Tuesday, January 25  

Queer

Vic wakes up in the middle of the night feeling queer.

queer adj. 1. Deviating from the expected or normal. 2. Odd or unconventional. 3. Of a questionable nature or character. 4. Fake; counterfeit.5. Offensive Slang Homosexual.

Clearly, the dictionary has not caught up with the latest trend in self/sexual categorization. Queer is a good thing now. Nothing offensive about it.

Vic's been referring to herself as "queer" for years. Since she tried so seriously to be straight with William, found herself supernaturally inclined to grope women in dark danceclub corners, left William for one of them, then left her for another, and another, and another (ad nauseam for all parties involved) then ended up sleeping with boys again anyway. Stumped by her own inability to make up her mind, she settled on Queer as a sort of no-man's (but not really) land between her noisly clamouring sexual drives.

With Graycie on her hip, which could be thought evidence to the contrary by the unknowing public, Vic sometimes forgets that she is queer. She lives straight, thinks straight, talks straight. But she does not dream straight, it seems.

She wakes up from a dream that she is dressed like a teenaged boy. She is shorter than she really is, but that's probably neither here nor there. In the dream, she is avidly attracted to another woman who is dressed like a boy. They rub and press against each other in a concealed area of a public place. Vic is conscious (in her subconcious) of feeling like a man who is sleeping with a man, which excites her beyond description, even while knowing she is actually woman with a her hand pressing into a woman, tongue in her mouth and pantingly aroused by her.

Just when you think you know yourself, your dreams have a way of keeping things interesting.

Comments:

It must me the moon phase or something: I woke up at 4:45 terrified from a dream where I was going to marry Peter Jennings but have to leave my girlfriend and the neighborhood I love in exchange for a jetset, VIP party life. I felt like crying when I woke up.

Woodstock

# posted by  Anonymous : 3:06 PM

 

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# posted by  Anonymous : 1:55 PM

 

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# posted by  Anonymous : 11:49 AM

 

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# posted by  Anonymous : 2:42 PM

 

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Thursday, January 20  

Secret

Although Vic cannot keep other people’s secrets, she is a medieval fortress replete with crocodile moat, iron enforced gating, archery turrets and the thick, hanging cobwebs of silence when it comes to keeping her own.

secret noun 1 Something kept hidden from others or known only to oneself or to a few. 2. Something that remains beyond understanding or explanation; a mystery. 3. Method or formula on which success is based.

At different stages of her life, different things have become secret. The doors of her personal tower open and shut, old secrets ambling past like recently released prisoners on the first stroll away from the gates, having served their time, suddenly free. For whatever reason and sometimes for none, the secret becomes “okay to say” and she lets it go.

When she was younger, the small secret evils of youth (small drinks snuck from the liquor cabinet, covert smoking, rubbing up against boys in parking lots) were the guarded prisoners of her heart. When she became an adult, she released all those secrets into the world, emptying the barracks. She spoke freely about them as though it had not been her who had done those things. She was past punishment.

In their place, other secrets piled through the gates. Whipped and beaten regularly, these secrets know they’re in for a cruel sentence.

Of the many secrets she keeps buried in and patted down in her soul there are one or two that persistently rise the surface, demanding to be acknowledged. These secrets are also the ones she loves best.

Comments:

Secrets...what an interesting, and charged topic for today. I wonder if some unknown force guided whatever method you use to choose your word to this one in particular.

I find them fascinating, secrets, for unlike most things, they have the ability to retain their power even when spoken.

Cheers,
Woodstock ;-)

# posted by  Anonymous : 6:58 PM

 

"Secret" was chosen through a weird string of possible words. I was thinking "cold" as it's 20 below and the homeless folk in the underpass on my way to work got me wondering what real cold is like. Then I skipped to "heart" thinking I'd compare cold and warm ones. Then I locked onto "secret" since that's what my heart is full of. And I drove the rest of the way to work happily poking and prodding old memories.

Still feel for the homeless though.

# posted by  Vic : 8:47 AM

 

pssst... trixie!

where are ya? i didn't break it, did i?

there i go... develop a quasi-addiction and then it disappears.

*pouting*

sal

# posted by  Susan Chu : 4:44 PM

 

Sorry Sal. The Hercurve.com interruption brought to you courtesy of my very bad hosting company. And also my holiday in the Bahamas. Back now and hard at work, rebuilding. Treat yourself to some forum methodone and keep checking back.

# posted by  Vic : 7:57 AM

 

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Friday, January 14  

Work

Vic sits in her overlit, screen-glare, dry-mouth, coffee-breath, walls-that-don’t-reach-the-ceiling office and dreams about some circumstance that would allow her not to work. Ever again.

work noun 1. Physical or mental effort or activity directed toward the production or accomplishment of something. 2. A job; employment: 3. Something that has been produced or accomplished through the effort, activity, or agency of a person or thing.

Human beings aren’t meant to sit at a desk all day, crossing and uncrossing their legs to avoid loss of limbs due to non-use. Vic finds her first day back at work stressful and beleaguering. Her shoulders ache from sitting through meetings and wading through 6 months of unimportant emails that have filtered through to her during her maternity leave.

Many of the recent ones say "Welcome Back Vic!" These are more depressing than the emails with subject lines guaranteeing a "slimmer, sleeker shape in only 30 days". Certainly more personally disturbing that those exclaiming "Increase your manhood!" and "Stay hard longer!"

She is back at work. And, to her, that is much sadder than love handles or short, flaccid penises.

Some people enjoy working. They define themselves by the job they do. They come in early, they stay until the streetlights come on outside the window and the highways have cleared of rush hour traffic. Vic is normally one of those adding to the crush of evacuees on the highway. She’d rather sit in traffic, not at work, than wait at work until the roads are cleared. She considers her job a waste of her personal time, a hardship. Traffic is a minor inconvenience.

Today, it begins snowing in earnest. Vic turns her chair to watch it come down, imagines standing with Grace at the window, enjoying vicariously the new wonder of white stuff billowing around the sky. A sharp look from her boss yanks her back.

"No work to do?" he asks pointedly.

"Plenty." she answers, knowing that she left her most important work behind this morning. Her finest work to date.

Friday, January 7  

Fight

You wouldn't think Vic a fighter to look at her. She's what you might call "non-threatening" with her shy demeanour and quick, if uncertain, smiles. Usually, fighters owe their fiesty nature to a surplus of confidence. A thing which Vic has never had much of to start with.

fight verb 1. To attempt to harm or gain power over an adversary by blows or with weapons. 2. To engage in a quarrel; argue. 3. To strive vigorously and resolutely.

Vic and Jon don't fight very often but when they do it is always about sex. Even when it's about the groceries, it's really about sex. How little they're having, who wants it less/more, who's jerking off to what and what that must mean for their relationship.

It's a battle that both are weary of fighting and yet, it wages on, battalions always at the ready, front lines moving forward once a week or more depending on the validity of Vic's excuses.

When Vic fights, she doesn't say things she'll regret. She's thankful at least for that little bit of self-restraint. Because she wouldn't like to have to apologize after these fights. That would be like giving in. Jon also refuses to apologize. He believes he's in the right to want sex and Vic is in the wrong to avoid it. Which, of course, by typical relational rules would be absolutely correct.

But still. But still.

Vic maintains her quiet outrage like a covert bonfire under the subway bridge. She fights against herself. Sometimes, she wants sex quite a lot -- shaves her legs, gets things ready -- but when the moment comes, she feels as though to fuck Jon would be to let him win the battle. And she just can't, as conquering general, allow that to happen.

It's stupid really.