writing

I think I need to keep myself task-oriented these next few weeks.
I made the mistake of trying to write something last night in my notebook only to find a note Cliffy wrote for me in there sometime around Thanksgiving : "Te quiero Mi Tigressa - yo -".

What a difference a month makes.

My favorite part of the year was always from September through mid-December. I loved that my birthday was right in there with Fall, Halloween, Dia de los Muertos, even Thanksgiving. It always served as a time I got the most writing done, felt freer and more capable. I remember walking down Haskell and Holly streets in East Austin, taking Tigrette trick or treating and Cliffy following in the van. I loved the coolness of the evening, how hot Cliffy looked in her leather jacket, how much energy was in the air. How hot I looked in my corset. We were ourselves but not ourselves - we were more and hopeful and liberated.

I feel like I lost some of this very important part of my time because now, in not feeling so great about myself and my potential, I wonder how present Cliffy really was. I recognize we all have histories filled with hurt and danger. That past can make it hard to be present. But how long do we carry these things? How do we truly unload them with the assurance they may bubble up in the mind but that they have no hold on us? Are any of our relationships real if they are only in respect to the incredible baggage we are capable of holding? It would be nice to each have our time of the year (like I had mine), where we actively untangled those past hurts from our veins and nerves, and truly transformed ourselves each year. Ourselves but not ourselves - so much more.