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emmy [AT] curious-notions {dot} net
August 2022
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Eyes wide open

So tomorrow I’m going to a fiber festival. I have plenty of fiber to keep me spinning for quite a while. I think I’m going to only look for something special. Last year it was alpaca. I think this year it’ll be silk. I do wonder if they sell rolags. I’m tired of spinning top (commercially combed fiber). I want to try a) carded fiber and b) handprocessed. I just wish it were my hands that did the processing.

I’m also still freaking about the wedding. Bear is getting this wild look in his eye. I’m not worried about him not wanting to get married, but I am starting to worry about his ability to get through the wedding. I might end up bribing his groomsmen to trick him into getting drunk. It’s going to be a rough day on him.

And the kids thing. I’ve been all high and mighty sometimes that I don’t notice race. That I treat people as people and don’t notice the color of their skin. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I’m starting to think that was a pretty stupid thing to feel good about. I think if I’m to live as someone who can hold their head up in this world, instead I need to notice. Not to change my own behavior, but to be aware of how people are treated. Notice when people are slighted. Notice why. Notice who. I just learned the other day that the bookstores that have African American sections? They are segregating novels based on the color of the author’s skin. It’s not a section for biographies and histories. I’m not fucking color blind. I am blind. That’s a bad thing to be.

I had a dream the other day about being pregnant. Not such a weird thing. I dream about being a dragon. I dream about ogres. I dream about kids I went to middle school with going to fiber festivals with me. All kinds of weird things. But when I woke up, I was so panicked. I think part of all this is that I’m getting married. Everyone pushed for Bear and I to get married and we ignored them until one day I was driving along and it was in the middle of fall and suddenly I wanted my last name and Bears to be the same so badly I could taste it. I still have a perfect memory in my head of that moment.

But I’m not ready for kids. And we are two months out from our wedding. The second that ceremony is over and I’m officially Mrs. Bear, everyone’s going to be pushing for me to be Mama Bear. And I’m scared. So I think I’m fixating on things that I can point to and say, look, that’s why I’m scared. If I’d found a guy with the same color skin to marry, the dude wouldn’t be Bear and maybe he’d cheat on me. Maybe my kids would be born with something like Down’s Syndrome or they’d be homosexual or they’d be a genius or retarded. There are a million things my kids could be that’s different from what I am. That I nor Bear have experienced.

But I gotta tell ya, the idea of someone treating my kid differently because of the color of their skin makes me want to strip the skin from that person’s face in tiny. painful. strips. And I’m gonna try really hard to become aware of shit. I can’t afford to be ignorant. Even if I never have a kid.

  • linda

    good post