Maybe you thought, if you ever had a thought about it, that I have forgotten about you, didn’t you? Well, I didn’t. I might want to but how could I forget about you? You who trample over those tasty, tightly-wound little paisley spirals of fiddleheads in the forests of my mind, who swim in the bracing streams of my under-consciousness, you who parasails wildly over the gaps in my synapses and climb through the folds of my mushy grey matter while I am busy thinking of other thoughts, busy doing other things, and actively pursuing everything but anything about you except for when I see anything that resembles a word on a page or a screen, which is as often as my eyes are open.
I am not being remotely dramatic. Just honest.
Even though the four-legged love of my life is unwell for reasons that remain a mystery, even though I will be heading off on vacation to France and England with her — she of the killer smile, eyes that shine, an irresistibly cute smattering of freckles across her nose, long dark, curly hair, in possession of a wit and a mind and artistic sensibility and perspective and shape of hands that holds things just so and a dance move that melts me and a certain je ne sais quoi that takes my breath away, keeps my attention and sometimes makes me grrr…
… even though there are deadlines to meet and workouts to do and friends to see and movies to watch and food to cook and dogs to walk and worries to worry and, and, and even though there are dreams to have at night during fitful sleeps there’s a shadow, a whiff, an aura, an energy, a crop circle, a maze a labyrinth, an echo of a long-lost word or sentence that if I for one nanosecond think about it, I know it’s you. And that’s insane.
You’re intangible. You aren’t any where, you aren’t any one. What you are is a freaking blog. A virtual place where I’ve dropped off bunches of words. Lesbian words. Or rather, one Canadian lesbian’s thoughts transformed into words. I thought, for the few seconds that I stopped to think about it, that a blog would have a shelf life and that it would like so many other things, come to a natural end and I’d say au revoir! Ciao! Wave goodbye and walk away and not look back in any way except as another thing I experimented with and explored and learned from and something that in ways large and small, changed me.
Never in a million years did I think I’d become attached to you, a blog. That you’d become such a part of me. Perhaps I became attached to a discipline of writing and giving you a personality of sorts: you were the place where I could be me with my words, whatever those words might be. Maybe I just became attached to having a place where my lesbian words could live for a while. You helped bring something alive that’s more than lesbian words, more than a lesbian voice.
And yet. I haven’t had lesbian words for a long while. Maybe that’s because sometimes life is just life, even for a lesbian. A summer to have. And you my dear blog, are a presence in my life around which questions swirl. (To write or not to write. To end or not to end. Wrap it up or start anew? These are the questions).
You are my blog. I created you and in some way, you showed me to myself. It’s become increasingly obvious that it’s hard to say goodbye, hard to erase your own creation that contains, essentially, a body of work, some 30 months of stories, ideas, thoughts, recollections, conversations. What’s a woman to do? Go hunting for some other lesbian words? Consult the goddess of lesbian words for some direction?
Sigh. How about if I acknowledge that our relationship, or rather my relationship with you is fraught with uncertainty — just like every other relationship on every other planet in untold numbers of galaxies. How about if I say I will work on it? Speaking of untold numbers of galaxies, I promise to drop you a postcard from France.