living out loud

how far i’ll go, take 2

Published this earlier, re-considered some things I wrote and some things I didn’t, here it is again but revised:

moana
I’d be okay living with a Maori guy for the rest of my life. Not sure C would be okay with me living in a different hemisphere, and Miss M would only like it for about a week and then she’d want wifi back. Me? I could totally live in the South Pacific, off the grid, having tropical adventures and being fed coconuts by a large man with tribal tattoos for the rest of my life.

I’ve come here 3 times to do an update blog entry and I’m just too hormonal, with simmering anger caused by a lethal mix of insecurity, indignant jealousy, and outrageous judgment. In other words I start and then throw my hands up and go: this is bullshit i don’t even feel like writing a thing. And go do something else. Like get on Twitter and vent my spleen. I think only 3 people actually pay attention to me there now, and god bless them for caring about a crazy girl.

I’m going to be private on Twitter, for awhile, while I figure out what to do with that place. I kind of feel like starting over there, but I don’t want to. I’ve got 795 followers and while most are bots, I’ve also got some really nice people following me too. But I don’t know that they’ll come with me to my new spot. Especially the semi-famous ones (who knows why in the world they’re following ME and my inanity – I suspect they have auto-follow programs and once they realize they’ll rectify).

At any rate. I’m going to do some venting, but first I want to say I had two amazing things happen to me in February. I think last time I was here I said February is typically my Month of Doom ™ when all things messed up happen to me. But February 2017 was an okay month. (March…not so much, but we’ll get to that in a minute). First I had a really lovely birthday. I mean, REALLY LOVELY. It started out all emotional and mad. But then I heard from the exact people I wanted and (quite frankly) needed to hear from, and I was okay. And then the following night on Friday my sister in law planned a surprise birthday party with all of my favorite lady friends, women who are just precious to me. I can’t believe the lengths to which she worked to do that. Like, she started a month in. I wish I could publish her full name and phone number here, in case you ever need an event planner. Or just a personal organizer person. She’s amazing. And did it out of complete love…I desperately need to win the lottery and/or tickets to see Hamilton and take her somewhere amazing. She’s done a lot for me over the last 2 years, and is one of my roots. Not a rock, please note: a root. She keeps me grounded. And C helped her. Asked if he could help her and did. Drove her nuts, but that’s what C does and as long as he’s not actively doing it to YOU, it can be kind of adorable and just part of his charm. And if nothing else, he’s quite possibly the most efficient, gets-shit-done person I know. He may control me to a point I can’t breathe and often want to punch him in the neck, but at least he comes through for me. Consistency. I appreciate a lot more than many people truly understand.

The next day I did something important, and it went WELL. I mean, really really WELL. In about 2 weeks when I have it all firmed up, I will come here and I will reveal exactly what it is and tell the crazy story that goes with it, but for now just know: I am all kinds of emotional about it. Sometimes I’m just incredibly excited and re-invigorated, sometimes I’m terrified out of my mind and spend a lot of time thinking: oh god, what have I DONE???, and other times I’m really sad and really really extra sad and I’ll literally tear up while driving down the road because I’ll hear a line from a song and it will remind me of this thing I’m about to do and I’ll starting crying because in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary next to the word and definition of nostalgia is a picture of –>me<–. But in essence, I’m taking a jump. A leap of faith. And then, if this turns out okay, next year? I’m going to take another jump. Over the next 2-3 years, I’ll be doing a lot of jumping. And this matters because I’m kind of more of a couch potato. If you didn’t guess already.

Okay. So let’s deal with my ick.

I do not hate men. I love men. In fact, I love men a bit too much, I’d say. And what this does is it causes me to hold them to higher standards than I do women. I let women get away with a lot of things. Probably because I invest emotionally in them, but unless they keep crossing a lot of inappropriate boundaries with me or turn out to not be who they said they were it is just very very hard to lose me as a friend if you’re a woman. If you lose me as a friend and you’re a woman, chances are it’s because you’re nuts or something.

Men, though. I expect more of you, men. And that’s because of my dad. I know exactly why – it’s my dad. My dad hung the moon and shined the stars. He often scared the bejeezus out of me because he lost his temper a lot, but nonetheless he was my first and only hero. I have yet to meet a man who measures up to my dad, and that includes C (sorry, C). My brother comes very very close, and that’s because he was trained by, well, my dad. Who was also his dad, though I did enjoy freaking him out a lot about finding secret, hidden adoption papers that said he was actually sired by an ex-neighbor. (Shhh…don’t tell my mom I did that.)

The three most important things to me about my dad:

1-My dad valued family above all else. You put your family first.

2-My dad always told the truth.

3-My dad never broke promises or didn’t follow through.

The effect this has had on me is that family is everything to me. And if I decide I love you, I will add you to my inner circle and think of you each and every day as if you are family. I will want to live with you and marry you if you are a man. The problem is that sometimes I fall in love with people who, for whatever reason, do not/will not/cannot love me the same way back. And it is very very hard for me to then have to watch them give the love that I want to give to them and have from them to someone else.

I saw some stuff on social media and it ticked me off. The person I saw it from didn’t do it; it was someone I’m jealous of and if it was just that alone, I’d talk to them and go: I’m upset again. And we’d work it out per usual. The problem is I’m so weirded out by something else I saw that I do not want to talk for awhile, which is unusual for me because in the history of our relationship, has never been an issue. I usually WANT to talk and have their attention. Right now? Nope.I’ll eventually calm down. I had a lot of other things written here I re-considered and erased because I’m going to say them privately, so that’s a good sign. On the other hand, my annoyance and hurt has never lasted this long before. Don’t make me feel played, yo. Tell your friends not to either.

So I was dealing with that, and what actually brought it all on was – because I use social media as procrastination/avoidance of responsibility tool – I started visiting some of the people who’ve followed me recently, l one of whom I followed back, and when I visited I saw something that freaked me out and I ended up kicking that person off my Twitter along with two other people, all men, and that, essentially, is why I am now Twitter private.

In retrospect, I’m probably being paranoid as usual but I’m so fed up and done apologizing for everything that I literally don’t care at this point. I’ve been through trauma at the hands of enough men at this point in my life I feel I’ve earned the right to nurse every single trust issue and lose friendships over them if necessary. Because one thing that really pisses me off these days is when a man goes, “But we aren’t ALL like that…don’t make us suffer for the sins of past men.” What if I were to say to these men that the vast majority of my experience with men has been abuse or being taken advantage of? Pursued, caught, unceremoniously dumped and/or strung along because someone has an agenda. Sorry/not sorry, men who insist they’re not like all the rest. Keep working. And tell your penis bros to stop acting like total, sketchy knobheads. And don’t pull that “but I’m a man feminist bullshit” on me. I do not buy, for one second, that a heterosexual man can be a feminist. A gay man, yes. Heterosexual, nope.

You know what else I did this weekend? Spend a lot of time on Pinterest looking up memes about cheating men. This is what I found: misogyny. So depressing. All these memes are women cat fighting over a man. The cheated upon is mad at the cheated with because what a “slut/ho/whore/trash” to sleep with another woman’s man…the cheated with is mad at the cheated upon because her man wouldn’t have cheated if he’d been properly satisfied and kept happy at home. Meanwhile, where’s the man ladies? Yeah, he’s off trawling for his next Ashley Madison. And men are surprised I have trust issues.

 

And also I’m hormonal. And bleeding in copious amounts again. (I do not understand why, suddenly, my uterus has turned into a vampire determined to kill us by draining us of all our blood from my womb…TMI alert but my bed sheets look like a murder scene and now I need to go out and get new sheets.)

March is starting out crap, in other words. I am happy/scared/excited/loved/blessed…yet also FUCKING MAD.

Other items:

*I may have to start writing a blog somewhere else, anonymously. I’ll say why in a couple of weeks.

*Go see Moana. Please. Because it’s about the divine feminine, listening to your inner self which will never steer you wrong, and knowing/discovering/remembering Who You Are. It’s about being brave and having a strong spirit and finding redemption and forgiveness. It’s about letting go and learning and how we are all connected to each other, the sea, the land, and our spirits. It’s about listening to yourself and your heart. It’s a magnificent hero’s journey tale about a not-princess warrior’s discovery and growth and she has a realistic body and everything. Please go see it. Plus, Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote the songs and I love him for each one. Miss M and I sing How Far I’ll Go every time we’re in the car now; we have decided to make this our song. Given what I’m about to do, it’s making me tear up right now just thinking about the lyrics. Connections. Story. They matter.

*In stark contrast, I want a boyfriend again, but in practicality I recognize I’m not ready; men just keep letting me down and pissing me off too much and I still have too many trust issues. I may need to be 75 years old before I can fully trust a man again. And at that point, most men I’d be interested in are probably dead.

Maybe I just need to move to an island near New Zealand to find a cute Maori guy with tribal tattoos who looks eerily like Dwayne Johnson. That’d be good with me.

Advertisements