she looked around her appartment, a mess from grief and apathy, to realize she didn't have a single working notebook. nothing with story ideas and doodles, plans for projects, sketches of photographs she wanted to take, create, manipulate the world until it looked to others like it looked to her. she remeber countless teachers, mentors, authority figures disguised as friends, equals disguised as teachers, who kept on telling her she had a gift for this or a nack for that, a flair for composition. but she kept on telling herself that since she didn't draw it was useless, that she didn't do traditional so it didn't matter, she couldn't just do. to just do would be so expensive and pointless. and marketability was important. goals were important. careers and money and all that stuff. throwing yourself into a world of work so you could forget that you were alone.
one day she woke up and wasn't alone and realized that if she wanted the type of circle, support, tribe that she wanted that she didn't want to float about and be whisps and dreams and memories, she didn't want to be everyone's "the one that got away" 'cause she really wanted to be someone's "the one" but not "one" but of two or three or fifteen or fifty the number didn't matter she just wanted to be... wanted. needed. desired by someone day after day and go home not to an empty temporary but a *home* with a *love* and a *family* of sorts. she's had the picture in her mind the entire time so clear.
she wants to create. and this whole education kick is just an incarnation of that. a practical, marketable incarnation of that. i want to create people. but not just people, minds and ideas and hearts. i want to make a difference.
i want house and love and family/tribe and creations that range the spectrum she loves to cook because it's something to create, for others to enjoy. she constantly experements, and tries, to be creative in her creation.
she sees the characters forming more clearly in her mind, for the story that started as a result of a class and the feminist-tendancies of where she lived. she thinks she can write men now, she's not nearly so bitter. and yes, there will be space lesbians, lots of space lesbians, and earth lesbians too, but that's ok 'cause its part of the plot, and not just her acting out her lesbian fantasys in her head or paper 'cause she has a girlfriend (or two or five) and no longer needs to get it out somewhere else.
it all makes sense now. i get where these feelings of lack of empty of floating are comeing from. i understand what i'm doing and why. i feel like, bricks, are no longer dragging at my knees. the weight of a thousand worlds lifted from my shoulder. now i need to do something about it....