Colored Ink
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miss something? check the archives about me name: n/aaliases: kit (and various iterations thereof) age: 25 location: oakland, ca hobbies: reading, writing, doodling, video games likes: reading, writing, doodling. being lazy, mushrooms, animals (especially dogs), food, laughing loudly in public, sushi, long walks in the sunshine, cycling along the San Francisco Bay dislikes: nuts, stinging/biting insects, religious fanatics, violence, olives, teenagers that let old people stand on the bus contact: coloredink(at)gmail.com wishlist a good night's sleepmoney stress-free life hardon-kardon speakers world peace realistic wishlist transmetropolitan vol 5-6, 9-10new shoes long-term obsessions comicsslash writing reading music animals life and living current obsession(s) writing a novelcurrently reading nothing, actuallycurrently playing epic mickeycurrently watching top chefmad men |
Wednesday, January 25, 2012 [link] 01:27 p.m. listening to: Mountain Goats - Woke Up New Another year, another archived page, another day that I'm frankly amazed that pitas is still up and running. One of these days it's going to disappear without warning, and my years and years of self-indulgent whining, pondering, and musings will just disappear into thin air, accessible only in part on the Internet Archive. And it will probably be for the best, really. I feel like I should at least give pitas some money, though. Today's one of those days where I suddenly feel sad and hungry--not hungry in a physical sense--without reason, and on such a day I inevitably become resentful. This happens without warning and often without reason. Today it's about touch, which David Jay talks about much more eloquently than I do. I grew up in a non-touching household in a largely non-touching culture (Chinese-American). I spent my formative years convinced that touching was for weirdos and desperate freaks. In college I fell in with a very touchy, huggy crowd that basically sat on me until I gave in, and from there the lines between appropriate/inappropriate touch became blurred, especially when it came to consent. (My friends sat on me without my consent, after all, which gave me the impression that this was okay behavior, which it's not, even if people have good intentions.) Then for some years I was extremely depressed, during which I craved touch constantly, because I felt miserable and alone and I wanted to be held. Now I've got my head on straight, and now I want to be touched. Some days it's stronger than others. Some days I have fantasies about curling up with someone on the grass outside, or my breath chokes in my chest because I really just want to hold someone's hand. Some days I just really want a hug. I think about Rev. Kathy telling us, "Some people come to church because this is the only time anybody touches them" and I think about what a sad and lonely existence that must be, to go the whole week without human contact. Then I realize that that's me. I have friends. I have family. But I can easily go an entire week without a single hug except for when I get to church and someone says to me, "It's good to see you!" and wraps their arms around me. When did we decide that touch was for children? When did we decide that the desire to be touched was a sign of weakness? Why does everything have to be about sex? Why can't I have a conversation about this without being derided as a freak? Why do my desires have to be seen as juvenile? Why? Why? Why? |
blogs better than mine a better oakland angry asian man dailykos feministing freakonomics neil gaiman oakland living sociological images places to go friends book of genismshike.org pirates' alley yaoiville non-friends casualvillain.comcharming dandy jenwang.net mooncalf quirkybird shadowscapes twoflowerian fiction verabee comics 9 chickweed lanedoonesbury frazz foxtrot something positive pictures for sad children achewood penny arcade three panel soul hark! a vagrant other sites i visit with some frequency explodingdoggamefaqs livejournal orisinal postsecret wikipedia i owe my stress to pitas.com |