i want to write poetry again but my brain hasn’t done that since june and im worried. i know what used to make me good at writing and the reason i want to write is because i’m close to it again, but what used to make me good at writing also made me sad. maybe i like knitting because it suggests that my ability to imagine and then make things is not entirely contingent on the opportunities life gives me to hit myself with an emotional meat tenderizer on purpose

weirdly i’ve like–– mentally being doing a lot of Well I Guess I’m Just A Girl After All, Going To Have To Live With It I Guess, Look How I’m Wearing This Boatneck Sweater, and also like………. i visually parse myself as “pretty/scornful boy” and also i am like definitely uh–– 

idk. at a certain point it’s not as important to me to perpetually query my internal experiences for validity as it is to try to stake out an oppositional life and try to unmake/fray the genderedness of my interpersonal experience and that’s trans enough frankly

I’M MAKING SHORT RIBS

i couldn’t figure out what kind of liquid you’re supposed to add so i did half broth half red wine? plus thyme sprigs AND rosemary sprigs. now it is in the oven forever

also ideally i would be serving it with polenta but i don’t know how…. to make polenta…. and also we don’t have any and im in too much pain to go to the grocery store today. so we are instead having the most mashed potatoes. so many