Defining the Line

Remember that one time I started a blog and thought I would be able to keep up with it?
Ha. Right.

I'm going to spare myself from spewing the minor details surrounding the bridges I've built and burned and crossed and that have fallen and crumbled and come undone.
I've come undone.

I'm a lady. It's recently dawned on me that I'm a lady. Like, I know I'm a fucking girl and shit. But I'm also a lady. I get special privileges. I get shotty without having to claim it. I get into parties. I make eyes and score free things. You know, the things that matter?

It's also recently occurred to me that, since I'm a lady, I don't get the thrill of romantic pursuit.
Since I'm a lady, if I do the seeking, I'm a pathetic desperate bitch.
I don't feel that way, but the simple truth is that I'd much rather feel bored and uncomplicated than as if I was looked upon as a dumb slut.

Boys get fucking everything. I think I know where Beyonce was coming from with that dumb ass shitty "if I were a boy" song. It's so ridiculous though. No matter how much I hang out with the bros, sit like a bro, talk like a bro, I can't escape the confines of this "lady" bullshit.
I'm really mad at the women before us who decided to sit pretty and cook and clean and sew and fuck while the guys were out pursuing exactly what they wanted, and getting it.

And to think people say we've evolved as a people. Ha. Letting guys pay for us. Open fucking doors for us. Walking on the inside of the street. Waiting for them to call us. Getting pretty for them. Socially, everything we do that makes us women is to cater to the wants of guys.

I know I'm not the first one to think this. That's why I'm not going to be on the spectrum -- the one that has these subservient ignoramuses on one side and the radically dike-y barely-humans on the other side.

My solution to this, which I feel would maximize personal gain, is to disregard the spectrum altogether. Disregard the rules and the spectrum and seek what I want, like humans naturally do, and would, were they not conditioned to feel like they had to set limits on their desires. As if greed is a bad thing.

Don't get me wrong though. I know that taking chances means passing others up. And I fully expect for that to happen.

It's funny. I've been working on this fucking blog for like 2 days now. When I started writing it, I was joined outside Big Bite by a really wise friend of mine who gave me a lot of insight as far as gender roles and romantic pursuit and even sex goes.

With that, a paragraph about sex. Word is I've been missing out on some bomb-ass sex. But whatever. I like my chastity or whatever you call it. I honestly feel like it gives me the power to know that whoever I'm with likes me for who I am. And no one I've ever cared about is worth submitting that power to, honestly.

It's been a good weekend so far. Last night I sat on a couch. Honestly, that's all I did. But it's awesome. The room is clean, my inbox is accounted for, all my tests are done, my daddy's in a good way with the job sitch. I haven't felt this stress-free since I moved to Austin.
As much as I love this city, there's a lot of responsibility that has to be exhibited with all there is to do.

Anyway, I've had a lot more thoughts other than this feminism bullshit, but this is thematic and recurring. I feel like I've moved forward and acquired more conviction and I'm totally cool with who I am and the way I am.

Feels good, man.

It's complicated.

"Your flaunt cut my fingers in half--why are we eating these insane spirit chips? I've known Amalie since never. A statue is a thing a note with nodes would know. There's a bracket in my brain where thoughts should be. This night is a beef stew with too many ladles, I need this clever concentration."

I'd like to take a moment to appeal to artists. In the moments after our heads hit the pillow, when all of the days reminiscences are marinating in emotion and stimuli, we experience a few moments of consciousness where we inevitably stumble upon a fantastic idea that we're simply too tired to get up and write down. It's far too pleasant a state of relaxation to overcome the thoughts that are telling us that it's too great of an idea to forget by morning. So we go to sleep, let our dreams carry to distant lands, and never stumble upon this idea again until the next night when it happens all over again, and we realize we have no recollection of the magic that was happening in our minds the night before.

Last night, I won.

The "artistic ideas" are at the top of this post in quotes. What the fuck, right?

I don't know yet. I hope to find out. I feel like I must be capable of knowing the origin of these thoughts, because they came from my mind. But I'm not sure how to access them.

I guess the reason I'm posting this is because all this time, when I thought I was having incredibly deep thoughts and making artistic love with my brain, I was really spewing subconscious nonsense. The phenomenon, I would argue, lies in the regard with which we hold these pre-sleep ideas. I guess the brain being switched off kind of has its own implications there... but it's still sort of hard to say. I don't know much about the brain, but I'm pretty sure the ability to type this into my phone makes me more awake than if I hadn't. So I don't know how much of the conscious thought is contaminated with subconscious or unconscious thought.

The fact is that it's still my thoughts. And whether they were conscious or not--let's hope not--they mean nothing to me at this moment in time.

It's hard to say. I guess I rest my case. It's funny though. A beef stew with too many ladles?