Up for 30 minutes. Coffee, smoke. Read news, feel ill. More hate. Nothing new there. I thought, why say anything? Why bother? No one listens (or hardly; thanks to those of you who DO listen) and nothing changes.
Then I ran into this gem, and just couldn’t let it pass:
REALLY? Are you actually trying to tell me that four pictures of women pseudo sucking a cock (lipstick) come (ha, ha) from a company that supports women for Women International? And with a product called “Hot Lips”? That’s like selling commemorative plates of Auschwitz to raise money for Jewish children. Un-fucking believable.
Fuck you, Charlotte Tilbury. And your balls, because I’m pretty sure you’ve got a pair.
This morning I grabbed a pair of socks blindly, not looking at what I was grabbing, just grabbing SOMETHING because my feet felt cold on the floor. Maybe it’s not surprising that the pair that came out have this on them:
Didn’t see it when I grabbed the pair; it’s stitched in the pattern near the top of the sock. And yes, I grabbed the socks from the men’s pile because – in case you’ve been living under a rock all your life – men’s socks (like everything else) are less expensive than women’s.
Objectification. We don’t do this to men. Maybe somewhere out there a pair of women’s socks exists that have naked, splayed men sown in as some silhouette pattern. I doubt it. I can believe a pair of socks like that exist for gay men, but not for women.
What I’d really like to see is a new film production company set up. One that spoofs popular films by gender flipping the characters. Let’s see all those men gyrating, showing off their asses, draping themselves over cars, playing the fucking VICTIM THAT NEEDS SAVING in each and every fucking case. And let’s see the women making the decisions, playing hardball, and behaving sexist towards the men. Let’s see how that makes the men in the audience really feel, huh? ‘Cause I am fucking TIRED of this shit.
Go on! Take that idea and run with it. Make it your own. Just give me the fucking films so I can show them to every goddamn son of a bitch that I run into. Granted, my life will be devoted to just showing your films considering how many sons of bitches I run into. I’ll do if for free, for the satisfaction of SHUTTING UP the fucking ASSHOLES once and for all. Here you go, this is the way it feels every single second of every minute of every hour of every goddamned DAY of being a woman. Welcome to MY fucking world, motherfuckers.
Yes, I am fucking angry and YES, I want revenge. Right now, please. Spill your blood on my hands. I’m not proud of feeling this way, but I’m not gonna deny it.
I’m probably having some sort of an episode. Been angry a lot lately. Extra irritated. Always ready with something negative to say. That’s where it’s sitting right now: I say it, not scream it. Got to acknowledge that. I used to scream it. A lot. Goddess forbid you should run into me on one of THOSE days.
‘Course, I’m paying for it. My stomach is tight and clenched. Can’t eat much. Headaches. Back aches. And the compunction that follows an outburst. Vacillating between angry eruptions and beating myself up for my anger.
So everything pricks at me right now. Irritates me beyond measure. The only GOOD thing in my favor is that right now when I get an email in from my uncle who likes to tweak my chain I’m just deleting it without reading. I do NOT need someone like him pouring his hate into me right now just to see what happens. That’s what it feels like.
And I SHOULDN’T be so damned angry. Sure, I’ve got stuff going on. Everyone does. But nothing to the extent that this rage should consume me. I’ve been out seeing films, walking around, having a bite to eat. I’ve written a new song. The weather has even cooled off but has my temper? No. Apparently not.
Damn it! I can FEEL those lines around my mouth set in…those lines made by the angry face. The lines my mother carried in her face.
*sigh* That’s gonna make me let go of my physical tension. Nothing like threatening me with looking like my mother to make me back off.
Sad to say that for the past 24 hours I’ve understood what makes someone just snap. Just suddenly eat the business end of a gun, or walk into a pond and breathe some water. Been contemplating such things. No notes, no explanations. Just an end. Feels lately like I’ve been asked to give and give. Understand the incomprehensible. Forgive the unforgivable. It’s too much; I’m empty of all that is kind and decent, and no one is filling me up with a reserve of good feelings.
It’s so easy to hate. So easy to lash out. And so damned difficult to breathe and let it all go.
…I want to walk today, regardless of whether or not my back hurts afterwards (it hurts already, so why the fuck not). Part of me is afraid that yes, I’ll walk straight into the local lake and breathe water, or I’ll walk right out in front of traffic on a busy road. And part of me says, so what?
Maybe I won’t give myself that temptation. Keep to the park pathways, away from water and traffic, tall buildings and the train tracks.
Maybe I won’t go at all.
Right. Get a grip.
One: take a pain pill. You’re in fucking pain, woman, take some goddamned pain relief. Two: it doesn’t sound like your head is in the best place to go out walking around. Three: you know very well what you need to do; you’ve got to get this under control. Somehow. Four: you also know what your best bet is. The place you can lose yourself and find yourself at the same time. Sound. Go back to sound. Take away the words, take away the sight. Give yourself only sound. Shape it. Sculpt it. Play with it. Find what makes you move, find what gives flight to the things you can’t even describe.
I’m blocking out the world. I’ve got to just to give myself enough room to calm down. Then I can take care of the errands and the chores, the emails and the whatever.
It’ll all be there tomorrow.