It is happening again

I like to tell people that I watched Twin Peaks when it first screened in NZ when I was 10, which is true, I did. It’s not a show for children, and yet it was my favourite TV show. The soundtrack was the first CD I owned. My sisters sent us taped copies from TV after we moved to Japan, until we discovered we could rent them from the video store, and Mum tried to eek them out slowly when I wanted to watch them all. I was allowed to read Dale Cooper’s diary, but not Laura’s, so of course I took it and read it secretly, even though I didn’t understand all of it. I tell this story as shorthand to say hey, this is why I am the way that I am, but it wasn’t until I rewatched it (for the zillionth time) in preparation for the new series that I realised just how much of an impact it had on my sexuality. Fascination with sex work – check. Shelley revealing her stockings & garters – oh hell yes. Thighs in stockings make me weak. Rough sex and multiple partners and dangerous music. I maybe have even pretended that the man I sometimes fuck when we’re in the same city who has long white hair was Bob. Maybe that’s pushing it a bit far. But hey, what can you expect from someone who was raised by David Lynch?

Once again, I had been planning to write this since before the show aired, and tonight is episode 10 and it continues to frustrate me and yet I still hadn’t put words to screen. But reading Lou’s amazing account of her time in New Orleans has made me long to be able to have stories flow from my fingers, so I’m going to try again to keep Hubris up to date. After all, she’s 18 now, perhaps it’s time to get more filthy.

But what to say though? I miss the days before Google, when I would write using people’s full names. Now everyone is online, the level of anonymity is gone. I can’t even write about crushes in the source code anymore, or hide extra information in alt tags or white text on a white page. I mean, I could, but now I know too much about accessibility. And it’s probably early days to write about crushes anyway. I wonder if I am too much, if it’s possible I am a liability. And I wonder if Melodrama  had been released last year, would I have stayed in bed all day listening to it after T broke up with me? Was Lemonade better-timed? But maybe there was too much hope in that, it wasn’t all rage. But that was last year, and things are easier now.

I ordered 15 metres of green velvet online and I’m going to have someone sew me some Scarlett O’Hara curtains. These are the things that consume my mind these days – should I get my carpets taken up to reveal the old floorboards now, or should I wait for summer? Either way, I need to get better at cushioning my knees. I’m too old for shenanigans without something underneath them.

If I had started writing this in May when I meant to, I would have written about hosting a giant dinner party to raise money for Kaibosh, about how my heart overflowed when I was surrounded by lovely people who said kind things about me. I would have written how I’m never happier than when I am providing hospitality to others, which is why so often on Friday nights work drinks end up migrating to my house. Then as June went on, I could have written about my birthday dinners – first with friends at a Chinese restaurant where I insisted we order the set menu so that I didn’t have to stress out about everyone being happy, and then the five courses the next day with family at Noble Rot. I would have written how strange it is to be in that restaurant given the Bakehouse building is where I first did drama lessons when I was 7. Then my mother’s friend brought the building and she opened a craft shop where I worked on weekends when I was 16. Time moves so very quickly now as I get older and older. Sometimes it seems I can tell the days only by what supplements come with the newspaper I read at lunch (although Tuesdays & Thursdays stick out because I get an Eat My Lunch delivery).

But it is okay, time passes, wounds heal, tiny little seedlings poke their heads out of the ground and you wait and see if they’ll bloom. Life goes around in circles. It is happening again.

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