If you were here, we'd talk about salad. We'd talk about salad because I ate a salad today, and I'm eating a salad tomorrow, and I think that sometime soon I hope I hope I hope don't jinx it, I'll be able to see six pack abs in the mirror. Totally vain, but this morning I looked in the mirror and saw the ghost of them and it was the most energizing thing. The rest of my day was just lovely after that.
Getting over this last hill (mountain? I don't know, I've never gotten this close before.) is mainly a matter of not eating every sweet thing I can buy, which is surprisingly difficult. Japanese bakeries are like bakeries everywhere in that everything contained in them is both delicious and unhealthy, and there's a bakery between me and my schools no matter which of the four I happen to be teaching at. The thing is, though, in the past when I've told myself "Ok, this time we're gonna get that six pack!" I ended up wanting the donuts / maple loafs / melonpan / other-things-whose-names-I-don't-know more than I wanted to see the muscles. This time that doesn't seem to be the case, although I may be speaking too soon.
I don't know why this is, but I know that red wine helps. I think wine is gross, to be honest, but like all alcohol it makes interesting sensations and I can't stand to drink it too fast, so where before I might have sat down for an evening of internet tv, cakey things, and soda or milk, I've recently been writing or studying with a (tiny) glass of wine and a few squares of dark chocolate. (Seriously tiny, I can't do more than 100ml or so at a time, it's just too gross. I don't think I'll ever get drunk, or at least not on wine. Gin, maybe.) And maybe watching some internet tv too. Modern Family = gold.
The point of telling you about my salad and abdomen and cake and wine is that I'm feeling good. Like, really good. I feel like I have people who like me and care about me, and while I'm pretty sure cerebrally that this has always been the case, I haven't always been able to feel it. It's true than most of them aren't in my geographic vicinity, but some of them are, and some of them will be, and you take what you can get, right? Nothing wrong with that.
There are angsty things lurking around in my brain like always and I could talk about them if I really wanted—there was this abbreviated discussion I had about the responsibility to feel loved versus the responsibility to make love feelable, for example—but I don't really want to. Is this okay? Can I end here, happy? Happy with almost visible abs, a nearly empty bottle of wine, progress on my personal goals, and a general sense of well being?
It came on so suddenly.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
If you were here, I don't know what I'd say.
Oaks gave a talk yesterday. I didn't hear it, of course, I haven't listened to GC in years, but I heard about it through lovely facebook, and then Deseret News, and then the blogs. He came down on abortion, abuse, divorce, and adoption by gay parents. You know, all those things that "harm or disadvantage" children.
My parents were with my older brother's family doing who knows what in Texas on Saturday, so they didn't hear that. My mom and I were chatting this morning and she beamed about the Sunday sessions she'd listened to and dropped her customary hints that, "y'know, sometimes if you're feeling spiritual, you could always listen to GC."
I guess I just don't understand how something that sets off a million little bombs of anger and sorrow inside me—not Oaks' talk in particular, although that too—makes her so happy. Makes my sisters so happy, my childhood friends so happy. I don't understand how their balm of Gilead can be such [ ].
***
I talked with a dear dear friend yesterday about sex. She suggested I find someone experienced and very gentle to teach me about it. She said I'd know when I'm in love. She hinted strongly that the Mormon ideal I'd adopted—meet the love of your life, date, get married, then have sex with that person only forever—doesn't really work.
This is a problem because it seems to be working for my parents and 3/4 of my siblings, and many of my Mormon friends. But then, so does Mormonism. Something about me is apparently different.
***
From time to time gay friends have told me I just need to go out and sleep with a bunch of people and my views on sex will heal right up. I don't believe this. Maybe I won't only ever sleep with my true love, but I like the part of me that thinks of sex as special and important. And I guess I'm just afraid I'm a bit too much of a snob.
***
My dear dear friend also said that when I'm ready, I'll know. She said to trust myself.
Maybe what I resent so much about Mormonism is that in matters of sex and love it taught me to trust twelve old men instead of myself, and that early wiring is hard to redo.
Oaks gave a talk yesterday. I didn't hear it, of course, I haven't listened to GC in years, but I heard about it through lovely facebook, and then Deseret News, and then the blogs. He came down on abortion, abuse, divorce, and adoption by gay parents. You know, all those things that "harm or disadvantage" children.
My parents were with my older brother's family doing who knows what in Texas on Saturday, so they didn't hear that. My mom and I were chatting this morning and she beamed about the Sunday sessions she'd listened to and dropped her customary hints that, "y'know, sometimes if you're feeling spiritual, you could always listen to GC."
I guess I just don't understand how something that sets off a million little bombs of anger and sorrow inside me—not Oaks' talk in particular, although that too—makes her so happy. Makes my sisters so happy, my childhood friends so happy. I don't understand how their balm of Gilead can be such [ ].
***
I talked with a dear dear friend yesterday about sex. She suggested I find someone experienced and very gentle to teach me about it. She said I'd know when I'm in love. She hinted strongly that the Mormon ideal I'd adopted—meet the love of your life, date, get married, then have sex with that person only forever—doesn't really work.
This is a problem because it seems to be working for my parents and 3/4 of my siblings, and many of my Mormon friends. But then, so does Mormonism. Something about me is apparently different.
***
From time to time gay friends have told me I just need to go out and sleep with a bunch of people and my views on sex will heal right up. I don't believe this. Maybe I won't only ever sleep with my true love, but I like the part of me that thinks of sex as special and important. And I guess I'm just afraid I'm a bit too much of a snob.
***
My dear dear friend also said that when I'm ready, I'll know. She said to trust myself.
Maybe what I resent so much about Mormonism is that in matters of sex and love it taught me to trust twelve old men instead of myself, and that early wiring is hard to redo.
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