Confessions

I have not always been like this.

I have not always believed that it's the little things that count. I used to obsess hard-core over the big things until I realised that it's the little things that add up to make the little things. How foolish I felt. No matter how big and daunting the big things may seem, they are only a bunch of little things grouping together to try and fool you. I am fooled easily. And often.

I have not always believed that I am a lesbian. There was one point [or maybe many points] in my life when I thought the lesbians were gross and weird. The more I thought about it, though, the more it made sense. Why would someone restrict themself to the opposite gender when her own could very well be where her true heart lies? I couldn't tell you. I also couldn't pinpoint the exact time or place that I realised that I did not like boys. I knew during high school, but I thought at the time that I was only being rebellious and fitting the stereotype of all rebellious children. I remember talking to one friend or another and telling her that boys are gross and dumb and that they deserve to die. [I apparently had a tendency to be mean.]

I no longer hate men, but they still tend to give me the creeps. I don't really know why. It could, of course, have something to do with that extra thing dangling between their legs. I have a strong suspicion that that's the case. There are, however, many men that I admire for odd reasons [Patrick Stewart, for example, or Neil Gaiman, or D], so it seems that I don't yet loathe them enough to ostracise them from my very thoughts.

I have penchant for reading children's books. I'm still stuck in the fantasy world with Tamora Pierce and Madeline L'Engle, because these writers shaped my childhood in many odd and wonderful ways. Madeline got me to wanting to learn about physics and dimensions beyond the third, which led me to learning the basics of string theory, which makes me fell terribly important. Tamora brought me back to the natural world to that I could just sit for hours and look out the window or up at the sky and not be bored at all.

I am fascinated beyond belief with the patterns that emerge in nature, both in the microcosm and the macrocosm. And yet I still don't manage to feel insignificant. I don't understand that, because looking up [or down, or sideways or longways or shortways or any other way you can think of] doesn't make me feel miniscule. I have yet to reach that point beyond pure wonderment that somehow all of these things fell together at the right moment so I could be here and now rambling on and on about things that I feel no real need to talk about. It's just the intrinsic nature of my being.