Poetry month is done. So I have been wondering what to write about. The Mother’s Day thing had some potential. I considered planting my tongue firmly in my cheek to write a compare and contrast essay of straight and gay mothers, and before posting it, send the completed piece to my old English professor for my usual A++ because my statement — being a lesbian does not necessarily confer superior parenting skill — would be proven beyond a five o’clock shadow of a doubt on some hairy beast.
But that seemed kind of boring. So I didn’t write that.
Or I could have written a bit about my mother who left for parts unknown when she died six years ago. But I didn’t want to write about that, either.
Turns out I was more interested in thinking than writing. For two weeks I have sat my lesbian self in front of my Mac, ready to write. But I got distracted. How come I never noticed that the rhythm of the blinking cursor is like a heartbeat? Not my heartbeat, but someone’s heartbeat. Oh look: A butterfly!
I was thinking, or at least trying to think lesbian thoughts so that I could write something for my L blog. What are lesbian thoughts, you ask?
Good question. Let’s first do away with the obvious.
“Is she gay?”
I’m being ever-so-slightly facetious. But in the thinking corridors of a lesbian it’s similar to wondering if someone speaks the same language.
So I thought more about what I thought about and am amazed at the sheer boringness of it all. Not a lot of my thoughts scream LESBIAN! But in the interest of sharing, here are the unedited, unexpurgated thoughts that I as a lesbian have thunk over the past two days.
“What’ll I eat for breakfast?”
“No. And no.”
“Hmmmm, she’s interesting”
“Eileen Gray over Regency style any day.”
“She really shouldn’t wear that ..”
“Did you get your driver’s license from a Cracker Jack box??”
“A right wing and left wing are necessary for an angel, an airplane, a bird, and insects to fly. Any other use of right or left wing is just dumb.”
“Ballet slippers are not shoes. Ballet slippers on anyone but ballet dancers on stage or in the studio is just dumb.”
“How does he walk when those pants keep falling under his bum?”
“Is she gonna freak when she learns I’m gay?”
“I know this is a lesbian character, but OH MY GOD, the show is just awful!”
“I’ve got the smartest dog on the planet.”
“Wow. She’s gorgeous.”
“Pink champagne: NOW.”
“I will be nice, I will be nice, I will be nice.” Sometimes there’s a variation on that one: “Forgive them Goddess, they know not what they do and are likely to remain clueless their entire life, so if you can get me outta here NOW, I’d REALLY appreciate it.”
Of course sex crosses my mind at LEAST every 41 seconds, which leads to all sorts of other related thoughts, however I put those thoughts on the parallel processing line, so that I can also think other things and not be distracted.
Sometimes, I have completely random thoughts, like, “What if I just dyed my hair blonde. For fun.” Or, “those 2012ers are a little off the mark, but then so are the governments, and the bankers and economists and business so-called leaders so I guess it all evens out, but maybe I should stock up on toilet paper and water.”
It’d be boring if I get into all the other thoughts I think. Complexity. Chaos theory. Art. Food. Design. Friends. Love. Loving. Learning. Writing. Cleaning the toilet and vacuuming and laundry and paying bills and why are the world’s health care systems so messed up and is organic espresso okay? Just everyday stuff.
Sometimes I am the non-thinking lesbian. Not a thought in my head. People don’t believe it, but it’s true. I look all serious and thoughtful and deep. Yet inside my head, I am frolicking with the dust bunnies.
Then there are times I seem to forget that I have a brain and am capable of any form of intelligent thought. Those are the times I blurt out what’s in my head. Did I mention that I think I am a very fortunate lesbian? My handlers take good care of me: they sometimes recognize the signs of that rare but deadly open mouth: change feet rash and whisk me away from danger ahead of time. Curiously, those moments tend to correspond with hormone happenings in my body, over which I have little control. And I will NOT share what I think about that.