Dangerous Compassions

what I mean when I say I love you

I decorated my purple bag with this gold ribbon which is now fraying and ready to go.  It was for xmas.  Ready for a new ribbon now.

We went to Red Rock yesterday.  It was beautiful.  I saw trailside snow glistening in the morning light.  I put some on my head and it melted, a blessing.

(I told Ming one time–when you make tea, you’re supposed to use water that’s fresh, not reboil the old water.  He laughed at me, saying how all the water of the world is being used over and over again.  I said something about the bubbles coming out.  He wasn’t buying it.)

I sat on a big rock as Ming hiked and wrote something I’d been thinking about for 20 years.  Not sure why it took me so long!  I guess the moment was finally right.

My friend had her baby today.  He’s gorgeous.  He doesn’t have a name yet.

I copied a new zine today–it may be the longest I’ve ever made?  Or tied for longest at 32 pages.  I drew some cute robots.

I have some ideas that feel good.  I think I’m going to cut my hair soon.  Well, I probably won’t do it myself–I’ll ask someone else to do it.

That reminds me of when I was living in Sacramento and decided to cut my hair.  I asked my friend H to do it.  She used to cut her own hair sometimes, and I admired her bravery.  But she said no–she was brave enough to cut her own hair, but not mine.  So my hair stayed long because I changed my mind.

I was thinking short in the back and slightly longer on top–poofy maybe, like a mushroom?  I really don’t know what my hair would do, short, seeing as it hasn’t been short since I was, uh, three years old.

My throat hurts, and I remember this book I read once (a coffee table kind of book?) called Shit White Girls Say, and one of the first ones was “I think I’m getting sick.”

The other day I told Ming, “Don’t be like a white person.”  I never said that sentence before.  We were talking about hair color–he said his hair was black.  I know it comes out of his head kind of black, but it turns absolutely brown. 

It always bothered me, white people saying I have black hair when it isn’t remotely black.  I have brown-ass hair.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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