I don't know what I'm doing sitting here at this computer. I should be packing. I have put it off to the last moment, and the last moment has now passed. I will rush and forget things that will seem more important than they could be once I realize they have been forgotten. I will bring too much camera gear and strain to use all of it, making decisions that make no sense, setting out for hours with a speciality lens, shooting film when I should be shooting digital.
Okay, I will ingest a significant amount of THC for the drive to Tahoe. It will help keep me happy and enthusiastic about the music that I am choosing to play, some heavy 70s dub, the deep cuts. It's what I've been into lately, and the last Cat Power and Warpaint albums. Like any good feminist, I look down my nose at art made by men as stories that the world has already heard and that we have no further need in that regard, probably never did. Except, I did slip recently and read a novel by a man that wasn't transitioning. It was exciting to be such a toxic misogynist, feeding on the pastime of the enemy, like masturbating in the dark with chocolate smeared on my hands. It's not for everybody, starting with the skinny.
Will there ever be an end to our many differences?