What tattoo do you want (have) and where would (did) you put it?
Alcohol + New Orleans = Volcano Tattoo
Location = need-to-know basis only

Writer. Feminist. Historian. Person.
What tattoo do you want (have) and where would (did) you put it?
Alcohol + New Orleans = Volcano Tattoo
Location = need-to-know basis only

What activities do you lose yourself in?
In the days of yore, my two favorite morning activities (after coffee of course) were bike riding and writing. Each offered a safe space where the passing of time seemed to disappear. The rhythmic pace of the peddling and the quiet tap of the keyboard were all I needed to reach a zen-like state. For many years, they were the flip sides of my morning meditation routine.
I can still lose hours writing (although “lose” seems like the wrong word because it’s wonderful to be in that zone), but my biking experience has changed.
Two years ago, I crashed. And now, among other things, I’m full of titanium.

I still bike, but I’ve lost that ability to get lost in the moment. Instead, I’m a bit obsessed with scrutinizing every bump. And holding my breath. And bracing for possible impact. I feel trapped in that last second before the world comes crashing down.
(It’s remarkably similar to how I feel about the world in general. We’ve clearly gotten stuck in the worst timeline. Reagan’s repulsive Morning in America campaign escalated the Doomsday clock and we’re hurtling towards the end. The courts won’t save us. VOTE BLUE.)
But, I digress …
I feel trapped but I’m not. I keep moving. I remind myself to feel the rhythm when I peddle. Avoid the obstacles, but also notice all the beauty around me. And to breathe.
I’m hopeful that someday soon, I’ll once again be able to lose myself in the moment.
Are you superstitious?
No. *throws salt over my left shoulder while knocking twice on wood*

You’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence?
When I was young I thought we had this shit figured out.
The battle wasn’t over but we had admitted that women are autonomous human creatures … yada yada yada. Sadly, madly, infuriatingly, age has shown me that a whole bunch of people continue to define a woman only as a meat sack that surrounds a baby-making box.
Not just an opening sentence — an opening salvo …

If you could be someone else for a day, who would you be, and why?
if I could be me
but wiser, softer, kinder
quiescent no more
the arrogance of youth shed
my chrysalis cracked open

This was inspired by Jetpack’s question of the day and by Susi’s post from today entitled Insulating. Thanks Susi!