17/01/2007
The crowning finale of all this recovery stuff came in August. I went to the Michigan Wymyn's Music Festival, as always. Oh sure, my parents know about it. They don't like to hear all the little details, but they know what it is. My dad helped me tune up the car, my mom bought me Trail Mix. You know. Anyway, I got up there with my friends, pitched my tent along, went to the concert that first night with everybody, and I was fine. The second night I got violently ill from some damn thing - no, this wasn't the year of the shigella, it was the food or the water or something. I spent the whole night barfing near my tent and the whole next day crying in the Womb. I know it was something physical, but I'd been feeling pretty miserable looking at all the beautiful pairs of women laughing and loving in such a festive, idyllic setting - I'm sure it was something emotional as well. I was lying in the Womb in a sort of daze trying not to throw up, when this little butch Army nurse came over to me. In the middle of asking about my symptoms, my pains, my allergies, she said in a very flat, matter-of-fact tone, "Did you just break up?" I crumbled right there. I sobbed and sobbed. She patted my hand soberly and just sat with me. When she had to leave, she sent one of those witches from the Emotional Healing Tent to me, but that didn't do any good at all.

This woman came wafting over in her robes and crystals and auras, with her tender, sensitive expression, and I clammed right up. It's funny what works with different people.

~Jan Hardy, "True Love", Lesbian Bedtime Stories 2, 1990

Quote of the Day