Sharing is uncomfortable but necessary

So, I gave my video to someone today. Someone I respect and admire. Someone I kinda have a respectful crush on, but it’s more than that. He was here from “the mainland” to do a talk for us. I had met him last March and he had such an impact on me. His talk and his documentary in fact, was exactly what made me say aloud to my partner, “I am going to make a film. I want to make a documentary.” And within weeks I had made an uber personal film, an autobiographical documentary telling my story, trying to heal myself. It was he who inspired me so I felt it only appropriate that he see it. All too often people affect us in great ways and we never tell each other about it. My film has taught me to reconnect, so I try to practice that when ever possible.

When doing the film, little did I know the massive impact it would have on my life. A few months ago I gave my mom a copy of my film. My brother, sister and father all watched it. I never could have guessed that it would cause my family to lift the 5 or 6 year gag order on “the Julie situation”. I never would have imagined in a thousand years that it would make my parents remember the reality we went through and that they would then force my sister to take responsibility for the hurt she caused. I never ever, ever thought anything could ever make my sister and I be on speaking terms again, but it has. We are going slowly, but we have made promises to the family, each other and I think, ourselves. We have exchanged emails back and forth.

I never ever could have thought that my parents would have apologized for the cruelty they imposed on me. I never thought I would have received an apology for being their scapegoat or for throwing me out of the house.

The day after my family meeting, I was still in shock. I could not even put words to the utter surprise I felt. I think I sat for hours starring at a wall trying to absorb the words shared and spoke. My documentary had done everything I had ever hoped it could have. It brought me closure and healing. It lifted a giant weight off my shoulders. I walked around lighter somehow. Things seemed physically brighter. My parents had had my back. They were not going to put up with my sister bad-mouthing me anymore. They were not going to allow her to push me out of the family anymore. She was made take responsibility. I could not grasp the magnitude of this reality. I was speechless for a full 24 hours, unable to explain things to my partner or my friends. I let my phone go unanswered missing a phone call from my mother. Returning the call, anxiously awaiting some aftermath crisis, I hear my mother on the other end of the phone saying, “I just wanted to tell you that you are the best daughter anyone could ask for”. I’m not kidding. Exact words. I can’t even type that without tearing up.

Here it is, two months later and I’m still in disbelief. This is the first I’ve even written about it.


And back to the situation at hand. I’ve given my insanely personal and rudimentary film to a filmmaker. A great, courageous, accomplished filmmaker, whom I barely know yet greatly respect. Am I mad? There are some powerful butterflies in my tummy that say so. But to paraphrase a theory of Judith Butler’s, to experience real growth and change you have to have to become undone, vulnerable, uncomfortable, unhinged.

Becoming undone. There’s beauty in the breakdown.

Smitten with possibility

I’m sitting on my bed in my hotel room, rather content, rather intrigued. I’m intrigued with possibility, the possibility of my future.

I’m in Corner Brook. Myself and two of my co-workers came out here to hold a union drive Info Session and to find people to sign union cards. I’ve been here twenty times and never really saw this place before. I’ve become quite smitten with the place, and especially I’m smitten with the Grenfell Campus. It feels like a liberal arts college. Spontaneous art and music, strangers talking to each other, recycling everything available. Beautiful buildings, children running around with wet paint on their hands, theatrical personalities igniting and encouraging one another in hallways, classrooms and lobbies.

Autumn is alive here. The season is a living organism, breathing and changing. The colours surrounding me are beyond vivid. They are flesh and blood. The air is fresh and crisp. The night has revealed her stars to me, suggesting opportunity and promise.

I think I’d like to live here. I think I’d like to teach Women’s Studies at the University. I think I’d like to take some Art courses out here. Not forever, just a year or so. Maybe. I don’t know. I had fantasies of keith and I moving out here, renting (maybe buying? *gasp) a house with a backyard for Daisy. Houses are so affordable here. We’d live simply. We’d hike a lot. We’d go to Gros Mourne all the time. We’d go into town from time to time. We’d fish. Keith would cycle all over the place. We’d enjoy the weekends and evenings. Things would be slower. Fantasies, just fantasies. *sigh*

Of course, this comes in the wake of me applying for a Union Organizer’s job in Winnipeg. I don’t think I will even get an interview, but nonetheless I have imagined myself getting it and starting a new life (with Keith and Daisy of course) in a new place. Not Newfoundland. But could I even leave this place? Could I even leave St. John’s? Would I want to? I’m quietly frightened to death of the possibility of ever having to make such a choice. Of course, the possibility is intriguing.

Possibility. Promise. Warm promise.

The ying, the yang and the love

So very tired tonight. Working three jobs, none of which pay well at the moment, while still trying to be a “full-time” grad student.

Good grief.

Not enough time in the day. Not enough time for sleeping or relaxing or playing. President of the Students' Union. Working to Organize Lecturers. Working as a server at the Keg. Too much.

Recipe for disaster:
Add in one cup of the personal drama of co-workers releasing their own vast stresses directly at you with 4 cups of the fact that my partner, the main “breadwinner” of the house, is loosing his job on Dec. 1st. Mix with 500mL of not-having-a-project-or-supervisor-stress with 3 tbsp of complete lack of sleep and blend all together. Recipe for disaster? Recipe for me.

The push, the pull. The ying, followed by the yang.


The world is simultaneously spitting stress and divulging beauty at me. There are days like today with their compound stresses that make me want to physically run away leaving house and school and work. Packing my bags and heading to the airport with a credit card in hand and no destination in mind. Running away from everything. But there were also times today when I completelyetly overwhelmed by the unrestricted love and understanding of my partner. His caring, his tenderness, his thoughtfulness. He insisted that I go home and take care of myself this afternoon and that I tell work and responsibilities to go fuck themselves. So, home I went. Where I was reminded of our beautiful home and delightful puppy dog. I came home and sat for a moment. I breathed in deep, looked around and I could not but help feel entirely grateful and absolutely appreciative for my fortunate place in life. How many people know the the kind of love I know? How many people feel the kind of love I feel on a daily basis?

I hope many.

:)

Sexual Energy

Ah. A few hours alone. Alone to write. Well, not totally alone. My puppy girl Daisy is beside me, but her presence do not demand anything from me or limit what I may say or do.

Wow. A couple hours to sit in the quiet. I never realized how much I enjoy this. I’m currently torn between writing about the latest goings on (and there is a lot to write about) or *gasp* watching some sexy videos to relax….

Well, I’m here aren’t I? But, I am not fully here.

I’m sexually charged and ready to play. Not play with anyone in particular, well, no one that’s around anyways but I want to play. There’s a beauty, an exquisiteness to sexual energy pulsing through your blood. It’s full of promise and anticipation. Everything feels so sexy. There’s a longing to be touched, caressed, kissed, licked. A longing to squirm with anticipation, squirm with pleasure, squirm with an exciting explosion.

I enjoy being a sexual being. I am a sexual person. I often feel stifled, limited, shushed. I’m often plucked back into reality before I want to be. I want to stay in the Sexy-hot-charged world where things feel different. Where food tastes sweeter and the imagination is bolder. I want to go here and be here more often. I want to be more sexual with more people. I want to be more sexual with my partner. I want to be more excited, more aroused, more. I want more anticipation that’s full of promise. I want more fucking at lunch and heavy petting while I drive.

I have so much sexual energy charging on it’s own momentum. Building. I’m more sensitive to the clothes I’m wearing. My is bra rubbing against my nipples as I breathe causing even more sexual energy to produce itself exponentially. I want warm mouths and heaving breasts. I want to shoot stills and video. I want to be reminded of how sexy I am. I want to remind others of their own passion. Passion for sex, passion to life, passion for passion.

Sex is beautiful and powerful and consuming and relaxing. Sex is part of who we are, what we do and how we exist in this world. I think sex, in its many forms should be more welcomed. More respected, more cherished, more understood for what it is, what it can be and what it’s not. Sex is very different for every person and any different time of day or year or life. We are all walking about sexually charged one way or another. We need to realize and celebrate this more. Some people do realize this and for those people I am truly grateful.

Thanks.
I needed this outlet. I need more sexual energy outlets. Actually, I think we all do.

Now time for sexy videos, or the sexy pictures I got today.

☺