fitforafemme.com

My dear, sweet readers -

Tomorrow morning at 10AM, the California Supreme Court will issue an opinion in three cases challenging the constitutionality of Proposition 8.

I won’t pretend that this doesn’t make me feel like something of a cringing battered wife letting the sonofabitch come home again, or like an abandoned lover waiting nervously for the next morning to bring a broken promise to statistically impossible fruition, anxious and sick to my stomach, because it does.

I do.

I can let my heart and my pride soar into hope, just not quite so high, not this time, because I know what it’s like to have a headline knock the wind out of me for a moment, a week, to hold my breath for almost a month, to make Plans A through M with subsequent backups, emergency exits, still harboring dreams defying any sort of logic; to wake up to the headlines pummeling me still, lording over my life with shocking indifference or sometimes indignation or worst of all with monotone neutrality. Lording over my family, over the person I cherish more than any other person in this world, over children stepping into homemade nooses, over daytime talk shows or witty youtube.com videos desperately trying to keep me laughing through being led blindfolded in the dark to an unknown fate, through tears or obscenities or despondence or all at once (my personal favorite).

Begging for mercy. Just to be. Hoping higher and higher, further into the things you tell yourself (and everyone else), like:

Whatever happens, we’re married.
No matter what they say, we’re married.
I don’t care if they come and set that piece of paper on fire, damn it, we’re married.
Whatever they try to take away, however vulgar or degrading they make this fight, this is safe, it always will be. We are married.

And they’re all true, but it’s also true that the piece of paper matters. Of course it does, why else would we fight so hard for it? Getting it, handing it back, having it stolen, filing the pile of reports to get it back, getting it back, living daily with the ominous threat of having it taken again, knowing it’s not good in this or that place, knowing with just the right mix of bad circumstances at the wrong coordinates it can be a matter of life or death, so yes, it matters very much and it’s certainly too late for those of us who have not been so lucky.

But I will hope nonetheless, with a longing eye softened by heartbreak gazing east, hoping despite the fact that the bottom has dropped out from under me before. I’ll hope that this blog post will seem silly in twelve hours, I’ll hope that my loverbird and I have something to celebrate with the entire country tomorrow night and I’ll hope that my daughter can feel however it feels for so many other little girls and boys in Massachusetts, Connecticut and Iowa.

I know you’ve fought and loved and cried and hoped and hope still alongside us both, and we love y’all for it. Let’s just see how all this goes in the morning, shall we?

Love,

FFAF

—

Well, hello. I can’t find any useful words, but I did find this video made me smile, a little. I am also applauding the folks engaged in civil disobedience in SF and elsewhere this morning in support of marriage equality, after the awful, shameful news: