Diary 0f a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 21
Secrets keep you safe. If you feel safe in prison. More likely, silence keeps their fire going, burning you alive from the inside out. I'm tempted to write that my pain made me beautiful. But I suspect I started out beautiful, my pain made me ugly, then I made myself beautiful again by choice. Or God did it. Whateves.
Beautiful, ugly, or not worth a second look. Smart, dumb, of average intelligence. Talented, talentless, a minor talent. Gay, straight, bi, asexual, questioning, exploring, virgin, abstinent, prude, whore, barren, breeder--we could do this all night. I used to love labels because I found life and people and behavior so baffling that a well-placed label gave me comfort. A sense of knowing and stability. Wife. Sister. Daughter. Writer. Mother. But now, labels and illusions shattered, what do I care of the labels I previously accepted, pursued, or others assigned me? Their (and I include previous me's in the label "they") labels are none of my business. I have no truck with what my past selves and others assumed or continue to presume about me. You wanna decide about me? Get to know me. But stay tuned cuz if things are going well, I keep on expanding. You want a potted plant? You might not be for me. And if that is what you want, you might not think enough of yourself. You want a unicorn of undetermined size, shape, ability and existence? Hop on my back. If you think you're too good for me, you are correct. If you think you're not good enough for me, also true. You think I'm too much work? Well that's just crazy. I'm easy like Sunday morning. Which is a tough morning if you drink Saturday nights or don't want to go to church or are already dreading a job which resumes Monday. You wanna pro-ject? Or a project? Pro-ject onto yourself the project of owning who you actually are, or want to be.
Beautiful, ugly, or not worth a second look. Smart, dumb, of average intelligence. Talented, talentless, a minor talent. Gay, straight, bi, asexual, questioning, exploring, virgin, abstinent, prude, whore, barren, breeder--we could do this all night. I used to love labels because I found life and people and behavior so baffling that a well-placed label gave me comfort. A sense of knowing and stability. Wife. Sister. Daughter. Writer. Mother. But now, labels and illusions shattered, what do I care of the labels I previously accepted, pursued, or others assigned me? Their (and I include previous me's in the label "they") labels are none of my business. I have no truck with what my past selves and others assumed or continue to presume about me. You wanna decide about me? Get to know me. But stay tuned cuz if things are going well, I keep on expanding. You want a potted plant? You might not be for me. And if that is what you want, you might not think enough of yourself. You want a unicorn of undetermined size, shape, ability and existence? Hop on my back. If you think you're too good for me, you are correct. If you think you're not good enough for me, also true. You think I'm too much work? Well that's just crazy. I'm easy like Sunday morning. Which is a tough morning if you drink Saturday nights or don't want to go to church or are already dreading a job which resumes Monday. You wanna pro-ject? Or a project? Pro-ject onto yourself the project of owning who you actually are, or want to be.
Instead of feeding and watering my love of self, historically key loved ones nurtured my insecurities. So I tried to be the less-than they craved. I'm not particularly rebellious. When I feel like being bad, I don't recycle. ON PURPOSE. I actually am a good girl. But I used to let those around me make me feel bad. Currently I feel like Queen of the Cosmos. Untested. Cuz no one's fucking around me.
Pisces often don't mean to be secretive. We are complex. Like the ocean, we have so much going on beneath the surface at any given time it would be impossible to explain everything. We cannot remember all the shit we're in to. Every Pisces needs a personal assistant. I just got 1. A fixed, reliably OCD Scorpio who is happy to count my beans and pick up Daisy's turds (which I suspect she counts just for fun) at market price. She handles some ground work, lightens the heavy load of me existing on (big sigh) earth.
Should you find yourself shocked and feeling somewhat betrayed if or when you discover you know so little about a Pisces in your life, consider that this might also be because she has been busy listening to you. Did you even think to ask her a question? Or were you too intoxicated by her attention to you talking about you? Pisces deep ears are so addictive she might have to swim away from you midsentence. Of course I've had it in the ear before. You'd know that if you ever asked. Should you realize you are missing that Pisces who listened to you, who put her spotlight eyes on you and made you her star, you might also discover you made yourself naked and were about to start stripping off your skin when that breathtaking exotic fish swam away to get a bit of swim-sleep behind a rock. To recover from your self-obsession. To process, absorb, purge (often a combination of all 3) the entire human she just consumed when she wasn't even hungry. But you wanted attention and she really was interested. Until she had no space left in her fish body for herself, plus all of you.
Pisces often don't mean to be secretive. We are complex. Like the ocean, we have so much going on beneath the surface at any given time it would be impossible to explain everything. We cannot remember all the shit we're in to. Every Pisces needs a personal assistant. I just got 1. A fixed, reliably OCD Scorpio who is happy to count my beans and pick up Daisy's turds (which I suspect she counts just for fun) at market price. She handles some ground work, lightens the heavy load of me existing on (big sigh) earth.
Should you find yourself shocked and feeling somewhat betrayed if or when you discover you know so little about a Pisces in your life, consider that this might also be because she has been busy listening to you. Did you even think to ask her a question? Or were you too intoxicated by her attention to you talking about you? Pisces deep ears are so addictive she might have to swim away from you midsentence. Of course I've had it in the ear before. You'd know that if you ever asked. Should you realize you are missing that Pisces who listened to you, who put her spotlight eyes on you and made you her star, you might also discover you made yourself naked and were about to start stripping off your skin when that breathtaking exotic fish swam away to get a bit of swim-sleep behind a rock. To recover from your self-obsession. To process, absorb, purge (often a combination of all 3) the entire human she just consumed when she wasn't even hungry. But you wanted attention and she really was interested. Until she had no space left in her fish body for herself, plus all of you.
Why should I pretend I'm not made for love, just because mere mortals seem to have a lesser capacity for it than me? Attention universe: I'M MADE FOR FUCKING LOVE. Ain't no shame in this game. I am a conduit for love. A love instigator, collaborator, facilitator. Oh, you don't want none? You gonna pass on love cuz you all full? I call bullshit.
Until Next Time, Sweeties!
Ness Sweet Ness
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