So what’s next? I almost feel that if I never wrote another word, I’d have accomplished so much. But even as I write this I know that there’s always further I can go. There’s always more isn’t there, always further, always harder, which is probably why I’m never satisfied. I never want to be satisfied. I always want to want. There was a time when I thought I had all the answers and therefore I stopped questioning, didn’t want to upset the status quo. No more. Life bitch slapped me and if that wasn’t the best thing that ever happened to me ever then I don’t know what was. It was as if I had fallen into the most functional coma and only the most intense pain could bring me out of it and I am so grateful for the new life that emerged. More life than life had ever been. And new resolve to write, to do what obsesses me, to give in to it. To share it is the “little death,” if you will, in every way, and sometimes the abject fear of it is unbearable, brings me to my knees, it prostrates me; the thrill of it takes my breath away and I do it again and again. I do myself and who are my lovers? But I don’t want to be tied, don’t want to be pegged. Sometimes I don’t even think I want the responsibility. I want to write without using a condom. But random unprotected sex is stupid just stupid That’s a stupid thing to say. Sometimes I am so stupid.
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2010.