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 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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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


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I Hear You, and Thank You For Your Input. Now @*#& Off.

I gave my first dharma talk today, the substance of which was:

“Hello, fear. I hear you. Thank you for your input. Now please eff off.”

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Mindful Speech and Modern Flakes

“Yeah, of course. I’ll call you this weekend.”

You smile a little to yourself, pleased that you and Cool Person will finally get the chance to hang out and that you’ll certainly be getting out of your apartment this weekend. When your pool friends ask how your weekend went, you’ll respond, “It was great!” instead of the usual forced smile and half-shrug with “I just relaxed, watched some TV, caught a breather” when you know damn well that you’ve been taking that breather for quite some time.

So you keep your phone a little closer all week, but it refuses to buzz. You send an innocuous text on Thursday afternoon of: “Hey! So, what are you thinking for the weekend?” No buzz. Not wanting to be a pain in the ass, you wait. It isn’t until Sunday afternoon that you give up and throw some pizza bites in the oven.

They forgot.

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Resting Bitchface, ASL, and BPD

I have what some like to call a Resting Bitchface. When I’m simply sitting around in no mood in particular, I look like I’m brooding. I look like something is up. I look pissed. 

In frustration a few years ago I asked a friend why no one hit on me. Granted, that did not and does not bother me much, but I was still curious why it didn’t happen. I’m reasonably attractive. I have reasonable sized tits. What’s up? He told me: ” you just look… intimidating.” Answer: you have a Resting Bitchface.

I have little to no awareness of how my face appears when I’m not paying attention to it. 

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Discernment or the Bitch Train?

Well, as of this blog’s maiden post, I have gained three followers. Dual response: 1. Great! Be an influence! 2. Well that’s just peachy. Now you can’t cock this up, you know.

The topic of the day: May I Mindfully Judge?

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