Here’s the message:

Dear FutureMe,

read this and post about it:

http://www.alternet.org/sex/47666/

And so that’s what I’m doing.  It’s appropriate for today, the day before Valentine’s day.

I’m finding my happiness isn’t so much a function of how well things are going, but how much I’m trying to control the world.  Ironically, the less I try to control the world, the better things go.

The lab has been busy lately.  Lots of people are getting things done around me.  It’s easy for me to start feeling bad because I haven’t gotten certain things done.  But I don’t actually start working until I forgive myself for that and start thinking about what I want to give.

This is true of love too.  It’s just hard to remember.

I spent the day surrounded by beautiful things: the words of Dr. King. People who love me. Beautiful music inspired by the day, by San Diego, by the divine, by the erotic. Dancing and difference and queer bodies. Food made with love and shared with love.

The Sex Worker’s Art Show came to San Diego, and along with it inspiration and beauty and celebration. Bodies of different colors, shapes, sizes, and genders. Bodies laughed about, spoken through, and hungered for. Words sweated over and delivered passionately.

But today I felt wounded, despite all this beauty. Continually unable to smile, or only able to smile briefly. Able to connect my love to another human being for a moment, only to lose it; to wander back into a place of fear.

I think, for better or for worse, Dr. King’s message got lost in this.

The end of ‘The Island,’ too, is a beautiful moment. It’s not so bad… sometimes you just realize you don’t want something anymore.

The rest of the comics are wonderful too. They’re personal and always a little queer. One woman with no nipples, another who smells like sour milk, both intensely desirable.

What’s wonderful is to remember that it’s not conformity that we want to curl up with at night, but beauty. It’s the supposed ‘defects’–the cracks in the walls and the strange lumps–that arouse our senses and remind us that we’re alive.

I don’t know how to say this any other way, so… I’m leaving you.

In the garbage.

I know it’s cliche, but: It’s not you. It’s me. I wish things were different. I love your veganness, and that you came from El Zarape, the best mexican restaurant in San Diego. I love that I met you at the CogSci beach party, and that I salvaged you so that you wouldn’t be wasted, all 20 pounds of you. I’ll never forget all of those happy nights we spent together, you in my belly. Staying up all night, laughing, talking about the fossil fuels we were saving by working together to keep me nourished.

But it’s been a little over a week now, and it’s hurting me to continue this way. Everyone said it shouldn’t last more than a day. That in the fridge you’re a breeding ground for bacillus cereus, and that I was a fool to keep you around so long.

I told myself no, this is different. We just have to be careful and use the microwave every time we do it. I kept thinking my love for you was so deep that it could overcome even the laws of biology.

But something changed in me today, and I realized that you might be the cause of this week’s mild sickness. Not full-on food poisoning, but my immune weakness. I hate it that we’re hurting each other.

I think this is better for both of us. In the garbage your bacillus cereus can flourish in a way that I could never let you flourish. That’s what you are meant to be. It will be hard to be without you, but I’d rather see you thrive out there in the world than be locked in a box with me.

Love Always,

Erik

Browsing is comfortable. My mind starts reaching for someone I fell in love with, someone whose approval I crave. She is twisted into some kind of Athena, a fictional beast who bears the sword of feminine redemption. A little tentacle reaches out to her. She feels comfortable. She made me feel complete once, maybe that feeling is still there.

“No,” I have to tell myself. It’s an empty story, a nonexistant character. She won’t redeem you. She doesn’t even exist. I eat, to fill the void. Food eaten like that is poison, and I feel sick. I shake, and I curl up inside.

I make lists, I organize, I put one foot in front of the other, and these impulses to comfort myself keep creeping in. I stop to write a poem. The poem becomes a journal entry. I try to put into words what I feel. Worries of deadlines and responsibilities creep in. I keep writing, joylessly. You’re reading this.

What I need is to stand on my feet, breathe deep, step out into the world and do.

Here’s the speech:

Thank you Mr. Speaker and Members of the Committee.

I am not going to speak of specifics regarding this bill, but rather talk about history and philosophy in regards to this issue.

It is an exciting time to be in the legislature while this issue is being debated. I believe this is the Civil Rights struggle of my generation.

Being a student of history, as many of you are, and going back through history, most of history has been driven by the struggle of man against government to endow him with more rights, privileges and liberties to be bestowed upon him.

In all of my high school courses, we only made it through history to World War 2. It wasn’t until college that I really learned of the civil rights movement in the 60’s. My American History professor was black, and we spent a week discussing civil rights. I watched video after video where people stood on the sidelines and yelled and threw things at black students walking into schools, I’ve read editorials and reports by both sides of the issue, and I would think, how could society feel this way, only 40 years ago.

Under a democracy the civil rights struggle continues today, where we have one segment of our society trying to restrict rights and privileges from another segment of our society. My parents raised me to know that this is wrong.

It is wrong for one segment of society to restrict rights and freedoms from another segment of society. I believe many of you have had this conversation with your children.

And children have listened, my generation, the twenty-somethings, and those younger than I understand this message of tolerance. And in 20 years, when they take the reigns of this government and all governments, society will see this issue overturned, and people will wonder why it took so long.

My kids and grandkids will ask me, why did it take so long? And I can say, hey, I was there, I discussed these issues, and I stood up for basic rights for all people.

I echo Representative Childers concerns, that testifying against this bill may cost me my seat. I have two of my precinct committee persons behind me today who are in favor of this bill, as I stand here opposed, and I understand that I may very well lose my election. It cost 4 moderate Republican Senators in Kansas their election last year for standing up on this same issue. But I tell myself that there are some issues that are greater than me, and I believe this is one of them. And if standing up for equal rights costs me my seat so be it. I will let history be my judge, and I can go back to my constituents and say I stood up for basic rights. I will tell my children that when this debate went on, I stood up for basic rights for people.

I can debate the specifics of this bill back and forth as everyone in this room can, but I won’t because the overall theme is fairness, and you know it. I hope you will all let history be your judge with this vote. You all know in your hearts where this issue is going, that it will come to pass in the next 30 years. For that, I ask you to vote no today on the bill. Thank you.

Awareness courtesy of Alas, a blog who got it from Pandagon.

And recently I’m starting to feel pretty well sorted about the whole thing. Take one recent point of confusion:

She has a great long, sexy back… I’ve been painfully aware of that. Honestly, I’m slightly ashamed to admit it, but I may have coveted it; thought about it; mourned its departure from my life. I’m sorry, it’s lovely! But christ, and this is what my inner therapist is telling me: It’s not the only one in the world! It’s not like there aren’t woman everywhere with the same. And even the deeper things I covet about her… her confidence, her feminism… she’s not the only one with these things. And yeah, she laughs at me, yes she loves food, but c’mon Erik: not the only fish in the sea!

And I think this is one of the most dangerous things about falling in love. You start locking to a person all the wonderful things you love about them. You start associating everything that’s good in the world with that person. And the fact that they rejected you… it feels like everything good in the world rejecting you.

And I think the solution is just to focus on the things that really are unique about them. This girl I got tied up in, she loves the part of the world we both came from in a way that’s hard to find. When we hang out back home, it just feels like home in a way that is hard to find, certainly all the way out here in San Diego. We really connect about that, and that’s worth coveting. And she does seem to have a magical approach to her priorities that I haven’t been able to figure out, let alone emulate.

You can also try to take the realistic approach. Everyone has their flaws, and it can help to look at something you love about someone and realize that those same things are problems in other contexts. Unfortunately, if you really love this person, you’ll want to take the drama along with the ecstasy, so this isn’t much of a strategy.

Anyway, it turns out those things I mentioned…. the ones which are truly unique about her… I’m not pining for them. I can do without them, or look for them elsewhere. And the other things.. the sexiness, the feminism, the confidence… those are totally findable in other places…. other places that will be totally into my sexy back, my feminism, and my confidence. And that’s truly something to covet, eh?

But maybe most important are the things I covet about my feelings towards her. I was in love with her. That’s truly precious, to fall in love. And we both thought we were soul mates. That’s precious. And while those things are harder to find than a great backline and even harder to find attached to a great backline… they’re out there. And I’m awesome, right? And I’m emotionally open to falling in love again. So it’s just a matter of keeping my eyes open and being my spectacular self, yeah?

The point is, while my mind may still periodically wander to that spot just below the small of her back, the healthy way out of the unhealthy cycle is looking to the world for the generic stuff and finding it instead of looking to this girl. And she’s probably happier with that state of affairs too.

In case you hadn’t guessed, I found my camera! It turns out I left it in Stephanie’s car after the reading at The Rubber Rose… which was awesome, by the way. It was a sort of book release party for The IHOP Papers, a novel by Ali Liebegott. I think it was part of some kind of LGBT reading series they have there. Attached to the “sexuality boutique”, The Rubber Rose has this community space where a lot of performance art and gallery showings happen, and it was packed with Ali’s friends and appreciators. People from many different parts of her life (students, partners, publishers) all read from her book, and it was amazing to see someone accomplishing something so cool with such great support from her community. It was obvious Ali had given a lot to those people and that they’d given back.

So. Valentine’s Day.

I wasn’t even really thinking about Valentine’s Day until I stumbled out of the lab at about noon and realized that campus was awash with dapper young men with bouquets of roses and sorority sisters dressed up in tiny little matching pink polka-dotted dresses.

And I felt a twinge of sadness that I would have no Valentine this year, that I would probably not even get a Valentine’s Day card or phone call. It was a depressing thought. But then I thought, why do I deserve a valentine? I hadn’t given any, why should anyone give one to me? I hadn’t asked anyone to be my valentine, why would I expect to be in any other position?

So, I tore down some faded red flyers that were posted, ran back to the lab, found a pair of scissors and made some valentines for my lab mates and other loved ones. It’s awesome to get your creativity on, it’s awesome to salvage materials from the trash, and it’s awesomer to turn minor depression into cause for adventure.

I left them on keyboards and delivered them in person, and it was really nice to see people smile. Brynn gave me a big hug. I still didn’t receive any valetines, but I felt pretty good about my love Karma.

My Valentine’s evening was to be a quiet night at home and at the laundromat. I cooked up some Rapini, which is a really intensely flavored leafy green, sometimes known as Broccoli Rabe. It comes in our food box, and I’ve been stir-frying it, but this recipe came right from our farmer. She said to sautee it in olive oil with garlic and raisins and then squeeze lemon juice over it. Basically, you put it in with a bunch of other super-intense flavors and they miraculously all stand up to each other. It was delicious.

I added cashews for some extra protein, but the cashew flavor, which is normally pretty detectable, was totally dominated by the other flavors. They provided a nice crunch though.

That said, by the time I had eaten dinner and sat in the laundromat until 9:30pm, I was again thoroughly depressed that no one was thinking of me this Valentine’s Day and I had no one to think of. My mind wandered to all of my friends out there spending the evening with a lover or a friend. I trudged home with my folded laundry feeling sorry for myself. At the apartment I joked a little about it with Kerry and Gina, but then they left and I was alone in the apartment again.

I peeked my head out the window and saw that my neighbor Carrie had her light on and her door open, so I poured a glass of wine and went down to say hello. She could totally see in my eyes that I was feeling down, and she immediately said we should get a drink at the Tractor Room.

To make a long story short, it was just the nicest possible end to the day. Carrie and I had a great chat about all kinds of stuff… romance, the fact that she prefers tropical beaches and prefer New England lakes, self-empowerment, the crazy tasty drinks we were being served… I don’t know, it was just a great conversation.

It’s funny how we find things in unexpected places. I think of Carrie as an awesome neighbor more than a best friend, but this is the second time she’s just come along at the perfect time and picked me up a bit.

And that’s what friendship is. That’s what love is. Stepping outside of your own day-to-day concerns, looking into someone’s soul, and reaching a hand out to them.

And it’s a nice feeling.

Last week it was Kaya’s birthday and I made Falafel for her birthday dinner. Everything from scratch: fresh Falafel, fresh pitas, tahini sauce, tzadziki sauce, plus fresh tomatoes, lettuce, and onions. Pretty much the same recipe as we made at Emily’s in Cambridge, except that this time Kensy brough his special favorite yoghurt. The photos sort of speak for themselves, but it was really tasty, and I think Kaya was really happy that we did something special for her, and I was really happy to see her smiling.

Last weekend I went down to Punta Banda, Mexico. I guess you already know that from the video I posted. That was the primary output of the weekend, I suppose. But it was also fantastic to get to spend some time with Josh and Aaron. Aaron lives down there and works for the organic produce distributor his Aunt and Uncle own.

We had a great time. There was some drinking, there was some cooking, there was some visiting of amazing taquerias. The taqueria down there is a totally different experience. You order things directly from the guy at the grill, and he whips tacos together like lightning. You can order a bunch and then sit and eat, but a lot of people just stand there, ordering and eating things as they feel. It’s fast enough you don’t need to plan ahead.

And I should mention the content, which is delicious cilantro and onions and salsa and chicken on tasty, chewy grilled corn tortillas. We walked past a tortilleria in the market, and it was amazing! These women were shepherding bits of dough into this amazing greasy black Rube Goldberg machine that pressed them into perfect circles, send them along a conveyor belt, dropped them onto a big round griddle, which rotated around to a contraption that flipped them.

The tortillas were coming off so fresh and fragrant and toasty and puffy. Man. I really need to get back into making tortillas. I feel like there is so much more art for me to master.

The one other thing I want to mention is the dinner co-op I am starting. I think I blogged about it a few weeks ago, but this week Kensy and Kaya signed on emotionally to support the idea, and it was off like a flash. The three of us ate on Tuesday (stir fry!) and we decided to do it every Tuesday and Thursday. Last night we had indian at my place. Kensy and I cooked up Aloo Saag and Chana Masala, and invited a handful of hillcrest people who we know. I was really excited that my friend Matthew who I know through the women’s center came and brought his roommates. They were totally fun to meet.

The food and camraderie was great, as was the ensuing debauchery and the going out and dancing and the coming home at 2am to an enormous pile of dishes. But one of the nicest moments of the evening for me was talking to Matthew about the art project I’m working on. I’ve been going through some rough emotional spots for the last month or two. One of my friendships which is one of the most important to me in the world has been a real struggle recently, for a ton of tough reasons. And my approach to these things is really to try to understand them deeply and to explore my thoughts and emotions until I feel like I can see a clear picture. But for some reason in this case that’s been super hard. So it’s been a struggle.

But I had a totally cathartic moment on Thursday. Something changed in me, and I felt like all the sudden, instead of sinking I was heading up to the surface for air. And I don’t think I’m quite at the point where I’m taking in that first big gulp of breath, but the feeling of moving up is wonderful. And I think expressing where I’m at through art is going to be really therapeutic. And Matthew was really supportive of that, and his support meant a lot a lot to me.

Also, my dad gives good advice about love.