~*New Feature*~

September 26, 2008

I’m sure you are amazed by my misuse of random characters. What could it be, this new feature that requires such juvenile decor? It is:

Virginia’s Bisexual Icon of the Week!ta da!

In light of one of my recent posts about how I missed out on a significant event in my life because I didn’t know bisexual was an option, I have decided to start compiling a list of prominent bisexual people. How dull monosexualism will seem in comparison!

First up: Virginia Woolf

As a woman so awesome I named my blog after her Virginia Woolf has to come first. She was an intelligent and sensitive woman and born into the privilege of literary high society. It was a natural progression that surrounded by creative people on all sides she should become a novelist herself, pioneering modernist styles with strong psychological development of her characters.

Virginia was a feminist and advocated that women have the potential to be equal to men in creativity given the time, space and freedom from financial worry to do so. In her upper class Bloomsbury group and creative circles it was common to take a lover in addition to marriage, so although she was devoted to her husband Leonard she simultaneously had another long term partner, Vita Sackville-West.

It is thought that childhood abuse from her half brothers and deaths of many significant family members in her youth triggered fragile mental health for the rest of Virginia’s life. She had multiple breakdowns and it has been theorised that she may have been bipolar. At the age of 59 she drowned herself.

I think Virginia Woolf means something to me because I empathise with the way she writes about things. I know what it feels like to dissociate from the world because I’m so tangled in a web of my own thoughts (albeit less well constructed thoughts than hers). I understand how emotion can be there beneath the surface without being acknowledged, and what it feels like to be torn by something you refuse to admit exists. Virginia speaks to a side of my character that very few people do.


May 27, 2008

What I should have been writing about today, of course, are my secrets which are untraceable, rather than my public experiences which will glow of me-ness to anyone I am non-sexually intimate with.

On friday I was in a fug. I’m not sure where the word comes from but I feel it means a misery fog – it is thick and gloomy and makes you feel a bit isolated. I bought a small notebook (I now wish I’d gone for a bigger one) took myself to a coffee shop and sketched out the basic plotlines for the four major characters in my new script story. The women are clearer in my head but that seems normal, the men will come out in time. The fug became less sticky – or I started vibrating from the caffeine. My evening improved from there.

The point is that I haven’t pulled my disappearing act for a long time. It’s not something I ever did that often (unless you include the times I pretended not to be in my room/asleep). I didn’t think it was something I needed to do anymore, having left behind all the destructive people I did know and now being in contact with comparitively small (if persistant) stresses.

I think I did it for other reasons. A primary factor is the lack of personal space I claim as mine. My room is used for storage of my things and as a guest bedroom. That means guests own the space over me. The room is cold and isolated. It is cluttered. If I did go up there my partner would probably seek me out for having withdrawn.

Another problem I have is that things are always on. I’m all for watching a bit of telly, but when you’re constantly surrounded by tvs, pcs, consoles, sky+, even the fridge hums and the extractor in the kitchen. It’s too much. It’s never still. It puts me on edge, which is why I think I like the opportunity to scribble in a notebook.

The best part about going to a coffee shop is the feeling of having noone’s hands on you. No one knows where I am (there must be over a dozen coffee shops within a mile square) and it is incredibly unlikely that anyone will find me by accident, especially given my choice of seats. It’s like being in a bubble. I don’t have to play up to anyone, or feel any tension, or provide any support. And if I have a notebook I can write too.