Today
I got to go home an hour early. Only to take sick little canary named Peter to the vet, walked a spoiled yet well-loved mutt named Domino, have a scaldingly hot shower, read a moderly good book (A Song for Arbonne, definitely not his best. Still good, though.) and talk to a short, drastically blonded Italian who is undoubtably tired and stressed out. And life couldn't BE any better (please note the blatant LIE in that statement.)
The pets i like. At this stage in my PMS I'm feeling deeply affectionate feelings to everything living yet non-human and non-insect. Reptilian is also a little iffy. But it's hard NOT to love a grumpy bird who puffs up into a little ball of feathers and a dog who waits outside my bedroom door in the AM for me to get up. (I was in a serious car crash. Go here for a detailed account. I'm leaving it alone otherwise.
Thoughts
When the female baboon wishes to mate, it parades around with it's brightly coloured ass on display. When the female teenager "wishes" to mate, she covers her ass in the most disgussting fabric known to mankind, pulls it five inches into her butt and proceeds to parade around, looking for a taker. Of course, when the first sub-standard male arrives, she promptly decides that he is perfect and idolizes him, thus marking her arrival into teenager-hood.
I myself have fallen victim to this: willing myself to see love and eternal perfection in the eyes of a man so low down on the scale I should have scoured the local pond for algae instead of date him. At least the algae would have paid attention and not been so piggish. And it wouldn't pretend to be intelligent, either. But the first "man" I "loved" (both used in the loose, teenager way) marked the beginning of a long line of men who, even though they were terrible for me, I craved. The first I stumbled into: innocent, open and optimistic. He took me (in the emotional sense), closed me off and made me believe I was somehow worth less than he was. After that I played the teenager: I picked an image and bought into it. I did my very best to make myself into what I thought 'they' wanted. I would be more angsty, more perky, more intellectual. I would wear tight jeans, do the sexy look, the natural look, the tomboy look. I would do my very best to convince them -- and me -- that I was exactly what they wanted.
It never worked. It never does, for me. Some girls were the most expert of players - they could play forever and never drop facade. While i was too "unique" to envy them, on some level I'm sure I did.
It took some amazing friends (four, to be exact), a trip across the world and the love of an incredible man to make me realize I didn't have to play into an image. As Shakespeare once said: "and above all else: to thine own self be true." (Polonius says it in Hamlet, for those of you who care.). But it's not just for myself that I do these things - it's for the people who love me.
I still have places where I slip into the old shows -- people around whom I am a mask of old, discarded habits and hobbies. But I'm working on it. I've come to the opinion that I'm worth more than anything -- just as I am. I wear baggy pants and sneakers because they're comfortable. I wear tight t-shirts because I can and because they look good.
I think a funny thought is that I never would have seen this when I was younger. I'd have defended to the death that everything I was came from a concrete knowledge of who I was. I'd never have let myself see that it was just a series of phases. And now? I'm ready for something more concrete, I think.
I got to go home an hour early. Only to take sick little canary named Peter to the vet, walked a spoiled yet well-loved mutt named Domino, have a scaldingly hot shower, read a moderly good book (A Song for Arbonne, definitely not his best. Still good, though.) and talk to a short, drastically blonded Italian who is undoubtably tired and stressed out. And life couldn't BE any better (please note the blatant LIE in that statement.)
The pets i like. At this stage in my PMS I'm feeling deeply affectionate feelings to everything living yet non-human and non-insect. Reptilian is also a little iffy. But it's hard NOT to love a grumpy bird who puffs up into a little ball of feathers and a dog who waits outside my bedroom door in the AM for me to get up. (I was in a serious car crash. Go here for a detailed account. I'm leaving it alone otherwise.
Thoughts
When the female baboon wishes to mate, it parades around with it's brightly coloured ass on display. When the female teenager "wishes" to mate, she covers her ass in the most disgussting fabric known to mankind, pulls it five inches into her butt and proceeds to parade around, looking for a taker. Of course, when the first sub-standard male arrives, she promptly decides that he is perfect and idolizes him, thus marking her arrival into teenager-hood.
I myself have fallen victim to this: willing myself to see love and eternal perfection in the eyes of a man so low down on the scale I should have scoured the local pond for algae instead of date him. At least the algae would have paid attention and not been so piggish. And it wouldn't pretend to be intelligent, either. But the first "man" I "loved" (both used in the loose, teenager way) marked the beginning of a long line of men who, even though they were terrible for me, I craved. The first I stumbled into: innocent, open and optimistic. He took me (in the emotional sense), closed me off and made me believe I was somehow worth less than he was. After that I played the teenager: I picked an image and bought into it. I did my very best to make myself into what I thought 'they' wanted. I would be more angsty, more perky, more intellectual. I would wear tight jeans, do the sexy look, the natural look, the tomboy look. I would do my very best to convince them -- and me -- that I was exactly what they wanted.
It never worked. It never does, for me. Some girls were the most expert of players - they could play forever and never drop facade. While i was too "unique" to envy them, on some level I'm sure I did.
It took some amazing friends (four, to be exact), a trip across the world and the love of an incredible man to make me realize I didn't have to play into an image. As Shakespeare once said: "and above all else: to thine own self be true." (Polonius says it in Hamlet, for those of you who care.). But it's not just for myself that I do these things - it's for the people who love me.
I still have places where I slip into the old shows -- people around whom I am a mask of old, discarded habits and hobbies. But I'm working on it. I've come to the opinion that I'm worth more than anything -- just as I am. I wear baggy pants and sneakers because they're comfortable. I wear tight t-shirts because I can and because they look good.
I think a funny thought is that I never would have seen this when I was younger. I'd have defended to the death that everything I was came from a concrete knowledge of who I was. I'd never have let myself see that it was just a series of phases. And now? I'm ready for something more concrete, I think.
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