blogging from beyond.
Mar. 28th, 2008 11:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charlz_lynnNorth Carolina. March 26th
This is intense, but nice. I wish I had internet access because then I’d have easier communication with my friends and community. Instead I’m a little bit trapped in this mobile home with my sick step-mother and my dad, watching tv all day. Game shows during the day, horror movies at night. Lots of senseless violence. Lots of racist jokes coming from my dad. Family Feud: top eight reasons people give for not living in California. Dad shouts, “Mexicans!” repeatedly. And so on and so forth.
I’m ready to be in the arms of that handsome butch on Friday.
I spent a long time talking to Sandy earlier about abusive men and then about homophobia. It’s hard to talk to someone whose opinions are so different from mine. She’s also just not that smart, and I feel like most of her opinions (other than those about abusive men, as I learned today) are being repeated from things my dad says. Then I went outside and took pictures of their yard. Sandy took me on a driving tour of the swamp so I could take pictures. Millions of pictures of trees and lizards and swamp, and no pictures of my family.
There’s a lot of interesting role reversal happening here. My dad is on vacation from work this week and Sandy is really sick, so he’s doing a lot of the cooking and cleaning and stuff. He’s such a gruff guy. Watching him go back and forth is interesting. One minute he’s ragging on her, joking with her like he always does – which is way too hard – and then apologizing for being so rough in a way that’s more gentle than I thought he was capable of being. There’s a lot of pain behind his eyes and hers, too, but it’s not acknowledged. That’s not how I prefer things.
Right now I have let go of the idea that wearing headphones in the same room as other people is rude because it’s either this or the sounds of Death Wish IV. No, thank you.
I keep trying to write, to fix up stories for publishing in a little booklette, but I’m in no space for it. I just want to talk on the phone and I promised myself that I wouldn’t spend the whole time here distracting myself from being here. And here I am, on the computer wearing headphones. But it’s this or the television. So.
I haven’t seen Tommy or Elisha (brother and sister) much at all. We’re going out tomorrow night apparently, but so far I’ve just seen Elisha twice, each time with only one of her kids. I haven’t even met Tom’s youngest yet, but he lives two hours away and hasn’t come up here. I’m most likely not going down there, either. Well. Oh well. I’ll at least get to see him tomorrow. Wish we were going fishing.
Yesterday I went out shooting with my dad. That was fun, and my shoulder’s sore from the twelve gauge. I also shot a 9mm and a 22 rifle. I had never shot a handgun before. Way exciting. It’s nice to do things with him that make me feel like we’re really father and daughter. It’s the main reason I want to go hunting with him and all my uncles and grandpa in the fall/winter. It’s what I love the most most most about going fishing. He likes that I’m so rugged. So raggedy. Heh.
Alright. I get home on Friday. The gardener is picking me up from the airport. And we’re going to stay the night in a hotel. Then the next night I meet the One Yet to be Named in a hotel. THAT is exciting and scary. I’m staying two nights in two hotels with two butches. Where am I? Who am I? I’m a little tiny bit freaking out about it. This thing with the OYN has been so long and exciting already that I wonder how I’ll keep from geeking out when I finally see her in the hotel lobby. We’re going right into our scene. We can talk later, since we have about eight million unfinished conversations. Weird, thinking about all the dirty, nasty, terrible things I will be doing in just a few days while sitting on my dad's cheap couch in my dad's mobile home in the swamp next to him and his very sick wife. More later, I suppose. I can't really feel too many things right now, and there's so much here, so deep.
Here, have another picture. Shoot 'em up.
This is intense, but nice. I wish I had internet access because then I’d have easier communication with my friends and community. Instead I’m a little bit trapped in this mobile home with my sick step-mother and my dad, watching tv all day. Game shows during the day, horror movies at night. Lots of senseless violence. Lots of racist jokes coming from my dad. Family Feud: top eight reasons people give for not living in California. Dad shouts, “Mexicans!” repeatedly. And so on and so forth.
I’m ready to be in the arms of that handsome butch on Friday.
I spent a long time talking to Sandy earlier about abusive men and then about homophobia. It’s hard to talk to someone whose opinions are so different from mine. She’s also just not that smart, and I feel like most of her opinions (other than those about abusive men, as I learned today) are being repeated from things my dad says. Then I went outside and took pictures of their yard. Sandy took me on a driving tour of the swamp so I could take pictures. Millions of pictures of trees and lizards and swamp, and no pictures of my family.
There’s a lot of interesting role reversal happening here. My dad is on vacation from work this week and Sandy is really sick, so he’s doing a lot of the cooking and cleaning and stuff. He’s such a gruff guy. Watching him go back and forth is interesting. One minute he’s ragging on her, joking with her like he always does – which is way too hard – and then apologizing for being so rough in a way that’s more gentle than I thought he was capable of being. There’s a lot of pain behind his eyes and hers, too, but it’s not acknowledged. That’s not how I prefer things.
Right now I have let go of the idea that wearing headphones in the same room as other people is rude because it’s either this or the sounds of Death Wish IV. No, thank you.
I keep trying to write, to fix up stories for publishing in a little booklette, but I’m in no space for it. I just want to talk on the phone and I promised myself that I wouldn’t spend the whole time here distracting myself from being here. And here I am, on the computer wearing headphones. But it’s this or the television. So.
I haven’t seen Tommy or Elisha (brother and sister) much at all. We’re going out tomorrow night apparently, but so far I’ve just seen Elisha twice, each time with only one of her kids. I haven’t even met Tom’s youngest yet, but he lives two hours away and hasn’t come up here. I’m most likely not going down there, either. Well. Oh well. I’ll at least get to see him tomorrow. Wish we were going fishing.
Yesterday I went out shooting with my dad. That was fun, and my shoulder’s sore from the twelve gauge. I also shot a 9mm and a 22 rifle. I had never shot a handgun before. Way exciting. It’s nice to do things with him that make me feel like we’re really father and daughter. It’s the main reason I want to go hunting with him and all my uncles and grandpa in the fall/winter. It’s what I love the most most most about going fishing. He likes that I’m so rugged. So raggedy. Heh.
Alright. I get home on Friday. The gardener is picking me up from the airport. And we’re going to stay the night in a hotel. Then the next night I meet the One Yet to be Named in a hotel. THAT is exciting and scary. I’m staying two nights in two hotels with two butches. Where am I? Who am I? I’m a little tiny bit freaking out about it. This thing with the OYN has been so long and exciting already that I wonder how I’ll keep from geeking out when I finally see her in the hotel lobby. We’re going right into our scene. We can talk later, since we have about eight million unfinished conversations. Weird, thinking about all the dirty, nasty, terrible things I will be doing in just a few days while sitting on my dad's cheap couch in my dad's mobile home in the swamp next to him and his very sick wife. More later, I suppose. I can't really feel too many things right now, and there's so much here, so deep.
Here, have another picture. Shoot 'em up.
