Last night in mid-conversation with a favorite friend of mine, my knuckle still wrapped in a napkin, I uttered this, “I guess with me butch isn’t a noun, it’s an adjective.”
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There are a few things going on with me for a few reason. I’m alive, so that is always cause for action and it’s a new year which always inspires me to initiate moves and goals and reassess things. My new favorite president has a speech that remarks, “there has never been anything false about hope” and I like that. A lot. I like that it is literal, inspiring and it is true – I find those three hard to match up a lot of the time.
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Yesterday I cut my finger pretty good. It was a strange, slow cut right below the knuckle. It was deep and I could see inside. I could see the entire walls of my flesh, thick like I imagined but had never actually seen. And the blood started out so slowly that there was a fleeting second where i could see my bone. White and totally unphased by the puncture. Strong.

In hindsight, I surprised myself with my reaction. I was calm and curious. I just stood there and stared. I didn’t try to change or fix anything. I peeked inside and I didn’t feel uncomfortable feeling uncomfortable. I mean it hurt, but not too much. I was fascinated. And I’m ok with blood for the most part but it does usually strike an urge in me to stop it. I struggle with this with crying too. I think of tears and blood as things that need to be stopped. Anyway, this time I felt like the bleeding was just a part of it and was the only way that I could have looked inside my own self. Literally.

So, I stood there, pulling back the newly divided pieces of my finger, and let the blood run down my hand and my arm and I started to make this new connection that I’m not sure how to spell out yet. But it has something to do with looking past the first layer of things, the assumptions.
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I’ve never claimed butch before because I only let it be a noun, I assumed it was.

I just googled ‘noun’ and found this: “Whatever exists, we assume, can be named, and that name is a noun.” So when I undo that assumption and make butch an adjective, defined as: a word that describes or modifies another person or thing in the sentence” then it fits.

This post does not have a point. But that is apart of the stream of things I am paying more attention to, working on. I tend to find things without an obvious point to lack purpose. And when I can’t see the point or feel a purpose to something (noun) I feel quite uncomfortable (adjective) in my own skin (literally). I want to learn to be less uncomfortable feeling uncomfortable – which is why this mess is getting posted.
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Happy New Year everyone.