When I say reclamation, I don’t mean it in the sense of how the term “queer” was reclaimed by a generation taking away the power of the slur–how those are trying to reclaim the words, “cunt,” “fat,” “faggot,” and etc.
I mean reclaiming as well, through energy.
I clean. A lot. I do it as a means of taking back my space, a reclamation. You see, I’m a creature of habit and I burrow. My living room is cave like because it’s always so cold and dark. I prefer things to be that way. I started to get into the habit of just cleaning dishes as I needed them. My clothes were all over the place because I was lazy and it was habit.
However, it became a nest and it was embarrassing. Now that I live without a roommate again, I fell into those habits and now? Now I’m actively trying to clean to rebel against that way of thought, against my previous complacency. The other thing?
It feels good.
You see, when I see a space tidied, I feel better, it’s no longer the sign of a cluttered mind. It’s the sign of someone who’s done something. If I cannot be productive in my own work and writing, I am not going to wallow. I’m going to clean.
I’m not going to go into details as my legal counsel advised me not to on a social media front, but I am going through some really difficult times in terms of my living situation. I’m trying to claim this space as my own for the time being. But in the meantime, I’ve been looking at new places to live, not just within Milwaukee but for the future.
South Carolina, Oregon, Washington, Washington DC, back to CA, Florida, Minnesota–for the first time in the longest time I’m looking forward to the prospect of moving, not because I feel forced to but because I have the means to. I’m reclaiming my space as my own but also reclaiming myself.
This has been a hippie-dippy post. I’ll be back to my critiques and other writing news shortly.