Last week I had an appointment for yet another ultrasound – both external and transvaginal – to check on the state of my Essure™ since I’d had the procedure done last year, and to see if my pesky ovarian cyst was still in place. (What’s an Essure? That’s the wee thing that makes me permanently baby-proofed. Yay!) I figured this was a good opportunity to finally snap myself some in-hospital Scavenger Hunt photos, given I’d bailed on the opportunity the previous time!
Sometimes you’ll find a peaceful place when you’re not expecting it. On road-trip down to Wellington late last year we found such a treasure. Hylas, Kiana and I had been having fun looking out for spots to take Scavenger Hunt photos – we did the public toilets in Otorohanga, and later found the Ruakawa Falls Lookout as well. But what we had really been hoping to find was a good old New Zealand cemetery. The kind you see on the roadside, full of old headstones and tottering rails. Not an in-use cemetery, but an old one. An interesting one.
I really like D/s, and a lot of what it entails (yeah, duh, I know). A quick look at the BDSM and kinky categories over in my sidebar, and all the sub-categories, shows that I have and have had a lot of fun experimenting in the time I’ve kept this blog. A few years ago I figured out that I am no longer entirely on the bottom end of the spectrum (hooray for switchy proclivities, which keeps Hylas well entertained).
It’s been two weeks today since I took my last painkiller. Technically I am still allowed to take some – I could have taken up to four last week, and up until Sunday this week I am able to take three – but I haven’t needed to.
The last painkillers I took were on my flight over to Melbourne. I haven’t taken any since. This is a HUGE thing. Because remember that chronic, daily, never-goes-away-ever migraine? The one I’ve had for over six years? I take painkillers for that.
So my brother died a year ago today. I’ve spend most of the week feeling very up and down – but by the time today came around, it went great, because I got the best hugs I could ask for: his.
I drove out to Te Henga (aka Bethell’s Beach) this morning, which is where we scattered his ashes. It’s mid-Spring here, and west coast beaches are known for being blustery and wild at the best of times. Today was no exception. Didn’t stop me getting right out into the water in my togs and saying hi. Granted, I only went in a very little way and knelt in the surf – but the greeting was strong enough to knock me over more than once!
I’m off to a wake this afternoon. And somewhat appropriately, my latest Express column is all about grief and, slowly, moving on.
I wrote it before Kiana’s partner died last week. It wasn’t written for anyone other than me, really. But there is always someone dying (trite and sad, but very true), and always someone who will need those words.
I had one line that kept repeating itself the Wednesday night before. It was a very late evening as Hylas and I went with Kiana to her partner’s house, as we gave our condolences to his wife and (adult) children, as we took Kiana off to Takapuna Beach and hugged her and walked with her past midnight along the surf. And that long late evening Death strolled through my head reminding me that “you get what everyone gets; yet a lifetime”. She’s right. You do. He did. Alas, that doesn’t make it easier for those still living theirs.
In my photos you see me smile all the time – and that’s because I’m happy. I love being photographed, I like blogging, and I delight in the wonderful comments of my readers.
But being happy isn’t an easy thing. I am happy, yes, but it is in spite of a whole fuckton lot of things. Of those, three are the biggies, and they are depression, grief, and pain.
None of them are things you can see when you look at me, and see me smiling. But they’re all there, all the time.
This came from a most excellent discussion about sex positivity over at The Lady Garden, and is well deserving of further dissemination.
Max Rose said this in the comments:
A better analogy might be “The world would be a better place if more people ate more and better chocolate”. Unlike vegetables, most people acknowledge that chocolate makes them feel good, but they are sometimes made to feel guilty about it if they enjoy it more than moderately or don’t enjoy it in socially sanctioned ways, and a lot of people never get to experience really fine chocolate.
What makes me a woman?
Is it because I have a cunt? No, that can’t be right. Buck Angel has a cunt, and he’s very definitely a man!
Is it because I have the potential to create life inside me? It’s not that either. I’ve been sterilised, so no babies are growing in this womb. And sperm makes life just as much as eggs do.
As you may recall, I’ve written a few articles for Express Magazine in the past (one on pansexuality, and one on HIV and loss), both of which have been very well received. It was great to see my name, face and words in the newspaper, not least because I was writing about topics that are important to me.
Express, in addition to their fortnightly paper, now has an excellent web presence, and their lovely editor got in touch with me before Easter and asked if I would be interested in regularly contributing some words. Naturally, I was very reserved and only squee’d a few times as I accepted the offer« go back — keep looking »