||[Nov. 13th, 2016|05:13 pm]
I've been on a self imposed news blackout since Tuesday, which I broke today to check the UK headlines (on the off chance that Nicola Sturgeon has been advocating for ceding from planet Earth out of sheer bafflement) and the first thing I saw was a picture of Trump and Nigel Farage gurning in a gold plated elevator. And, like, sorry America, I know you've been through a lot already, but jaysus keep him, we don't want him back. |
I think that's the thing I haven't been able to get my head around since Brexit. If there ever was a populist revolution, and God knows, maybe there should be, one of the ways you'll be able to tell that it's on the level is that it probably won't be being spearheaded by a self proclaimed billionaire and the anthropomorphic personification of the Daily Mail.
Anyway, on a totally different subject: asexuality.
I've been talking about being asexual, or grey ace, or kinda ace on tumblr for a while, mostly to get used to using the word. And the other day an anon asked me to talk about it, and I did, and because using words is good and how we get comfortable with them, I'm going to talk about it more here.
It's funny, because I knew I was gay when I was fifteen, but the asexual thing is a revelation I've had within, like, the last year. So that's the best part of twenty years between Hey, I'd like to kiss that girl and Hey, I'd like to kiss that lady but, er that's probably all...
I suppose it's not so surprising, it's always harder to prove a negative. And because I didn't have the word asexual until comparatively recently I called it all sorts of other things. I thought it was my hilarious self-loathing issues at play; I thought it was internalised misogyny or internalised homophobia; I thought I just had a low sex drive (like, really low, super low, nonexistent low.) I called myself celibate for a long time, but stopped because celibacy implies that you're somehow depriving yourself; it's not really a diet if you just don't care for the taste of cake.
I like grey ace as an umbrella term; a little because it makes me sound like a wizard in a fantasy trilogy, but mostly because I don't hate sex; I've liked it fine in the past, but if it were never to happen again I wouldn't notice or care.
I was a carer for an elderly relative with dementia for the better part of a decade; and let me tell you, that will put a dent in anybody's social life. But I came out the other side of that and of all the things I'd missed (having a job, going on holiday, being able to go out for the day without arranging respite care weeks in advance) sex wasn't one of them.
Kissing on the other hand? Boy, do I miss kissing.
I've been talking about this to one of my offline mates, and because, bless him, he got this blank-yet-attentive look at the word asexual, the analogy I've been using is about kayaking. To whit:
My relationship to sex is not unlike my relationship to kayaking. I’ve never had a bad or traumatic experience kayaking; I'm not like this because of some sort of near drowning. And if I met someone who I really liked and wanted to make happy, and they wanted to take me kayaking? Then sure, maybe. Enthusiasm is contagious, and people who’re very keen kayakers are often good at the technical, fiddly bits of kayaking. But it would never occur to me to suggest kayaking, and in all honesty I’d prefer to be doing almost anything else, up to and including actual, literal kayaking.
In conclusion: sex has now been renamed kayaking; for added confusion, kayaking will still be called kayaking.
This entry was originally posted at http://netgirl-y2k.dreamwidth.org/169504.html with comments. Please comment wherever you prefer.