2012.

I don't need to spend more time online, and really my toddler won't let me. But alas, here I am. And strangely even considering finally succumbing to Facebook. I'm feeling disconnected, and struggling with liking being disconnected from many things/people and then missing others. Shocker: turns out community *does* impact identity? But what 1997 is it that I'm talking about these things?

It's less than two weeks into the new year and the most productive things I've done have been two job applications and making a list of every New Years Eve I can remember. There's a tearjerker. I love New Year's Eve! Oscar Night and Halloween. My High Holidays. Well, I like the actual ones of those too.

Simple Resolutions: cut down how much I type the word "really" and say the words "I know." Baby has picked up the latter so it must be a bunch.

Here's a letter that I hoped to make into a zine that I wrote for my friend Sarah Mangle last night. It's an immediate response to her new zine, Tourism of the Heart. You can pick up a copy from my kitchen table.

Your zine made me think about:
James/time
romanticising other places. How I want to live in Halifax, but also New Orleans and Guelph (I don't want to live in New Orleans, it just made me think of it.)
I like the line (page) about friendship not being about Not Fucking Up. I also like that it's true even if i have a hard time believing it. I'm weird and teary around friend conflict these days.
That my favourite writing is always writing that normalizes things that are regular to me. Like how you didn't explain the zine radio show.
I guess on that note, also things that criticize things from within the bubble. Activism, queers, sex work ideologies. I've been in a straight relationship for so long that I lose track of just being on the map not being enough. (I am not an island! Or am I?)
also i like that i get to be in this one. i like that i got to pick my name for it. it makes me feel more punk rock to be in your zine. i hope i live up to it.

These are things I am thinking about now: Maybe my baby has a lactose intolerance. Maybe she is just eating too much fruit. I had a conversation with Rox about the conversation you had with her about how the two of you deal with conflict. I never tell you when I'm mad at you. [I made a little list here but am being shy about writing it on the Internet.] I wonder if I will make out with your friend. I think about the domestic aspects of friendships I have that always take place in my apartments. How my allergies play into my social dynamics. How that's not great because I am already territorial. We add bacon to the brussel sprouts. It basically cancels them out. I need to stop being so scared that I always end with humour. I need to not treat adults like they're babies who will always choose the last option they hear. I guess adults should also stop acting like that. We had a writing group too, Sundays.

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That's the end of my letter to Sar. I have been wanting to be online more in a way that's about reaching out and also remembering. Baby brain has been real for me, I'm losing touch in ways that my A+ memory would have never before. I won't call it a regret, because it wasn't a choice, but I wish so much that I'd documented my search for a sperm donor, my insemenation and pregnancy, Anna's first year of life. I couldn't, it was a choice between blogging and taking showers. It took effort to pee and not puke and things that I just needed to deal with. There's a lot of privilege that goes unacknowleged within radical parenting circles. That hurts.