Queering the Triathlete (and Other Discomforts)

A Melancholy Zebra determined to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.


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The Top Six. Thanks, BPD…

I’ve had this blog for a little under two years, and I’m going to brush off my own shoulderpad and take a look and what has been racking up the hits.

Honestly, I could use a boost: I thought of at least four face-raging topics before deciding that I didn’t need to go off on certain behaviors of my esteemed colleagues in this endeavor (i.e. Life) or, even better, go off on myself. Unless someone wants me to go batsh*t keyboard-smash on some universal atrocity– just say the word! (Hint: the word is “Go.”)

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Tri-ing to Survive (A Focal Shift)

So, I’m outing myself.

Rather, I’m shifting the lens of the blog a little. As I transitioned out of a stagnant and wistful time of my life and I rejoined the human race again, the inspiration for blog posts here waned. I’m pleased to be back on track, but I’m not pleased that I’ve let this blog wither, and the Muse does not descend just because I want her to, the wretched bitch.

After a time of careful deliberation, I’ve decided to “change lenses” (as they might say in an obsessively methodical English class) while maintaining essentially the same topic: how the hell to survive when things are going Just Great. 

I’m stalling…

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A Borderline’s “FP”

FP = “Favorite Person”

I recently learned about this term when I started browsing Tumblr again (“The horror! The horror!”) While tumbling through the various tags looking for some camaraderie, I kept seeing this acronym. Fp. Fp. Fp. What the shit is an Fp? Fart pancake? Flabby pancreas? Flirty parakeet?

And then: Ooooh!! Favorite Person. I have one of those. … I have a ton of those…  Continue reading


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It’s My Suffering, and I’ll Cry If I Want To

It’s been a while. Again.

But I had someone kindly request that I write on self-pity. (A request!! So exciting! My first one! Unless we count J suggesting I write a blog in the first place. But a specific request!!)

It’s not even a difficult topic: I pity myself. POOR ME. I SHOULD DIE IN A GUTTER BECAUSE MY LIFE IS SO TRAGIC AND I’M SO AWFUL. But really. I’ve already picked out the gutter.  Continue reading


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The Resonant Frequency of the Heart

Again, I defy my own label and present a less snarky post. I want to explain in my terms what it’s like to have the emotional sensitivity of an anemone. In a poem!! I wrote a poem. Lord help us.

Yeats’ poem “Earth, Fire, and Water” reads:

We can make our minds so still like water

that beings gather around us, that they

may see their own images, and so live for

a moment with a clearer perhaps even a

fiercer life because of our quiet.

I am reflective, but not at all like still water. Continue reading


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Critiquing DEAR MAN. (Dear Man, Give It Up.)

Anyone who has undergone a DBT skills class has no doubt heard of the dreaded DEAR MAN. (Oh, excuse me, the DEAR MAN GIVE FAST.) For those lucky suckers who have never sat through the countless worksheets that make up DBT, DEAR MAN is a mnemonic device meant to help you ask people for shit. Allow me to say that it is unnecessarily complicated and generally annoying as hell. Here’s why, in an example.  Continue reading


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Metta Practice as a Borderline

Many different sorts of meditation retreats are available to the sadistic folks who want to spend several days alone with their own mind: vipassana, jhana, zen… the list goes on, and some are more specific than others.

For example, I attended a retreat this week focused especially on cultivating metta. Translation: Love Everything.

Well, it was 99.99% successful! Continue reading