I sat on the bed naked, with the camera. It was a combination more explosive than I thought it would be. After work I had locked my bedroom door, stripped down and sat on the bed. My legs were creased from where my jeans had dug into my skin. The dogs curled up at the head of the bed, half intrigued. This felt liberating and ridiculous. When I started snapping shots I felt like I was pushing the limits with the photos -- I mean I had no underwear on -- but I look at this rather pedestrian picture and sigh. I realized then that I waffle between liking to be naked and not liking to be naked.
I sleep in a jog bra. I like the feel of a corset. I like to be cocooned in clothing, and this isn't a fashion-driven decision, but often one of security.
But once, on vacation with Husband at a woodsy hotel, the balcony faced only pine trees and I sat out there often, naked, without the least bit of self consciousness.
And a few times when I was a child, I swam naked in my mother's rich boyfriend's pool while they holed themselves up in other parts of the house. And I loved it. I was floating away, completely in control of my own self. I haven't swam naked much since without overt flirtation and sexual coyness that embarrasses me now. I miss skinny dipping just for fun, because it felt good. Maybe I just like to be naked in Nature. Strange.
Taking this picture was harder than I thought it would be. I had to peel away layers of work clothes and I searched around to turn on an Artistic Switch as the kids whined on the other side of the door about dinner and end-of-the year homework. And my dogs looked at me like, Whatever, and I did what I could fully aware that when we don't take naked photos often we really only want ones that make us look as good as possible; art be damned.
I love my husband because he’s kind of a dick. But he’s soft with me and his lip quivered at our wedding. I love my daughters. They’re brilliant and funny, and I’m here to kick down mountains that get in their way. I’m a vegan, and all is right in my world because of it. I can still beat the neighborhood in HORSE because I have a bad-ass set shot. Justice is served well through fair food, and scarcity would be a myth if we shared more, damn. Yo soy una mezcla which leaves me mixed up sometimes. My commute bike’s name is Loops and she’s my favorite kind of car. I wish I had written Chronicle of a Death Foretold. I’ve endured 54 hours of tattoo work. But above all, I fiercely believe in the underdog.
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" - Kerouac (As told to me by Marigoldie)