So just lately theres been a fair few people letting me know that I’m considered selfish or a drama queen causing or feeding of the things which would even cause the dramallama shame. I’m twenty six not sixteen, but apparently my life choices mean that I’m not supposed to have any concept of responsibility or adulthood, well it has to be said I’d rather not be entirely grown-up and I’d like to give the next few conversations on moragages and house-ownership and how exactly we’re going to manage to get through this credit crunch a miss.
I won’t apologise for being myself and sure, I’ll wish that people paid more attention than they generally do when I say who I am. Maybe there’ll come a day when I admit defeat and that living as myself is just causing other people too much hassle and have to compromise, but that day isn’t here just because I have to live in the adult world. I get to decide what that life means (and frankly if I fill my room with ball pool balls then that’s my own business), sure, I can’t get a job for love nor money which I wasn’t expecting with all the little plans I had, on the other hand whenever people ask me that damned five year question I know what I want and I’m too ashamed to answer.
I want to be a writer more than ever. I loved teaching, my gods I loved teaching. I hated it too and I’ve not got the discipline for this country. I’ve thought now several times this year that maybe I could get this job and I could bring some money in and help out Foo before I really go for it as a writer. Nothing’s worked, there’s always some reason that someone else is better at what I’ve tried than I am.
I keep ending up taking the charity of men who like seeing me naked and I’m getting fed up of five years masturbating at web cams – sorry guys it has been fun and I’ve enjoyed most every minute of it but I’d like a real job. I’d like to get paid for my writing.
If anything makes me childish then it’s that. I desire to live my dreams and I’ll keep trying. The life that everyone else – when it comes right down to it – seems to want is not one that I’ve ever really desired for myself. Actually, that’s a lie. By the life I mean, settle down in a family group and raise children, maybe even have them. It’s funny, because I guess the sudden grasp of when I do desire such things has really brough home to me that poly isn’t just a label some guy from San Fran thrust on me as I was explaining my philosophy of life and sex to him.
When I’m happy and loved and comfortable and I feel stable, that’s when I start to think I could be a parent and that doesn’t happen when I’m in a couple. That happens when the Jellicle, My Gentleman Friend and I are debating matters Pagan over a pint in the bar. That happens when Lexy, FJ and I are curled in a dozy pile on the Jellicle’s sofa. That happens when FJ and M-i-L are kissing in my kitchen as the Jellicle is nicking a cake I just got out of the oven. There’s a sense of home, that causes conversations to happen, conversations that consolidate dreams, that make me feel settled within what my brain/body/soul/self says ‘yes’ to, thinks is home.
But my priority remains the same. I want to make it as a writer, preferably of fiction and I don’t want marriage, or kids in a situation that I don’t feel that same happiness as I do waking up in a house and having breakfast with a group of us. I’m poly, that’s a real part of who I am, same as I’m bi, same as I’m Mish. Maybe that’s the happiest I’m ever going to get the days and evenings and holidays with the Jellicle, FJ and Lexy, those hugs and conversations and all that love, with the Jellicle, FJ, Lexy and M-i-L, maybe that’s as close to what I’d consider perfect that I get to have. It’s closer to perfect happiness than I ever expected, I’m fairly sure that it’s more than I ever deserved.
Perhaps this makes me a child, maybe in a lot of people’s eyes the inability to feel as complete and at home within a couple as I do in a multi-person relationship counts as immaturity but I’ve no money for therapy and I wouldn’t want it. I’ve had those moments, and maybe they might come again, but even if they don’t I think I’ll stick to being myself and remembering them when I’m old and published.
Poly is about sharing love, it’s about love growing between multiple people and it feels so perfect when it’s right that I can hardly express it, and when it’s fucked it’s shitty as all hell… oh wait, I’ve heard that happens with monogamy too.
Am I writing this because I feel some sort of need to justify myself? Am I looking for a pat on the head and some sort of oh we understand now and we’ll stop bitching about you? Hardly. Those people who think such stupid things about me are going to keep right on doing that no matter what I write, they sure as hell don’t read this blog. Hell some sort of supreme being could descend from the sky announce I was absolutely perfect and should begin my ascention right there and some people would still hold I was some sort of energy sucking vampire. I’m just angry and venting, angry at people judging situations on half-truths and the most ridiculous rumours known to man. I mean, the fertility pills shit was at least vaguely funny (as well as hurtful as all hell) but I can’t believe how many people seem to regard adulthood as being the ultimate excuse for shutting their brains down and narrowing as many outlooks on life as they can find.
I was there with you. I was listening to everything you said. How many of you have decided you were mistaken or drunk or young? Wasn’t anyone expressing the truth or were you all just trying to be fashionable?
I’ll stick to loving and I’d much rather do that and be considered a child or hurtful than the alternative. At least I mean it.