessons, I’m not ready– I’m terrified– I’m content to sing in this corner of this tiny little bar— I’d rather watch you all night, lover– stage fright.


He didn’t push.


I’ve been on the karaoke stage before. I’m always down for singing Disney tunes or The Time Warp with a group, or… even a duet with a favorite song and one of my favorite people.


But never by myself. Not yet.


In order to become better at something, you have to be brave. And, to quote Jake from Adventure Time: “sucking at something is the first step to becoming sorta good at something.” I know it’s all being frightened and doing it anyway, and practice, and knowing mindtricks for crowds and stages. (To pretend he’s the only one in the audience– would that work? Because I have no problem when we’re at home, and it’s just them overhearing me.)


Since I (rarely) go onstage, I watch and I cheer to make up for it. People of varying talent still go up there and are much braver than I; that alone warrants an enthusiastic “WOO!” But my night is near: I’ll be brave enough, soon. I’ll be tired of daydreaming, eventually.


I’ll ask for another singing lesson tonight.

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In my opinion, this post sucks.


It resonated with me only a little bit. Reading back on it now… it needs to be stronger. Something is missing.


In retrospect I was so hellbent on posting On Schedule and On A Recent Topic that I let other things fall to the wayside.


I scheduled it. And while running around that day, it posted.


And I hate it. Kind of. A little.


It will be revisited in the future; there’s something there. But next time, I’ll not worry so much about missing a day if I’m not feeling it.

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It’s the last day of the month, so I suppose I address two topics: National Coming Out Day and Halloween(ish). I’ve been thinking about the latter, and the former will be scheduled over the weekend.


All’s (s)hallow


Perhaps it’s because I’m finally on my upswing, but I went above and beyond on my costuming– or at least getting dolled up, and at least, compared to how I usually roll. I rarely indulge in creativity in my outfits beyond a silly headband, mismatched earrings, and a smart-ass graphic tee.


I couldn’t help but get caught up in the festivities and excitement. So I managed a wig, new headband, tights (which I actually regret, but they’re still cute), an outfit from the thrift store, and even a bit of makeup.


Consider this premise: tonight is the time we actually take off our costume and present our innermost self… how we see ourselves.


Maybe I am glitter and rainbows. Perhaps I’m some weird thing that wiggles antennae while wobbling in heels and you’ll just have to guess what I am, exactly. Possibly, I’m a fun meme. I am cute– hot, even. My eyes are alluring. My gender still non-existent, but still valid beneath the long synthetic hair. I am bright. I am. I am.


I wish I had the energy to do that more often.


I clean up nicely.


All Hallows


The sugar rush eventually ends, and I peel off the brightest layers of myself and return them to their inner rooms. For now. But I become somber. Death is a little bit closer than usual, and I generally associate October with endings as well.


It’s when the candles are no longer just for ambiance; I light them on my altar and think about my ancestors and those who are no longer with us.


I leave his favorite candy bar on the white tablecloth.


It’s when I ruminate on relationships and partnerships that I’m no longer participating in, for whatever reason.


I miss them and I mourn and I remember.


And I wonder. What impression would I leave behind, if any? How would I be remembered? How would I want to be remembered?


Memento Mori.


Would you remember this?

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I haven’t been talking much. Or doing much of anything, really, beyond existing and feeling pretty bad ab–


Sorry. “Pretty bad” is a terrible understatement.


I’m depressed. Capital D Depressed.


Alanis Morissette, “Tapes”



All these tapes in my head swirl around
Keeping my vibe down
All these thoughts in my head aren’t my own
Wreaking havoc


Alanis pretty much nailed it, here.


For me, this is how my depression starts. I get thoughts stuck in my head and they work their grooves in- some grooves are already there thanks to my anxiety. They echo and become very, very loud.


I’m on Week 3? 4? of them groovin’ and yellin’. And I can’t stop them.


Tis the season.


Flying Lotus, “Debbie Is Depressed”



Sittin’ in the dark and the day’s so bright
You wanna sleep all day and sleep all night
’Cause all those days just feel the same


If I had my way, I wouldn’t have moved out of bed all week. But, you know, job. And errands. And things.


Battling the voices in my head on a constant basis is tiring. Hours blur together. If it weren’t for smartphones I wouldn’t know it was [INSERT CURRENT DAY HERE].


I know there’s hope and there’s darkness before the dawn, and all of those things. But I’d still be wondering what time it is when it’s over.


Phoenix, “If I Ever Feel Better”



If I ever feel better
Remind me to spend some good time with you
You can give me your number
When it’s all over I’ll let you know


And a major obstacle a lot of depressed people deal with is self-isolation. They withdraw and don’t talk to anyone; calls, texts, and Discord messages go unanswered. Plans are canceled.


“I’m not feeling so great, lately,” I manage to say. If I say anything at all. It’s the truth: mental illness is still an illness. “I’ll get back to you later.” Maybe make plans for future!me and hope for the best.


Elements of Soul, feat. Mia Taylor, “Head Above Water”



Is there anybody out there
That feels the way I do?


I know I’m not the only one going through this, and I can’t help but yell into the void and hope it yells back. And it does, if the void has Internet access.


And on said Internet, I deliberately seek out music to simultaneously feel validated… but still not great. But that’s the beauty of music: it can be so accurate to your situation that you find yourself bawling your eyes out on your commute to work.


You feel validated but you still feel pretty shitty. But at least you know you’re not alone. If you’re struggling, know you’re not alone. If you are just laying in bed staring at the ceiling, know that someone else is doing the same thing.


I did that on my day off. I’ll probably do that tomorrow, too. But after, I have a party (to try) to go to.


Then I hope I get bumped up on the waiting list for a therapist soon.


And maybe next week will be better, and days start feeling like days again.

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It’s actually more boring than it sounds. I didn’t get lewd and I didn’t piss off thin-skinned misogynists.


I’m back on dating apps; I figured it’d give me an edge in addition to doing things The Old Fashioned Way– and because some days, my introverted little heart just wants to stay in bed and browse the Internet. I’ve also decided to branch out beyond OKCupid, since I wasn’t getting much headway there.


Four other apps later, I finally got on Tinder. Why the heck not? All the cool kids are on it, right?


And for a while, I had a blast. I had five conversations going. I swiped left on too many couples. I thought I’d get creative and link to unicorns-r-us.com before they got their feelings hurt trying to match with me. I educated someone about the whole non-binary thing. I had a brilliantly-worded explanation on how exactly I practiced polyamory and what I was looking for.


Within hours I was Error 40303‘d: banned. At first, I couldn’t fathom as to why I was banned! I’m cute! I was polite! I was upfront with my polyamory! Did I annoy too many Unicorn Hunters by not being so easy? Were people so hooked on serial monogamy that I was mass reported for being a non-mono hussy? Did I not send enough peach emojis? Did my Safe For Work muffin joke really not go over well?


No, I just forgot that spam was not allowed and any “.com” addresses on your profile is considered as such!


OKCupid has utterly spoiled me. (I have not one, but three links explaining why a certain subset of non-monogamy grinds my gears. But that is a whole other post.)


I was fine for a few days, even though I put in a lot of work into my profile, and I left my five conversations forever orphaned. I’m too slow on moving the conversation to other platforms, so unless they recognize me elsewhere I’ll never know how they would’ve meshed with me.


Then FOMO hit me. FOMO is “Fear of Missing Out,” because of what I said earlier: all the cool kids are on Tinder! Who am I not hooking up with or having a coffee date with or bonding over Mario Kart with right now because I’m not on Tinder?! I swear, I was fine, until my friend came across Someone We Are Mutually Interested In who seems super fucking cool and they sent a Super Like and that’s it, I’ve had it, let me back in!


So, in short, I ban evaded. And I will tell you that I did my homework only after the fact– while I did manage to get back on, there were indicators that I was suffering a worse fate: The Shadowban. No one can see you or your likes. Messages mysteriously don’t send. You don’t get the shiny gold circle thing going on. And it’s likely you’re on borrowed time before you’re just banned again if you didn’t jump through all the hoops to make sure Tinder servers didn’t recognize you.


And that included obtaining a new phone.


That was when I looked up from my old budget phone after three hours of Googling ban workarounds and browsing a certain subreddit dedicated to having the best profiles and more ban workarounds and deep analysis of how it all works and “why am I getting ugly chicks?” and I thought


What the hell am I doing?


In my moment of clarity, I realized I was doing the meatspace equivalent to “trying too hard.” I was caring way too damn much about a dating app. Especially for an app I only used until very recently. I got caught up in the swiping game, spending hours on this issue when I could have been doing literally anything else.


Like going back to bed.


Or playing Minecraft.


I’m taking this experience as my cue to go chill out. I was fine without it before and gosh darn it, people like me! I’ll just run into them at my favorite bar. We are not going to mention the five other apps still on my phone.


I deleted my second account and uninstalled the app. There’s a whole moral here about unplugging and Swipe Culture but whatever, I was invited to the cookout anyway.


All the cool kids are also elsewhere.

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“I deal with my pain by writing.”


That is how the original draft began. This is what I said to my girlfriend an hour ago.


It’s still true.


And it’s been a week. A typical, stressful week: I had 17 dollars to my name until payday, work sucked slightly more than usual, that monthly hormone nonsense, and bad news.


I thought things would be okay. I got a new lamp for my bedroom. I had a date. I had another date. Payday happened and I could pay my bills. I know a little more of what I want to do with this blog. Living with my nesting partners is still going smoothly.


We received news that he was conscious and in a walker and had grits and coffee and did a few more tiny Facebook posts.


A part of me knew that the prognosis still held. I know that all too well. They gave my dad 6 months but he managed to stay with us a year longer.


But still I thought he’d be home again, drinking rum and recalling times when he had to pull out a Sharp Pointy to prove a uh, point.


When he passed on, I was on a date. I wanted to be a present as possible– I was preoccupied and 10 minutes late– when the date mentioned spiced rum and orange juice I had a feeling– I was still reeling from having to call 911 for someone going through heroin withdrawals moments before said date arrived–


(A stealth edit: The life/death juxtaposition still holds. You died, and I’m trying to live a little more.)


I’m sorry I was late.


The news came to me after finally digging and scrolling through Facebook’s shitty algorithm. The last of our rum was in a tiny cup on the altar being lit by one candle because I had a feeling.


I haven’t deeply cried again, not yet. I’ve had a week to prepare. So it may be another week before I do. Or maybe I’m not used to other people seeing me cry like that, at home.


I received a text from said date; they weren’t feeling a connection and wished me the best. But life goes on, even if it’s a little dimmer without a friend in it.


Even if we weren’t close, but were fire-forged in such a way that’s unique to people who haven’t got around to meeting in person, but still shined through to each other.


Sometimes family is chosen and the distance doesn’t matter.


Sometimes you don’t realize who your chosen family is until they pass away and you realize “friend” is just out of habit but not quite strong enough.


Sometimes a draft is almost perfect and enough:


“Knowing” is relative. We’re Facebook friends. We were in the same group. We had a lot of mutuals in common. … Their posts and presence always brought a smile to my face.


I don’t know what to say.


Other, better people have said it better.


I feel like I’m too late. All of my gratitude, my thanks, my love– I should have expressed it more when they weren’t on their deathbed and now they’re gone.


I never write on Facebook walls; I did a few days ago.


I love you. I’ll miss you. We all will miss you.


My world genuinely grows darker without you in it.


And anyone that says Internet Friends aren’t real? They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about. Facebook just shrunk the world, that’s all. …This is impacting me as if we were only a short drive away.


Remember, everyone, you touch people. No matter how slight it is.


And as with every death, the emotional cycle: anger at someone so good being taken away, sadness at not doing more, utter fear of losing my loved ones, the reminders that sound like shallow platitudes but actually need to be said again and again, so we don’t forget.


Because it’s really easy to forget when you’re thinking about bills and feeding the cat and that damn neighbor throwing trash in your fucking yard and that date you wished worked out a little better or the supervisor you’ll have to deal with Monday.


Here are some of your reminders:


  • Love hard.
  • Tell people you love them. Often.
  • Reach out.


And no matter how small an impact, you still made an impact to somebody. Your passing will always affect someone in this world.

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Throwback Thursday: this was originally written Wed, 31 May 2017 01:00:50 +0000, on the VerboseTerse instance of this blog.


I wonder about you a lot, especially when I’m writing. I followed all of your blogs and keep coming back to my favorite posts.


Wondering things, like:


Do you still use the black and white composition books for journals? I’m afraid I’ve fallen out of use for them – the lines too wide and the notebook too big and cumbersome. Moleskeine seems to have won me over, but I’ve yet to find a notebook that gives me the same feeling those did. (I can’t even describe the feeling. Go figure. Probably Nostalgia’s older sibling.)


What about Sharpie? Do you have a favorite pen? I love the Papermate Inkjoy gels, but the RSVP pens are my forever faves.


Remember Livejournal? I was still there long after you left. Well I’m on Dreamwidth now, their latest fuckup being the last straw. I miss that Kao Kitty mood theme I associate with you.


I’m sorry blogging feels like work now when you’re also blogging as your work. (Wow, that’s a clumsy sentence.) I wish I had some advice. But I know what you’re going through. It’s been a long time since I’ve done designing or HTML shenanigans for fun. (And now that I have ye typical drudgery almost-9-to-5, I don’t have that excuse anymore. But, habits.)


You find it difficult to write sometimes, right? Me too. As you can attest to this quiet blog.


What about bullet journaling? Do you incorporate a system like that, the washi tape and 1,000 colord (sic) pens and markers and highlighters and stickers completely optional? What about just doodlin’?


Ever do any more poetry? I still do. I’m glad for it, and glad I haven’t fallen out of the habit. (Remind me to elaborate on this later, self.)


Well, anyway. Sorry for all the questions.


I hope you’re well friend. And keep writing.