j'aime suis femme
I think I need a haircut.
I don't know when a journal becomes this completely self-absorbed thing where I end up talking about how I want to wear my hair down more and get contact lenses. But, I realize that more often than not, just recently, I'm thinking about myself. Sometimes I'd go so far as to say I'm thinking about myself thinking about my surroundings: "your car's mark like crayon scribbled on the side-rail" I think I need to start wearing lipstick or something, wearing my hair down doing the things that ladies do to feel a little more pretty. Cleavage.
It could be simply this monthly hormonal thing, but it's incredible really, that just a swing in your estrogen can so severely attack your emotions. They are real feelings that come to the surface (as irrational as they are) but it's amazing that this simple change in chemistry can make you feel as though your whole life is driven towards nothing and that you are fat and undesirable. I actually don't think things as clearly as that, the fat and undesirable sort of thing. But, for example, I sigh when I see the tall French woman with the dark hair, light skin, no freckles, wide smile and thin thighs. I sigh a deep exhausted sigh. "I will never be tall and French." I think while on the elevator, devastated. It must be a this monthly bit, because when else do I worry about being French? We are all lucky that this is fleeting.
j'aime suis femme: I love being a woman (or that's what babblefish.com told me it was)
Around the campfire last weekend, we three ladies put questions in a bowl and we passed it around. Each of us taking a piece of paper that said, "who would you love if..." or "first memory of..." or "would you rather..." If you could choose: would you rather be a man or a woman? The feminist duo I was with was appalled that I said "a man" so quickly and without hesitation. It would be so much easier to be a man I said. (Not even sharing my secret admiration of the ability to write my own name in the snow, to pee comfortably in the woods and to wake up with an erection. The ability to push at things instead of taking them in, in both a sexual and metaphorical sense) They couldn't understand how or why I would so freely give up the power of being a woman. "Look around. I said. It's a lot easier to be a man in doing anything" I felt like I was going against all of my Goucher education when these words came out of my mouth. The girls knew what I was driving at~ 50% of the writers there at this poetry festival were white men and the women settled in to help fill the role of the minority writers and their art was concentrated around their gender, discrimination and pride, just like the black man, just like the Asian. And mean while, the old white man with the bald head could spend his time writing about humanity as a whole because he was what we considered "blank" or "regular." But my friends were right. I wouldn't really want to be that guy, (even if he doesn't get drunk on hormones every month and want to be a tall French lady) even with its ups and downs, I love being a woman.
** I meant to post this yesterday but blogger was acting up, so I emailed it to myself. When I got home I took a hot bath and blow dried my hair. No, no, geez, not at the same time. But anyway, I put on a night gown. It was nice. Apparently I didn't need a hair cut after all I just needed to wash it.
I think I need a haircut.
I don't know when a journal becomes this completely self-absorbed thing where I end up talking about how I want to wear my hair down more and get contact lenses. But, I realize that more often than not, just recently, I'm thinking about myself. Sometimes I'd go so far as to say I'm thinking about myself thinking about my surroundings: "your car's mark like crayon scribbled on the side-rail" I think I need to start wearing lipstick or something, wearing my hair down doing the things that ladies do to feel a little more pretty. Cleavage.
It could be simply this monthly hormonal thing, but it's incredible really, that just a swing in your estrogen can so severely attack your emotions. They are real feelings that come to the surface (as irrational as they are) but it's amazing that this simple change in chemistry can make you feel as though your whole life is driven towards nothing and that you are fat and undesirable. I actually don't think things as clearly as that, the fat and undesirable sort of thing. But, for example, I sigh when I see the tall French woman with the dark hair, light skin, no freckles, wide smile and thin thighs. I sigh a deep exhausted sigh. "I will never be tall and French." I think while on the elevator, devastated. It must be a this monthly bit, because when else do I worry about being French? We are all lucky that this is fleeting.
j'aime suis femme: I love being a woman (or that's what babblefish.com told me it was)
Around the campfire last weekend, we three ladies put questions in a bowl and we passed it around. Each of us taking a piece of paper that said, "who would you love if..." or "first memory of..." or "would you rather..." If you could choose: would you rather be a man or a woman? The feminist duo I was with was appalled that I said "a man" so quickly and without hesitation. It would be so much easier to be a man I said. (Not even sharing my secret admiration of the ability to write my own name in the snow, to pee comfortably in the woods and to wake up with an erection. The ability to push at things instead of taking them in, in both a sexual and metaphorical sense) They couldn't understand how or why I would so freely give up the power of being a woman. "Look around. I said. It's a lot easier to be a man in doing anything" I felt like I was going against all of my Goucher education when these words came out of my mouth. The girls knew what I was driving at~ 50% of the writers there at this poetry festival were white men and the women settled in to help fill the role of the minority writers and their art was concentrated around their gender, discrimination and pride, just like the black man, just like the Asian. And mean while, the old white man with the bald head could spend his time writing about humanity as a whole because he was what we considered "blank" or "regular." But my friends were right. I wouldn't really want to be that guy, (even if he doesn't get drunk on hormones every month and want to be a tall French lady) even with its ups and downs, I love being a woman.
** I meant to post this yesterday but blogger was acting up, so I emailed it to myself. When I got home I took a hot bath and blow dried my hair. No, no, geez, not at the same time. But anyway, I put on a night gown. It was nice. Apparently I didn't need a hair cut after all I just needed to wash it.
posted by j-e-s-s-i-c-a at 9:55 AM
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