So, I have this thing about my own personal history.
It comes, in part, from some bad stuff that went down because of my dad. He was Not A Good Guy, in some rather epic ways. It's something I blogged about before.
Anyhow, because of that, I sometimes struggle with the idea that I'm just here, and didn't come from anywhere, that there's nothing over my shoulder to look at, nothing in the rearview mirror.
It's a lie, and I know so. It's just a lie I tell myself in weak, tired moments. But that's easy to forget.
Sometimes though, I stumble across stuff that proves the lie, renders it powerless. This morning that happened, just a few minutes ago, in fact.
I was checking a post in the podcast's fetlife group, something I had put up to start discussion about a show we're doing in a few weeks. I don't know about you, but I can't get on fetlife without clicking around some, just oh, wander-browsing. I went back to look at the first group I had created for the FetFest Ageplay Village, and saw that there's been no activity in the group for about five years now.
That doesn't make me sad though. It makes me feel good. That was a crazy year, filled with all sorts of good things. We had a bad manners picnic, food-fight-sort-of-thing, a friend breastfed me, another friend brought his geodesic dome and we put it up as a sort of playspace, another friend helped me make a throw-together-hot-tub out of a camp shower room.
It was amazing. There are 60 people in that dead little fetlife group. 60 people who came together to have fun. (Quite literally in some cases.) People got their freak on in the bouncy castle.
There's so much stuff that happened, I can't even remember some of it, and have to dredge around in my long-term memory to bring it up and cherish it all over again.
That feels good.