Producing things, theater, change and watching everyone play, watching everyone have so much fun, and not going to bed when I'd get home because there was work to be done, and there still is and knowing that maybe there will be places for me to go and have fun and that's just the job and it's an important one, making that space.
My body has hurt all week, mind is in a muddle. Family of Origin ghosts popping up left and right, this about my Aunt telling me not to get a big head, not to have pride in my work, or I'll wind up a snot. I can't self promote without problems, she was borderline and occasionally quite cruel. I always see her, glimpses of her in strong women. I hate it about myself that scared response. I hate that it appears as me being mean.
This one about my dad, a producer someone I wish to emulate so much to build community like a sculpture, like an artform, to create spaces for love and trust and to be able to do that, doing it and also NOT having done that. Or maybe I should just fucking get over that. Maybe love and kindness is overrated.
This one about my mom who never wanted me to be loud, to be seen either, but probably that was only because she didn't want to attract my Aunt's attention. The nursing home and the Alzheimer's and me wondering if I'm just wasting my time chasing political dreams, or realizing that I wasted the last 20 and I have only a few left to do what I'm supposed to do because soon I'll be like her.
She worried more about the size of my ass than my accomplishments. My ass would disappoint her.
This one about my body, this one about my sex drive, this one about my focus. Lacking. Framing. Just dream it and then you'll be it. I'm stuck. I know. I know. I know.
Things are messy in my head right now. I feel on the outside of a lot, looking in.