getting to unknow you

I burned my mouth so bad it stings with pain, really stings. Incidentally an interesting metaphor for what writing feels like when you drop the fear and just speak. I scarfed down a scalding hot udon veg soup so fast because I couldn’t wait to get back here and write. I literally have nothing better to do, as in nothing I’d rather be doing.

It’s a bit of a dramatic shift, from the poetic prose I do elsewhere to right now where it’s all about blurting out whatever I want and removing the filter and I guess being a bit of a punk ass. It was always there, this voice, but I couldn’t reconcile it with the diplomatic, tolerant and gracious person I was proud of at heart. Maybe I was too much of a lady, even as all the alarm bells went off in me constantly at stuff and I knew I just wanted to go off on shit the way I went off on shit in my head. Maybe nice girl was a persona, maybe this is one. I don’t know and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter.

Writing is not always about being gracious. Sometimes, nothing gets done that way. In writing, you have to take a position. That’s what it’s about, that’s the game. Of course there’s millions of other positions. But you just have to take a stand and go for it, otherwise you’ll get too caught up in all the opinions of the world and you’ll go round in circles and never end up saying anything, of any consequence.

Maybe I recoiled in the past because of those I met along the way who tried to shut me up as soon as I got going, and back then it kinda worked. Having nothing to lose in writing since I don’t have anyone to please anymore but myself and anyone who might want or need to read this, I have lost the ability to cordially give a fuck. On so many levels.

I’m so fine with it now. I realize this voice and all the rest of me don’t need to be reconciled. They will just coexist. The only person who has to worry about any of it adding up in any meaningful way is me, if that’s even something interesting to contemplate which it isn’t. Anybody else who’s got a bone to pick, well it’s not my fault if they’ve got their mind on somebody else’s business.

 

 

 

 

 

Those Women I Want to Be

Cute.  Squirrels jumping trees, the branches swishing noisily, playfully.  I do love living here. 

I like my job and I couldn’t always say that.  This is all new.  The hourly is good. I work many half-days but that’s a blessing in disguise.

What I don’t like is being in debt.  That’s really what inspired this blog. Because there’s something taboo about the talk of money. And about what kind of opportunity we really have and don’t have, realistically.

What I don’t like is being single, feeling like I want to go out on dates and look pretty, but I can’t afford to look pretty, that’s the truth. 

What I don’t like is expressing this angst, anger, frustration, whatever, about the way we’re treated and it’s not cute, it’s not what we’re supposed to do and nobody wants to hear it.  We’re supposed to put up gorgeous pictures of ourselves, make ourselves look good at any expense.  Any expense. 

Everything we have, if we have to.   

I saw this woman on Sunday and she looked absolutely gorgeous.  I wanted to look like her, but I had to check myself.  How much would I have to pay to look like that?  I know the cost of hair in a quality salon around here.  Hers looked to be about $300-$500 for cut and color with ombre (her hair was quite long).  It looked fantastic on her.  That makeup, those clothes.  She looked so sexy and alluring.  How much would I have to spend on all that?  And how much time would I have to put into that? 

I used to be like this.  I used to put in the money and the effort, even when I was broke.  I found the money for my appearance.  And now I regret it.  Not that I did what I wanted to do, but I regret the times I really was broke, yet feeling like my appearance was so important that I would give up meager resources of money and time when I really had neither.  It seems like such a waste. 

If I actually have the money, perhaps that would be different?  Sort of.  Only in the sense that it wouldn’t be quite as stupid.  But right now I really don’t.  I have to accept myself as I am.  And yeah it’s a choice, too. I’m simply not going to scrounge up that money. I’m simply not going to choose my appearance over financial freedom. It’s not worth it. The extra boost of superficial attention will not be worth it.

Someone might say, well maybe I’m just repressing my sexuality and femininity by rejecting beauty and fashion.  But those industries are making so much money off me, so much and the truth is I don’t have the money, I don’t have the resources.  How many are like me?  And how many are like the old me, spending what I really didn’t have just to feel worthy and valuable? 

I’m mad because this culture makes me feel like I have to spend all this money on my appearance just because I’m a woman, or else.  If men don’t have to thread their eyebrows, why should I?  I’m broke.  Let’s be real here. 

I don’t believe beauty can be cheap.  Nothing is cheap when you have debt.  Every extra dollar you spend is just more interest you’re paying to some ginormous company, adding to its millions and billions of dollars.  They are taking your money.  What’s left for you?  Don’t tell me the beauty industry is for me.  Don’t even tell me these college loans were for me, all these profits they’re making off of us.  LOL !!!!!! 

I’m going to work now.  My hair looks terrible, I desperately need a new style.  But I’m not spending even $38.00 for that right now, at least not until these credit card bills are paid.  The credit card bills are the first to tackle. Four thousand eight hundred and fifty dollars total.

Some part of me is dying to be those women, all those type of women I see, some part of me is dying to play the fool, but it truly is all bullshit.