Ps

I wrote the previous post out in a notebook before posting it bc I didn't have computer access.

This morning Khubz is flipping through the notebook (her tinkerbell notebook--how appropriate is that?) and finds my scrawl. "what is that?" she asks.

"it's mommy's." Scully simply replies.

"but what *is it??*"

"it's a poem. Mommy wrote a poem about who she is. "

"then why does it say, 'I really am a duck'?"

Scully bursts out laughing, compliments her reading skills y sends her off to me.

Now we have animal poems on our agenda for this morning.

It does make me love life a bit.

Shut the fuck up

I really am a dyke.

These posts are not full of girl-on-girl action, of heaving y licking y the occasional fist. Frankly, I wish there was more fruit here at the basket but I am a dyke who also needs to pay bills, pack tomorrow's lunch, argue with my partner y push the laundry off the bed so I can collapse.

And I really am an Arab.

I am pretty useless in my americanized, non-Arabic speaking way. I am not brown enough to be a collectible but my light skin y perfect English make me oh-so-approachable. My ethnic inheritance includes a load of anger, a suspicious name, fearful reverence of the evil-eye and poly cystic ovarian syndrome (the leading cause of infertility among Saudi women).

I never read the gaygirldamascus blog or the lezbireal site. My life is too messy to fulfill all the imaginings of racist boys bored with their own heterosexuality. They will surely continue jerking off to eachother while howling loudly about " not being taken seriously."

I will not compete with idiots y assholes about the glamor potential of my mis/representations.

I am busy carving out my actual existence.