Posts Tagged ‘me’

Remembering myself.

October 7, 2009

I have ridden an elephant,
visited over 15 countries,
learned how to do double
inside out braids on myself.

I have learned and forgotten
how to be semi-fluent in
talking with my hands, my face,
my body.
I loved signing.

I cannot do cartwheels,
I have fantastic boobs,
I am happiest when writing.
(Snuggling babies excluded.)

I have had sex with more
men than women.
I’ve had a shaved head,
and pink hair, and purple hair.
I do not shave my lady garden
hair – to each their own, but
I think it makes women
look like little girls.

I always always always
grow my hair long and then
chop it off. I’m never totally
happy either way.

I grew up on the border of
two big countries
and now live
in one

I have one sister. I have
four step-brothers, and one
common law step-brother. I
am older than all of them.

I have been a library assistant,
a lifeguard,
a nanny,
a teacher,
a bag girl. And other things.

I am always looking for
The Next Big Thing
to hold in my hands and
make me happy.

I met my wife in 1998. I knew
she was special from that
first day, but didn’t realize
how special.

We have signed partnership registers,
we have married ourselves,
we have legally tied the knot. Nothing
was quite so special
as drawing rings on ourselves
from pen, and taking arms length
pictures of us, smiling and naked
and happy.

I grew up with a father with
very serious
mental illness.

I wear glasses, and I
love them. My left ear has four
empty holes, my right has
one. My feet appear to have
enlarged during pregnancy;
an un-handy thing in a country
of people
with freakishly small feet.

I love bags. I LOVE camping.
I miss the camp I used
to work at,
but don’t have the energy
to imagine going back.

I can pray before meals
in Spanish, but I don’t pray.

I know an awful lot about
sex and sexuality
and those sorts of things.
Both personally and professionally.

I like play therapy.
(Doing it, I mean, though
I suspect I would like
being in this form
of therapy

I’ve been in therapy.
I have trained as a therapist.
I LOVE it, from either

I always felt like the fat
kid growing up, but when
I look at pictures of my childhood
self I want to reach in
and say,
‘You’re beautiful.’

I am an excellent swimmer.
I love bookshelves.
I like garish colour combinations,
and I also like plain old
ordinary lookin’ good shit.

I blog, I twitter, I fritter
away time
quite effortlessly.

I really really like Shel Silverstein
poems and books. I have a
few postgraduate degrees.
I’ll probably get more.

I worry about things a lot.
I used to be terrified of death,
and to be honest,
I’m not a big fan now. (Who is?)

My grandmother, Coconut’s namesake,
died in 2005
and it’s funny how the world,
like plastic,
has rebounded.
Most of the time.
Other times, I feel bruised and
sore and

I have not kept in touch with
people from high school. (I do not
count facebook as ‘being in touch.’)

I am tall, I am carrying baby weight,
nothing seems to fit me.

I like exploring new cities,
I like walking in new forests,
I want to hike the Appalachin Trail
sometime (soon).

I love Stephen King’s writing,
I need to listen to music when I am
walk-communting for work,
I have two gorgeous babies
who just happen
to be twins.

I took ski lessons as a child. I like
rollerskating a LOT and ‘taught’
TMD. She doesn’t like it.

I read: horror novels,
classics, literary books,
therapy magazines, romances,
children’s books. I LOVE
those written for teens.

I lurk on the borders,
I hog the spotlight,
people seem to like me.

I’ve had a license for 15 years
yet am not allowed
to drive without supervision.
I’ve never had a ticket.

I don’t cook. I like to eat.
I love the world of academia,
I like the smell of university libraries.
I like experiential learning, too.
I am a geek.

I get pissed when I lose at
board games,
I am most upset when I am
perhaps by not speaking up
when I should.

I love waterslides. I am
sometimes deeply annoyed
by people from
the country where I grew up.
God, the accent(s).

I am me, me, me, even
though I am now
Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.
(Or will be ‘Mama’ in about ten
months, all going well.)