Today Hillary Rodham Clinton became the first woman to be nominated for president by a major political party of the United States.
Bill Clinton spoke and it was the first time in US history that a man of that power talked for that long to that grand of an audience about the accomplishments of a woman. The makes me deliriously angry and deliriously happy all at once, raw.
Today I spoke over the internet to Calliope, a group of collaborators with which I made the plays that allowed me to first see myself as an artist. Works that led me to believe my ideas could create an album. Works that encouraged me to examine myself deeply enough to conclude that New York is not my home town. I miss them dearly. Tonight we talked of plans for the future. All the while I knew it might not make sense for me to be in the next project. I am certain of the work and the being with them but unknowing of the how and when. I am deliriously sad for the past and excited for the future at the same time.
My mother is happy to have me here sitting at the foot of her armchair on the night Hillary becomes the nominee. I am happy to be with her too. I go outside and there is no light, just the night sounds of Indiana summertime. The cicadas don't know why this night is a milestone; Is their experience of it the same as last night? Perhaps a bit warmer. The peepers, if they did know, might wonder why it hadn't happened long ago and the crickets see that time and gender are constructs and that we are just one step closer to seeing this too.
I look for a book my mom gave me. I should see its white shape but it is not in the bathroom, the family room, the kitchen dark, the hallway quiet. I bend down to get my journal and before reaching for it trace the symbol for infinity on the wood of the nightstand with the fingernails of both my hands.
I told Calliope tonight that I am going to Denver next year. I told them that the part of my twenties that I live in New York is over. I told myself too.