May 26, 2010


I was quite drunk, walking down steps in heels carrying a bag with my overnight stuff.
Some of the women were standing smoking and talking at the bottom of the steps. It was sunny. One of them noticed my condition and offered her hand.
'Thank you.'
'Your very welcome.'
'Good night.'
'Good night.'

I think I heard one of them say she couldn't believe I'd gone home without getting off with anyone. I think the one who offered her said she thought that was probably why I was leaving. I saw her watching as shook hands and hugged goodbye with others inside. I really was quite, quite drunk.

There was a warmth, a closeness, a strength. Whatever I am, I love butch women.

Mum didn't seem to happy when I asked if my sister had any plans to deal with her drinking. She can't go on like that forever. I just keep thinking of the wee ones, looking at there mum in that state. The glazed eyes, to total lack of awareness of whats going on around her. Maybe mum thinks I'm no better but I always have plans. I talk to doctors, I seek advice.

The end of course is practically postable. I'm getting a bit sick of it now anywhere. It goes tomorrow, or the day after if I can't get to the post office. There's a bit in the middle I'm not sure about but that stands to reason.
Its a million miles away from most of the poems I've read in journals. So much of it has very little to say beyond 'arn't humans complicated' maybe thats all mines says too.

I don't my tutor got that I lifted that cross for real. I thought about putting more detail in about what it was like when I was alone and tried to lift it, ouch. I started just by putting my fingers under it, then lifted it a little higher every time.

Don't feel anywhere near writing it in prose yet. It will probably come, maybe when I least expect it.