queer as a verb
finding hope + freedom in creative thinking (no, it's not about smooching)
quiet pride
As I’m sitting down to write to you, it’s our Pride weekend here in Denver, and I didn’t go out. It’s in the upper 90s, and I’ve spent most of the day lounging around in summery PJs, eating watermelon and watching the Fever (WNBA) game with my tabby cats, Jinx and Juju. Today looked pretty much the same as this photo of me and my childhood tabby cat on a hot, summer day in 1980. Lounging with kitties in the AC felt like the softest, kindest way to celebrate my highly sensitive, queer self — rather than white-knuckling it through a loud, hot, corporate-sponsored Pride parade just to get a rainbow koozie with some bank’s logo on it and a miniature bag of melted Skittles. And some years, perhaps I’ll go to the parade…
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