Hello. I am writing after quite some time, and from a new device, which I am getting used to. Life is slow and quiet and peaceful. I learn so much about myself when I write, like right now, this feels so good. I am revealing myself to myself. I feel odd writing on this tablet thing. Surface. I don’t like it. I should have done more research before getting a new electronic member of the family. My little Acer died on me. This doesn’t have Google Chrome. I am not impressed. But life is so much more than these discomforts. People are being blown to smithereens in Gaza. It’s tragic, and all I can seemingly do is make posts on Facebook and boycott a handful of products. I want to make a difference in the world. I am overweight and I haven’t showered. I did shower yesterday, just not today. Who cares if we’re beautiful? Why do women have to be beautiful at all? Yes, it’s nice to feel beautiful, and it’s perfectly normal and natural to want to feel beautiful, but when your whole sense of self-worth is predicated on being perceived as beautiful, whether by others or yourself, it’s ridiculous. It’s sick, it’s wrong. It’s an immense act of destruction. I like the way this keyboard feels. My head is puffy, I wish I could suck the air out of it. I have to get some reading done, and some class preparation. Tomorrow is a Pride Parade downtown. I hope to attend. Get my queer on, so to speak. I hate rape. I don’t hate rapists. I pity them, and hope they can change their hateful ways. Sometimes I do hate them though. I want to run over their faces with cars. I know three men who have committed sexual crimes against women. At least, three men who are confirmed of doing so, whether to me or others. These three range from intimate partner to acquaintance, with semi-friend in between. Ex-friend. Semi-ex friend. Ex semi-friend? Where do the prefixes and dashes belong? I want to capture them and tattoo rapist to their foreheads. Or at the very least, wound them with my words. We all know that’s worse, in many regards. The world is unjust, and there are few good television shows with which to distract oneself. It’s only through others than we learn to know ourselves. I am living a somewhat solitary life. Less solitary than before. Texts are not a replacement for human contact. This I know well. A rambler, I am.