I don’t belong here

I finally volunteered for Food Not Bombs. I kept wanting to do it, but kept putting it off because of the social interaction required. I was worried that it would be a bunch straight guys who I wouldn’t be able to connect with and then I would regret it and give up on volunteering all together. I haven’t had much luck with volunteering. I’m too quiet to volunteer. Quiet people have trouble volunteering. No really, it’s true. Kat told me that a volunteer was let go from the art organization that she works for because he was too quiet. That’s never happened to me, but I’m sure many volunteer coordinators have thought that I was weirdo. It’s true, I’m a quiet weirdo. I did volunteer for Project Read for a whole year. That was the longest. It was a successful volunteer experience in a way, although I didn’t feel like I helped my reader very much, but he had a lot of problems beyond low reading skills, and he never did his homework. Cooking for FNB is very low-key and casual. I mean I’m still self-conscious about being a weirdo, but it’s fine. It’s just me and a young dyke in her apartment chopping garlic and tomatoes, cooking rice into a very large pot, drinking her home-roasted coffee and chatting, yes, chatting. There’s no recipe, no plan, but it always turns out okay. Her girlfriend comes in, oh no, more awkwardness, but it’s fine, fine, fine. We talk about activism, I want to explore, she’s got experience. We’re both from small towns, and both wanted the city. She lives really close to Whole Foods which is exciting, even though it’s a horrible place. She says Cala Foods is more expensive which is hard to believe, but Cala is open 24 hours and has some whacked-out 1960s architecture to marvel at. She going to City College like everybody. I went there forever. Saved my life, honey. Saved my fucking life. We have a lot to talk about, but still I could have talked more. Oh, all this awkwardness, self-consciousness, anxiety, when will you let me be?

hospitality house

All the ladies in Rockridge like the sequins fabric-glued to my Timbuktu bag. Pink green gold green pink. Facebook makes me sad. But Rainbow Grocery is fun and inexpensive for a change. Oh, someone there likes my sequins, too. We talk about fabric glue for a minute over the bulk granola. There is so much I’m not writing.