I’ve searched high and low for something comfy for my yoga (see: can’t touch my fucking toes) practice, but something loose enough for belly dancing. And I found these!! I bought the canvas colored pants at the bottom. I liked the green and blue pair up in the right corner, but they didn’t have my size.
*sigh*

And I thought about buying the red pants, but I want to see how they fit before I get wild with my colors. Yes, Erica is slightly restrained.

Speaking of……

I found my old YMCA card. I used to have shoulder length hair. This was years ago, but when I look at the picture, I don’t see a woman of twenty five, with confidence and spunk. I saw someone homely and sad. I told D about finding the ID and he told me that I’d suppressed my funk. I tried to fit into what the world wanted me to be, and I kept my hair at an acceptable length, covered the tattoos. I rarely wore my labret, which I wore since I was eighteen, let heal over (during another point where I thought growing up meant taking out all of my jewelry and buying clothes that weren’t black), and got it re-pierced when I was twenty three. I stopped with the fun clothes, and I felt like a marigold trying to be a rose. Eventually, I fell out of my homely stage. I’m not a beauty queen, but no one can say that I hide who I am now. I still have one piercing, my septum, but I let the others close up, not because I wanted to be normal, but because I don’t have to prove to the world who I am. My hair curls around my face, unruly and dark, and when it grows past my shoulders, I will still wear funky braids and pony tails, or put my hair up in a bun that is held into place with pens and pencils. My body’s metamorphosis into the mother (as in “maiden, mother, crone” ) has changed how I see myself. I can see myself in red pants, because it all comes back down to color.

And sorry if this is slightly.. babblish (and no, that’s not a word. I just made it up) It’s where my brain is at.

Happy Tuesday.