'' It's hard being a Man ''
The human soul, it seems to me, orientates itself afresh every now & then. It is doing so now. Now one can see it whole, therefore, the best of us catch a glimpse of a nose, a shoulder, something turning away, always in movement. Still, it seems better to me to catch this glimpse.
- Virginia Woolf. Christmas Day, 1922.
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Mail Manifesto Exhibit No. 2
my beautiful, beautiful grandparents.
oh my word ! I see my dad in their faces.
I am very sad to be missing the 60th, but
we will have them to ourselves when we arrive.
a double date, almost.
The concept of going through 60 years of marriage with another person perplexes me. I am baffled by it. We as a society have become so used to instant-gratification. I am not sure this type of relationship exists for real in us. Maybe it depends on the people. I have close proof of its existance, but what will love look like in another 60 years?
- - - -
& speaking of love, all the events leading up to yesterday's introduction burned vividly in my mind as I made my way to the party where - by degree of separation only known in winnipeg - I was about to finally meet the OTHER other... I had zero idea what to expect of her, & my imagination did nothing save regurgitate feelings of inadequacy, comparason, rejection. Luckily for me, the person I thought to be the better version of myself turned out more kindred than I could have ever dreamed. I saw the same extrovert. The same interests. The same insecurities. The same series of events. The same jealousies. Yes, I promised not to compare notes, but they sprang forth from her mouth within the hour of my acquaintence and I could do nothing but nod in silent knowing. Pent up, twin feelings I have so intimately housed. I am pleased. For so long her existance was little more than an abstract stranger who was easy to blame, futile to warn. The truth? She is beautiful, confident, intelligent & it doesnt make me feel like any less of a woman anymore. In fact, I feel stronger in solidarity. You REALLY never know who is about to propell themselves into your company & under what circumstances.
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& a final note. it makes me VERY ILL that usually women polarize themelves instead of profiting from eachothers collective experiences in social triangles. why do women hate the other woman? I reject it, now more than ever & instead raise my glass to the other woman.
Bievenue à Montréal. LB.
- Virginia Woolf. Christmas Day, 1922.
--- --- ---- ------ ----- --- -----
---- --- --- --- ---
Mail Manifesto Exhibit No. 2
my beautiful, beautiful grandparents.
oh my word ! I see my dad in their faces.
I am very sad to be missing the 60th, but
we will have them to ourselves when we arrive.
a double date, almost.
The concept of going through 60 years of marriage with another person perplexes me. I am baffled by it. We as a society have become so used to instant-gratification. I am not sure this type of relationship exists for real in us. Maybe it depends on the people. I have close proof of its existance, but what will love look like in another 60 years?
- - - -
& speaking of love, all the events leading up to yesterday's introduction burned vividly in my mind as I made my way to the party where - by degree of separation only known in winnipeg - I was about to finally meet the OTHER other... I had zero idea what to expect of her, & my imagination did nothing save regurgitate feelings of inadequacy, comparason, rejection. Luckily for me, the person I thought to be the better version of myself turned out more kindred than I could have ever dreamed. I saw the same extrovert. The same interests. The same insecurities. The same series of events. The same jealousies. Yes, I promised not to compare notes, but they sprang forth from her mouth within the hour of my acquaintence and I could do nothing but nod in silent knowing. Pent up, twin feelings I have so intimately housed. I am pleased. For so long her existance was little more than an abstract stranger who was easy to blame, futile to warn. The truth? She is beautiful, confident, intelligent & it doesnt make me feel like any less of a woman anymore. In fact, I feel stronger in solidarity. You REALLY never know who is about to propell themselves into your company & under what circumstances.
--- --- ---
& a final note. it makes me VERY ILL that usually women polarize themelves instead of profiting from eachothers collective experiences in social triangles. why do women hate the other woman? I reject it, now more than ever & instead raise my glass to the other woman.
Bievenue à Montréal. LB.
posted by Loco at
4:15 PM
3 Comments:
Yes, yes, yes.
I have been hungrily awaiting such a heady post. This officially bookends a year of growth, separation, exploration and maturity. To salute the other lady is to salute oneself. I salute you and your admirable decorum. Will you be my trophy other? I have been avoiding contact like the plague, suppressing everything that normally would spill forth from letters/email via the post, only to unleash it upon you when we finally lay hands, hearts, eyes on each other. I expect nothing less from you.
I just got in from a Winnipeg night ride and I have a bicycle for you leaning against the wall of my living room. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Begging to be ridden standing up by a girl with leg muscles unbeknownst to most others. Soon, soon, soon.
Are you REALLY coming? Bestill my heart.
Soon, Madge.
This comment has been removed by the author.
seriously
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