Spring. Change. Rebirth.
Life has been tough, lately.
I was brought up not to complain. To help others even more when life throws things at you. That way, you can at least enjoy the good that you do.
Never thought I’d get to the point where I wasn’t capable of dropping everything for someone else, but here we are.
Honestly? Women? I dislike a lot of you. No, not all of you, and not just those of you who princess your way through life. I also dislike the dykey ones
who corner women in bars and won’t take ..”really. I’m straight” for an answer.
Now, it’s nothing personal. I’m somewhat misanthropic at the best of times. There’s just something about a woman playing the damsel in distress that just..puts my teeth on edge.
Especially when she comes up to me after, smugly pointing out how I could have my furniture moved for me, if I’d just..lame duck it.
Oh, and dudes? There’s something about the cockiness that just..makes me not want to talk to you. No, I really don’t think you’re hot in your flipped up collar, abercrombie jeans, reeking of the men’s side of the perfume counter. Yeah, I heard you when you told me about the many women you were fucking. Surprisingly, this just makes me wonder what awesome diseases you’ve contracted. That I want no part of. I’ll be over here. Away from you. Ew.
I’m the type who insists she’s fine while the incipient migraine throbs dully in the corner of my eye.
While making you breakfast. And moving the stove. Perhaps brazing a pipe.
Do I do this because I want to make a point about how much stronger women are then men?
It’s not a strength thing, it’s just a thing I do. Please, don’t look to me for leadership in some unshaved, pit stinky protest.
I will say, however, grats to Heinlein.
“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. ”
I also crochet. Knit. Write. And could probably take you 2 falls out of 3.
Which brings us to the now.
I am experiencing a season of loss. Of many things. Precious, irreplaceable things.
With potentially more to come. Everything is in turmoil, and nothing is constant.
Crying in public is unthinkable, yet in the past few months, on more then one occasion I feel the well of sadness overflow. Pricking at my eyelashes while on the subway.
I’m attempting to be more open. To ask for things when I need them, before things become dire.
It’s strange, becoming both harder, and more reliant on others then I’ve ever been.
This doesn’t mean that I’m going to become an ego laden attention whore, but I still have no idea what this means for who I’m going to be when the dust settles.
I have discovered a new appreciation for something my step daughter insists on calling “girly time”, and I suspect that it’s in part because of how oddly quiet the house is without her, on the weekends. Her ghost haunting me until her sullen return.
Change is difficult, but better then insisting on stagnation.