cafecito y conversacion al estilo David y Bathsheba

Sometimes together, sometimes separate... Cliffy spent last night. Her household was crazy and, with Delhi staying at my mom's because of late nights working or class, I really didn't want to go to an empty house. Usually I love the opportunity but not lately. As is often between Cliffy and me, we seem to help make transitions easier.

Truth is I have had relationships on my mind - I think I've done this discussion before on this blog. At this point i should just reference previous entries rather than reiterate my damage.

More truth: I was told goodbye by a new friend yesterday. He had great compliments and told me I was amazing. It's nice to know I have viewable traits but it seems to hurt me more than honor me when I'm left standing alone.

I didn't complete my art piece for Esperanza's queer exhibit. I don't know how much of a part of the queer community I want to be a part of here. It disappoints. Defines you on your behalf. Does not listen. I attempted creating a homage to my coming out as a 5th grader so long ago, including who it was I fell in love with (my mother's best friend, a potter), what I was having dreams about (marrying a woman with longer white hair (scares me to think it might have been my ex wife, Ya Vez!), becoming a full time writer and having children), and what I hoped for (freedom - yes, even then).

My childhood house was not so free - we were exiles in the city/state/country/male world. All this became too much in my mind and I could feel that blending of my creativity that I try to keep separate: sewing, writing, painting, furniture building, cooking, sex, emotional expressions - all one jarbled thing too hard to swallow.

So Cliffy, knowing I haven't been sleeping, followed me to bed. I tried going to bed early. I've always been the kind that gets tired early and, if i got to bed right when I feel it, I can sleep pretty well. But if that momentary feeling passes me, I'm awake again, hyper alert until, like right now, I'm awake at 1:30 in the morning.

Cliffy was so sweet, rubbing my head. I was able to sleep, even if I had the same dream I've been having all week: these men (mostly), Africans mostly, who were criticizing me. I thought they might be artists and that they didn't want me in their circle. I couldn't figure it out, especially since I get along great with those who are not from this country - some 3rd world woman connection.

Before I went to sleep Cliffy told me that I carried a lot of creativity, that that is what didn't let me sleep. It hurt because here I am feeling that I don't do enough with my talents while at the same time holding myself back because, partly, I really believe that I already make it impossible to be matched. And I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't want family and a partner and this whole mad scene. No, it won't follow a typical relationship but it will be one - in my mind anyway.

I've been reading more about Edna St. Vincent Millay (Vincent her friends called her). I told Cliffy that was exactly what i wanted. that she could write feminist work and still write about her individual journey and her lovers and it was all powerful. Plus, she was openly bisexual, free to express herself with a man who was at a point in his life where he could put his work aside and help her. There's my dream. Yes, I'm jealous as hell. and I adore Vincent now.

Miguel called me as i was getting out of class tonight and I met him for coffee. We are starting to make the coffee gathering a regular thing. I'm glad for it because he'll be out of the country for a month teaching a class in Monterrey and he's great company. So he gets a beer (Dos Equis draft) and I get a black & white (condensed milk and two shots) and we talk about trading beverages since he needs to stay up with class preparations and I'm the one who needs to sleep.

We are planning to meet each other at the border when I go down to McAllen next month for mujerfest. I'm going to be reading my work. It's been awhile but I'm trying for more theatrics this time. I'm tired of my own confinement.

There's a lot of change happening - I am at a cusp once again. This last year back in San Antonio have made me look older and I find myself more easily upset or rather, less tolerant of those who are not emotionally available or grateful.

It would be nice to find freedom in this city. It would be nice to be with who I wanted, when I wanted. It would be nice to create the work I need to complete.

I'm going to bed. Wish me luck.