life hack: add glitter to patriarchy to make it liberal feminism
It’s Hard to Eat Cereal When You’re Lonely
The below post is the pilot for a series on queer dating that I’m considering writing. If you’d like to see more, please favorite and share this post or message me with critiques/suggestions for future writing.
There’s a period of adjustment after a partnership ends. Of course each party must make changes in their daily schedule; remember the route to work from a long-abandoned house, the way you used to take your coffee before organic honey and name brand cream, which alarm you prefer in the morning, the gentle melody of spring song birds or the quiet breath of lover not yet gone stale. There are the temptations of vices set aside in selfless compromise, calling back through hungry nights that they never let you down, they never cancelled on you, you were the one who left but you are forgiven. Rectify your demons. Possessions spring back and wilt away, a pendulum of ownership and debt springing from the circuit of power you have been dutifully treading. Although you expect the turmoil and uncomfortable clarity in your own skin, you are never quite prepared to remember that this was the gallon of milk he bought the last night he slept over, an icon of dependency in a gallery of glib affection. You will slowly start a tally: one box of rotini, a cubic yard of dark soil, eight pieces of bittersweet chocolate – all the little markers that you still need him, that you are still grasping at ghosts. You resent the pasta. You don’t even like rotini. How dare this casseroli pretender spend another night in your home when you cannot even shut your eyes for fear that you might accidentally dream about a man that never existed in a life you almost had?
Eventually, you, or a merciful angel, dispose of the rotini, and the potting soil, and the over-prized melting chocolates, and the karmic balance of your home settles a little further toward equilibrium. Do not grow complacent in your newfound agency, however, for in the moments of sweet surrender to your own mind, you discover rural colonies of detractors. Communities of raised eyebrows and pointed questions that develop highways through self-care to selfishness, thoroughfares that bypass history for plastic mini-malls of acceptance. Attempt to un-plug. Turn further inward to the center, or what passes for a well-balanced shelf. Do not engage with these hostile entities, for they will attack when provoked. Most of all do not turn back. Do not finish honey-do lists. Forget projected rebuilding costs and long-weekends of sweat and leather. No, in the aftermath of loss you cannot eat cold leftovers in the hopes they will taste of a gourmet meal.
When love dies, you must stand at the grave and mourn.
i observe men in silence, how they leave plates on dining room tables, how they slam doors, how they take up whole couch with legs sprawled and lounging arms, how they do not filter speech, too confident, too loud. voices always violent, everything a war.