The Dance at Don Quixote's

I had not yet posted a photo of my May Day dance with my troupe at the local music (and booze) venue, Don Quixote's (where I was sexually assaulted years ago and which, in the wake, took away so much).  I was afraid to go there again for so long.  Now I'm not afraid, and I am no longer trying to convince anyone that I am not damaged goods.

I am also never going to try and convince otherwise anyone who just dwells on all the mistakes I make, real or otherwise.  I KNOW when I have made a mistake and I really do try to remedy it.  If you can't see that, go be friends with someone who's perfect.

Anyways, I have writing to do, but just wanted to post this.  I am not afraid to return to a place I was once hurt, and not be enslaved to the hurt.  In fact, these days there is very little that I fear (beyond things I can't control, like global warming).  I've sought out, however unconsciously, people who, at deepest level, hate women and want to hurt them.  Often they come off at first as mild, gentle people who love peace and the environment and faeries and elves, etc., but some of those people are wolves in sheep's clothing.  I like wolves in real life, but that doesn't mean I am going to set up house with one. I'm learning that it takes time to see if a person is malignant or not, and that I am to heed my red flags and warning signals.

I think people can change, even people who have deep levels of hate and resentment (usually it's ultimately about a parent, or a deep trauma).

Nuff said.  Back to putting Thistle to bed, and writing.