Friday, January 10, 2014

Mental Health Day(s?)

I've been writing so much lately that I'm afraid I'll get burned out, so yesterday, while I didn't do zero writing (had to write today's poem, after all), I did a lot of other things. I watched some mindless TV, I picked Austin up at the airport (my life as the unofficial UNLV MFA McCarran Airport Chauffeur continues), Lulu and I LEFT THE HOUSE and went to the Frog for dinner (J.D. gave us a piece of his maple-bacon birthday cake--yum!), I read comics (finished up Neil Gaiman's Midnight Days, specifically). It was delightful.

Will I do more writing today? That remains to be seen. I definitely want to go running. I definitely want to read some more of The Master and Margarita. I need a good, solid chunk of time to write the next section of my novel--I can tell it's going to take a while.

In mildly disturbing news, some asshole scrawled a bunch of misogynist, hateful shit about my roommate (not by name, but by description) on one of the stairs leading to our apartment. I haven't experienced any harassment based solely on the fact that I have a vagina in a while, so I guess it's about due, as depressing as that reality may be. I lived in a big city for years--I've been catcalled, followed, and groped by horrible people more times than I can count. Not that women who don't live in cities are never harassed. Like I said, that kind of just goes along with having a vagina. Neither Lulu nor I have been directly confronted by anyone, so unless something else happens, I think we're just going to try to scrub it out. It was probably just some dumbass kid. Furthermore, I've got pepper spray and Lulu has a taser, so I'm not sure we're the ones who should be afraid.

Anyway, this unfortunate incident provided inspiration for today's poem.

We've Come So Far

Slurs scrawled on a staircase.
Do you think that will scare us?
Those slurs were scrawled on us
as little girls.

Since then:
We've come to terms
with too-solid
shadows
that only appear at night.
We've had unwanted
hands
We've had unwanted
tongues
--and worse!--
in all our softest places.

Your words mean nothing.
They are the whir of a wireless router.
They are the instruction booklet no one reads.

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