I write about hundreds of things. Publicly, via this blog; intimately, through correspondence; privately, for myself.
I do not write about hundreds more.
A few, in no particular order:
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Alcoholism: My sister-in-law is nearing the end of a two-year slide down the steep, injurious slope of alcoholic relapse. We live 3,000 miles away from her – from both our families, and happily so (my spouse and I both come from ridiculous familial dysfunctionality; it is nothing short of a miracle that we’ve managed to cobble together a strong foundation on which to build our marital relationship) – but, thanks to
the tyranny of modern technology (and his own choice to utilize it), my spouse is being inundated with messages about his youngest sister’s not-so-well-being. Which has not been good for his own well-being.
One guess on who I’m concerned about. (And I don’t really fucking care if you think I’m a bitch.)
ALL The Sex (I’m not having): I’m sure there are some polyamorous people who have a lot of sex with a lot of people. Or perhaps, who have multiple loving sexual relationships with a lot of people. (Because all poly people are all about the luuuurv, right?) (Wrong.) Likewise, I’m sure there exist self-labeled “kinky” folks whose lives are a non-stop fetish fest, and who are currently working on their 37th orgasm of the week. But that’s not my life. And I’m pretty sure the sex I’m
not having is within the norm.
Being Safe: I’ve been told multiple times by a partner that I’m “safe.” As in, “I provide safety and comfort.” Not as in, “There is no risk to getting involved with me, and therefore I am the easiest option.”
On one hand, I see this as a good thing. I work hard in my relationships. Part of that hard work means keeping my arms open; however, it can also be extremely hard on me at times to enclose the person who has run into them. There are things about ‘unconditional’ that take a huge emotional toll. And unconditional love does not equate to unconditional relationships.
There are a lot of threads that begin to weave together when I travel down that
overgrown and treacherous path. It feels dangerous somehow. But sometimes I feel like I should write about it.
Men’s Bodies: Much is made of women’s bodies and how they are supposed to be “perfect” in particular ways. How media influences behavior, and how reality does not reflect the images that inundate us.
But this is not unique to women. Men have their own issues to work out around body image, and I am a lover of men’s bodies. Short, tall, plump, thin, lean, meaty, squared-off, or round. I like the bodies of the men I like, period. Somehow I feel like, with all the “I’m okay, you’re okay” chatter that’s directed at women for being too (too thick, too short, too small in the chest, too bony, too soft, too curvy, too heavy, too angular, too dark, too pale, too ‘not perfect’), that men not only get overlooked, but worse, that they receive a very different message. That they are somehow not okay as they are.
That really bothers me.
Dysphoria: I never talk about this because I don’t even know where to start, or how to explain. But this one… I’m going to try. Here, in this space, somehow. I will try.
Hard limits: I have very few at this point in my life, but sometimes I wonder if it would be worthwhile (helpful? cathartic? practical?) to unpack them in a public way. But there are so many buts… Caveats, explanations, if/then specifications, etc…
There are more. The ways in which my body is changing, and coming to grips with the parts of it that never will. Reconstructing a relationship with my sister over a distance that is equal parts emotional and geographic. Dealing with the restrictions of age, especially when it comes to the health and abilities of my parents, my in-laws, my husband, and myself. Deciding what to do with/about my blog in terms of making it pay for itself, without compromising my principles. Delving into the falsehoods and complete unrelatability of porn-patterned F/m. Expounding on why orgasm control, and increasingly – specifically – denial, is so hot to me. Contemplating the differences between compatibility and complement in terms of sexual/romantic relationships, and examining the choices I’ve made – past and present, for better or worse – to maintain, to jump in, to step back, to grow, to invest, to stay… And to walk away.
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I write about hundreds of things. Here, in letters, on paper.
And I do not write about hundreds more.
Sometimes because of privacy concerns, other times due to not having fleshed out an idea well enough to express it clearly in writing. Sometimes it’s about confidentiality or confidence or trust. Other times it’s a matter of wrong. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong platform, wrong format.
Sometimes I write my wrongs.
But there are some things I will never write. And if you are a blogger (or an author of another sort or just a plain ole human being) who experiences the same struggles with What
Not To Write…
IT’S ALL RIGHT.