editing a newspaper sorta sucks all of my creativity. not sucks. but, requires. i have neglected you AND my lovely pen pals.
but, as i get ready to catch another lovely tfs film screening, i will give you a little somethin somethin.
violence. there's been a lot of hate on the streets of peterborough lately. and i've been seriously challenging myself to talk about it more. its hard to explain, but it's different. in my brain, its just different. the hate i get when im alone. its most always connect to my disability. not my gender, not my queerness. but my face. and its hard to negotiate a way to reach out to friends, my community without...re-living hate that really can't be 'explained'.
my friends ask... 'what happened?!!'
and i'm...sorta at a loss. usually i laugh and say it doesn't matter. trivializing the actual event in know way 'deals with it' for me. but it avoids feeling vulnerable the way i usually do when it happens.
i can't help but getting all kristieva on this one. i represent the abject, for a lot of people. one time, i was alone on an elevator in the charlotte towers (i hate that place.) and when the doors opened, the young man on the other side waiting for the elevator shrieked.
he immediately apologized and got flustered. i can't remember if he took the elevator with me or not. but i just wanted to run. and vomit. but mostly run.
that was an extreme case, but they're all kinda like that. yelling, gasping, or laughing. which is how we deal with trauma. its hard feeling like a trauma for humans.
and its hard telling you about it because i don't know how to explain it really. are these people assholes? i can't really say. because there's so many. and if you didn't know me, maybe you'd scream. maybe i would.
this might take my whole life to figure out. or maybe, it's self righteous to think i ever will.