Where does the love go?

After 18 months of the drama merry-go-round, I just jumped off. 

Told her I need no contact in order to heal and move on.
I'm exhausted, bruised, confused, spinning. 

Need to stand still for a while.

I've never felt so much fire for another person, never loved so deeply, never tried so hard.  In the end, I couldn't do it.  Couldn't make it work no matter what I did.  There was nothing more I could do.

I'm not a punching bag.  Can't be the sponge for her to vent her toxic anger.  No need for me to repent for all the past sins of those who came before me.  Can't make her feel worthy if she doesn't believe it.  Shouldn't have to heal my partner.

Is it possible that the fireworks I felt for her were me finding myself, the puzzle piece finally clicking in place that I am gay, and that it may not have been her specifically? 

Could it be that I projected all these super intense feelings onto my “catalyst” but it was really a reflection of what I was feeling internally, finally finding myself? 

It doesn’t diminish her importance in my life or in this process, but it also doesn’t mean that she’s “the one.” 

I've unchained myself.  I'm walking away.  I deserve better.

I really deserve better.

The gay things I've done lately

I now live in a very progressive, gay-friendly town.  It soothes my sweet little soul to see gay people whenever I leave my house. 




The other day while driving to work, I saw a man with a full beard wearing a pleated skirt, combat boots and a tiny white sailor hat on his head. 






Yesterday, I saw a butch in a bathing suit riding her daughter's bike in front of my house.


I'm happier than a pig in...well, you know.

So what else have I done?

I joined the office softball team (isn't this SO gay?!)

I met the cast of The Real L Word.

Whitney told me my hair looked great!



I resisted the urge to grab Rose's ass and instead got as close to her as I could for this picture. She smelled AMAZING!

I went out to a straight club and got my boobs grabbed by a hot little blonde straight girl in the bathroom. (I'm pretty sure I could have taken her home but honestly, I didn't have the energy.)

It's been a pretty fun summer.  And feeling more like me every single day...

Always keep your girlfriend in hot water

She's running around with a wrench in her hand, this woman who loves me.  She is installing a new dishwasher, and I am holding the flashlight.  When I ask what I can do to help she says, "You can just sit there and look pretty."

Well...that is what I do best.

She gets all the hoses hooked up properly and it's time to plug it in.  Then realizes it has the wrong electrical plug and she'll have to rewire it.

By this time, I'm tapping my pretty little foot because I'm bored and I would rather go out for a drink.

So I say, "Can't you find a man to do that, honey?"

I never knew someone's face could turn so red, so fast.

(This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say to a lesbian.)



What I should have added was electrical work makes me nervous

and I'd rather see a man electrocuted than her...

So now we're having a debate: was this comment an example of my internalized heterosexism?  That men should do men's work and women should do women's work?

I really don't think so.  I was raised by a feminist in the 70s.  If I wanted to become a heart surgeon or a politician or a pilot, being a girl was not going to stop me.

Is it just going to take a little while longer to unlearn the past 35 years of gender role socialization?

Or maybe I just really wanted a drink. 

What do you think?

Does this haircut make me look gay?

While in Seattle for Pride weekend, I strolled past a trendly little hair salon in Capitol Hill.  Later over a slice of pizza, I told my friend I wanted to cut my hair but the thought of actually doing it made me nauseous.

"What are you afraid of?"

"Honestly...I'm afraid of giving up my heterosexual privilege."

She paused.  Looked at me. 

"All the more reason to do it."

Shit. 
She was right. 

So I ignored the gnawing in the pit of my stomach and let the pierced, tattooed, young girl take scissors to my hair.


This was the end result:

(That's me on the left with my friend J.)

Desperate housewife?  Not a chance.  (I don't think I need the rainbow bracelets anymore either, huh?)

"It is your life which is so close to my own
that I would not know where to drop the knife of separation."

-Mary Oliver

Moving out of the house and the life I built was not quite the celebration I thought it would be.  With every box that I placed in the Uhaul, I could feel the tears building up until they were choking me.

I agonized while packing those boxes.  After twelve years together, who knows what is whose anymore?  Is this CD his? Did my mom give this to us?  Does he have a sentimental attachment to this painting?  After a while, it just all becomes yours...together.

After we filled the truck and pulled the noisy door down and latched it shut, I hugged him goodbye and sobbed as I drove the truck 75 miles to my new home.

Later, I sent him a text:

You will always be my family.  I love you.