Conversations with my First

In case you don’t normally read comments, my First has contributed some thoughtful perspectives in the comments of these posts about him (he posts as Her First):

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I had a blog around the time that we were in a relationship, possibly some journals also. I was curious enough about how I felt at the time to go looking for them.

I found the blog content and some old emails. My blog writing is cold, factual, brutally honest, especially given I know my First read it (he wrote in it at least once). Quite hard to read.

I haven’t located any journals yet.

So, probably more to come about him.

 

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2 Comments

  1. You were experimenting at the time, since he was your First. Maybe you were more in your own wavelength — surprised/fascinated with the details of what was happening and how it was affecting you, surprised and in awe at yourself in that place… with perhaps less space for niceties and ‘details’ that later on would take a more important place in your play?

    When my daughter was 4, she saw a puppy for the first time. Filled with sheer glee, she took it by the tail and span around, round and round, and then let go of it. The poor puppy flew and hit the wall, leaving a blood stain. It didn’t die, but it screamed and screamed, and bled profusely, to the utter amazement of my daugher, who couldn’t quite understand what had happened. She had just thought the puppy would love to fly.

    Later when she was ten, she remembered the incident (we had been talking about past pets). She couldn’t believe she had been so mean. She wondered where that puppy was now, 6 years later (it belonged to a neighbor who gave it away to someone, I don’t know who), and if she could say sorry to it. At one point she had tears in her eyes.

    :)

    1. I was nodding at the first paragraph because I’m sure you are right that that was part of it.

      Then I read the second paragraph and thought ‘holy fuck no!!!’ What a horrifying story! I can see why you thought of it, but no!

      ‘Oblivious’ and ‘careless’ seem apt at times, but I’ve since found my journals and I seemed to be more aware than I remembered of the issues we had: I just didn’t know how to fix them.

      Ferns

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