I have some more important news. I sent my letter to about 60 MPs yesterday after posting here and this morning I have already gotten four replies. See, I'm not completely useless. And it probably goes without saying that I did NOT send it to Päivi Räsänen. We've already agreed once, I don't think that's going to happen again.
I just finished the background research for my letter about the subject. Since I can't be there next Thursday I'm going to write a message to some of the MPs who supported the registration law few years ago. This message might not have any effect at all but at least I've tried the best I can.
I've always considered myself unsuitable for a mother. Not because I'm gay (I think that would only be a positive thing) but because I fear I might become MY mother: inpatient and hypocrite whose raising methods include public humiliation, lying and double standard.
Now I’ve started thinking differently. I have quite possibly fallen to the very illusion that makes the humankind survive and continue its existence but I keep thinking I would be a better parent than my own. I would tell my children I love them regularly, I wouldn’t lie to them, I wouldn’t humiliate them like my mother did, I wouldn’t use them to hurt others by turning them against those people… in short, I would treat them as a loving mother should. I’m just afraid I couldn’t keep these thoughts and then become my mother.
But if I were able to conquer those fears and found a loving woman by my side, I would want to have the possibility to have a family by artificial insemination. I do hope the MPs don’t go veiling their own prejudices with the illusion of what they think is better for children. A loving parent isn’t genitals, it’s a real person with feelings, capability to love (be the object a man or a woman) and feel empathy. Why can’t they see that?
I’ve had an excellent day, again. This has got to be a record of some kind. I’ve never had this long period without a single bad day. Amazing how a few little things combined with love can transform a dyed-in-the-wool pessimist into a (probably very irritating) Roxette-singing optimist.
“Every time I see you I try to hide away
But when we meet it seems I can’t let go
Every time you leave the room I feel I’m fading like a flower”
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I have one somewhat high-flown dream; I would want to publish a book. It would be a short story collection about lesbianism. I’ve already thought of dedicating it to Her. Somewhere in the back of my utterly childish mind I keep imagining the situation where I would write Her name above the dedication, give the book to Her and She would kiss me passionately as the violins play in the background…Yes, I know. “I’d like to get the odds of that in Vegas.” But as said, even the idea itself has wings. Well, we’ll see. Maybe…
Remember the teacher who hugged me out of nowhere a couple of weeks ago? I’m just coming from one of her lectures and this grin on my face won’t fade. She was going through the class checking up who’s present. She said that people who have small handwriting (and she knows my handwriting is miniature size) are control freaks and told me to ask my boyfriend if I didn’t believe her. I straightened her by saying that I don’t have one and not going to have one. Her reply was something I didn’t expect: “Darling, you have to have sex.” I was so dumbfounded that my comment of not needing men to have sex was gone with the wind. I mean, I grew up in a family where two the most essential parts of life were considered a taboo (death and sex, that is). I’m not used to some stranger tell me something even my parents never said out loud.
Suffering Sappho, I’m still grinning…
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The Shakespearian quote is, by the way, from All's well that ends well, scene three in the last lines of the king of France. And the picture underneath this text is by the glorious Markus Mayer.
I just had an interesting gossip with a male friend of mine. He’s writing his master’s thesis at the moment about the language in a certain field of gay culture. He mentioned that he has a working gaydar. He seemed a bit surprised when I told him I was gay. But I suppose it doesn’t exactly damage his maleness since his already engaged. Good for me, usually men seem offended by me after this.
I don’t think this can be classified as “coming out” for I’ve never really been in the closet in the first place; I’ve never claimed to be straight. If someone asks me if I’m gay I answer truthfully but I have absolutely no intension of making a huge fuss about it. I mean, since when has a heterosexual emphasised their straightness unless it’s relevant to the matter at hand (unless their homophobic, of course)?
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I saw Her today again. I shouldn't have my mind filled with lewd thoughts every time She comes (note the pun) anywhere near me.
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And in case anyone is wandering, the title is from Shakespeare's play, King Henry III if I'm not mistaken. I'm probably wrong since I was just reading Julius Ceasar and Shakespeare has numerous King Henry plays so I might confuse them. I'll check it for tomorrow's entry unless someone corrects me before that.
I just had to spend half of the week at my parents’ house. Last night I finally got home. People kept asking me at the end of the week why I was being so rude. I wasn’t being rude; I was just feeling thoroughly miserable. The second I cross the threshold of that house I become fifteen again (and start behaving the same way, too), and that’s certainly not what I want to be ever again.
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The first thing I did when I got to my hometown was to go to Combat (it’s a gym class). God it felt good. Ever since from Thursday I counted hours to the moment when I could hear the warm-up songs again (the other one being Nirvana, by the way).
She was there too. She’s there almost every Sunday. Not the reason why I go there, just for the record. Actually it was a coincidence she goes there as well. I joined the gym before I had even met Her.
The definition of stalking can, by the way, be checked from www.laki24.fi; I’m not, fortunately, qualified to the district of restraining order.
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I found Roxette again last night. If someone had seen me they would have thought I had escaped a mental institution. I was arranging my room dancing and singing Roxette (“Don’t bore us, get to the chorus!”) while wearing a Children of Bodom -shirt. Talking about the ability to contradict (can you spell Nietzsche?). At this moment I have The Look playing in my inner jukebox. If I cared what some people think I would be embarrassed.
“What does it matter what anybody thinks? Most people don’t think.”
(Grady Tripp, Wonderboys)
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I have a small snake fixation, hence the picture. This has nothing to do with Potters, though I may be slightly Slytherin-ish. I'm very fond of my Kalevala snake ring. I got Her initials carved inside it last spring. A little memory of Her (as if I needed anything to remind me...).
