...every time I start to talk about certain topics, the person/people I am speaking with stop listening and start over-sympathizing to the point of not being sincere?
It seems I cannot breach the subject of death, suicide, trauma and just recently I found the same is true about topic of: ending up alone. And so, I once again find myself at the keyboard.
Ending up alone is not ending up lonely - let's just get that one out of the way. While we're at it; all romance is not based on the fear of being alone, just as it isn't all based on actual, active love and just really enjoying that person's company. There is a percentage in each category. Also worth mentioning: I do not currently find myself embittered and/or touche'd by past romances and friendships, and let it be known that I am not moping or lying when I say:
I think I am going to end up alone.
And I am okay with that.
There is nothing to cover up. Some people are just okay and even perfectly content on their own. It's nice to be around people sometimes - that's why you have your friends, family, co-workers, those people who always start conversations with you in the grocery store and library etc... Just craving company is not necessarily craving companionship. Furthermore, craving companionship does not necessarily point to romance. You don't have to be married/coupled/in a romantic relationship in order to exercise that part of your brain/emotions. I think romantic relationships can be nice. But I have come to terms with the fact that I think this in the same fashion as I think chocolate cake is nice. I don't always want it. If it's offered to me, I will likely partake. And even if I go down the sugary spiral of craving it all the time, that doesn't mean that I should continue to have it. It might even have real milk in it - and I'm lactose-intolerant.
Trouble for all, trust me.
Enough of all that, though. What I really think it boils down to is: when am I most content? The answer is: when I am single. It is when I am most relaxed, peaceful, focused, motivated, strong and all around at my healthiest. Things are simplified. I no longer have to remember anniversaries. Or give all of my time to someone. Deal with unusual expectations. Fuss over who's buying what. Fight over "where this is headed". Fret about the fact that I am spending time with male friends. I no longer have to over-analyze my actions from the past 3 months to sift through them all and find which one has made my partner sad/mad/frustrated. I am sick of "fixing" partners because I never get to get fixed. I am sick of belonging to them because I end up no longer being my own. Bottom line? The paycheck just doesn't justify the job.
In fact, after trying to get that across to someone (a friend), I am likely to be told "oh, you just haven't found the right one, yet." That is possible (in the way that most things are), however what is more likely is that the majority of people who used to get married did it out of fear of being alone, accidental pregnancy, guilt, money/status, or - my personal favorite - lowering their standards. Ergo, perhaps the only way I will get into another long-term relationship is if I lower mine. I have heard of so many comedians make jokes about how they were in their twenties and no one was good enough for them. Then they got older and they'll "take what they can get". I understand that this is a punchline. I also understand that it sprang from truth. Banking on someone lowering their standards in order for them to settle for you is not exactly how I want to spend my time. And certainly not who I want to spend my time with.
Not everyone lowers their standards to get married. Here is the missing fact I have yet to throw your way this entry: there are a lot of things that I have to do in a particular fashion, so as to not create an upset. (Think Sensory Disorders meet Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.) So without even getting to the bottom of whether or not someone could handle that without fleeing for the hills, let me just share the fact that I might not want to deal with that. And in fact; I don't. There are already too many cooks in the kitchen, and as it stands there is only one cook (me).
It may not sound it, but I am open to possibilities. I just hate telling anyone that because whoever hears that just tends to erase everything that I have just taken the time to type out, thinking they will be the exception. Which is arrogant and selfish and, actually, disrespectful to me (I have already covered this). Not to mention, even if you were the exception, I would still have to find you desirable on additional levels in order to actually want to date you! SO many clauses and screenings to get through - it just really seems silly/unrealistic. And so far I haven't had a relationship that was better for me than being without one.
Friday, November 30, 2018
Tuesday, November 13, 2018
Tethering System
We all need one.
...Okay, maybe only some of us need one, but I am undeniably one of the aforementioned some.
I LOVE getting older because you end up learning so much as you go. With every passing day, week, year I am confronted with more and more of myself and that is irrefutably worth every additional ache and pain my physical body faces along with it.
"Sure, my back hurts, but I now know that I value time over money!"
Terrific, no?
The thought that I was most recently analyzing was how I use music as a sort of tethering system. I have not always known how to do this, or even that it was valuable; I learned it. I learned it the same way I learned that the cleaner I kept my apartment/room/refrigerator and cabinets and the more controlled I kept my environment, the more content I was (I do this in hopes of starting my "patience-spent-meter" at 0 every morning, so as to have more to afford throughout the day).
As I have admitted, I have suffered from a sensory disorder (do they ever just go away without therapy?) in my childhood and may fall somewhere on "the spectrum". And in the same ways some on said spectrum are uncomfortable with loud noises, certain pitches and abrupt interruptions, I find that I can get anxious without music playing. I could be speaking to someone I truly love and respect and wanting to be around them for the rest of the day/night, and if I don't have music playing, I will have a straining feeling. A quiet but constant feeling of the "other me" tugging at my sweater, impatiently indicating that I am to flee. Naturally, this will result in the original me getting very frustrated and anxious (and sometimes even guilty, thanks OCD) and is sure to at least put a damper on what could have been a very enjoyable social endeavor.
Much like I have learned to bring multiple forms of entertainment with me whenever I leave the house (I arrive early most places because I hate being late, so I will come with my arsenal of books, notepads, sudoku & pencil with eraser, laptop, phone & charger cords), I have also, thankfully, learned that as long as I play a little music of my choosing and at the right level of volume, I can basically be comfortable anywhere. I can tether myself back to Earth and reality and the present company I am fortunate enough to have.
That seems awfully specific, now that I write it out, but believe me when I say that it is very much "small potatoes" when it comes to keeping myself content in such an oddly stressful scenario. I care about the people I like to talk to - being able to be around them comfortably has afforded me so much more opportunity with them.
I will say that in finding all of the aforementioned a necessity has driven me to a conclusion: I imagine I am no picnic to be with. At least not for elongated periods of time, and certainly not romantically. Who wants to listen to the same 5 songs over and over? Especially when they are exclusively of my liking? My friends will forgive me and call me crazy for even saying this, but that is because they can leave. Much like you adore your nieces and nephews, but fight back vomit when faced with the chance to create your own offspring. My friends and loved ones will babysit and cherish me, as I cherish them. My roommates will eventually find my ticks out and learn when to avoid me. My boyfriend - should I ever have one again - will be trapped in misery and confusion until he leaves.
Just another reason to keep things simple. I believe I might be moving closer and closer to the forever-single life, and I feel as though it may be the healthiest direction my life could take. For my strength. My happiness. My peace. For the sanity of myself and others.
...Okay, maybe only some of us need one, but I am undeniably one of the aforementioned some.
I LOVE getting older because you end up learning so much as you go. With every passing day, week, year I am confronted with more and more of myself and that is irrefutably worth every additional ache and pain my physical body faces along with it.
"Sure, my back hurts, but I now know that I value time over money!"
Terrific, no?
The thought that I was most recently analyzing was how I use music as a sort of tethering system. I have not always known how to do this, or even that it was valuable; I learned it. I learned it the same way I learned that the cleaner I kept my apartment/room/refrigerator and cabinets and the more controlled I kept my environment, the more content I was (I do this in hopes of starting my "patience-spent-meter" at 0 every morning, so as to have more to afford throughout the day).
As I have admitted, I have suffered from a sensory disorder (do they ever just go away without therapy?) in my childhood and may fall somewhere on "the spectrum". And in the same ways some on said spectrum are uncomfortable with loud noises, certain pitches and abrupt interruptions, I find that I can get anxious without music playing. I could be speaking to someone I truly love and respect and wanting to be around them for the rest of the day/night, and if I don't have music playing, I will have a straining feeling. A quiet but constant feeling of the "other me" tugging at my sweater, impatiently indicating that I am to flee. Naturally, this will result in the original me getting very frustrated and anxious (and sometimes even guilty, thanks OCD) and is sure to at least put a damper on what could have been a very enjoyable social endeavor.
Much like I have learned to bring multiple forms of entertainment with me whenever I leave the house (I arrive early most places because I hate being late, so I will come with my arsenal of books, notepads, sudoku & pencil with eraser, laptop, phone & charger cords), I have also, thankfully, learned that as long as I play a little music of my choosing and at the right level of volume, I can basically be comfortable anywhere. I can tether myself back to Earth and reality and the present company I am fortunate enough to have.
That seems awfully specific, now that I write it out, but believe me when I say that it is very much "small potatoes" when it comes to keeping myself content in such an oddly stressful scenario. I care about the people I like to talk to - being able to be around them comfortably has afforded me so much more opportunity with them.
I will say that in finding all of the aforementioned a necessity has driven me to a conclusion: I imagine I am no picnic to be with. At least not for elongated periods of time, and certainly not romantically. Who wants to listen to the same 5 songs over and over? Especially when they are exclusively of my liking? My friends will forgive me and call me crazy for even saying this, but that is because they can leave. Much like you adore your nieces and nephews, but fight back vomit when faced with the chance to create your own offspring. My friends and loved ones will babysit and cherish me, as I cherish them. My roommates will eventually find my ticks out and learn when to avoid me. My boyfriend - should I ever have one again - will be trapped in misery and confusion until he leaves.
Just another reason to keep things simple. I believe I might be moving closer and closer to the forever-single life, and I feel as though it may be the healthiest direction my life could take. For my strength. My happiness. My peace. For the sanity of myself and others.
Light N' Fluffy (things on my mind)
(originally - and fully - created in October:)
Good morning, blog.
With the weather getting colder, fashion suffering and as such my will to join activities in the outside world withering away at breakneck speed, I have immersed myself a little further into the Writing Abyss. It feels great, as it always has (and hopefully will continue to). I have yet to write a complete draft or form a deliciously creepy short story for the Curious Post, but I have started a few things. The purpose of these things is often not to finish them, but to let them fly out of you. Get these half-thoughts out on paper (or on screen) to better clear your brain tank for fully-formed - or should I say "fully deformed" - bloody howlers. As there is nothing more satisfying than creating and completing, top to bottom, a great scary short. Humorous Fiction certainly has its place, as it is mainly what I will read, but there's just a quality about the creepies that no other genre could ever hope to qualify for.
So writing the bits and bobs out helps... What else? Reading, of course. Others' work will aid you in shaping your own literary concepts and styles. Searching out scary things, things that have already happened, things that certainly could, every day things that could be scary, given just the slightest twist (always found old people terrifying, quite honestly). Writing in this blog surely helps - exercising the old typing muscles so by the time I am ready to kill it on the keyboard, it all just flows like butter instead of running the risk of losing chunks of the coolest details in the hiccups of my inability to type smoothly. Same goes for a daily/nightly journal.
The last way (that I can think of) that I have been helping myself in this endeavor is by finishing up a project for my mother (preferably in time for the holidays, but there's no chance I'm rushing this one). I found an old book with a patterned material cover. No title, no lines or words on the pages, no suggestion of what it should or might be. I purchased it from a local thrift store when I was in the other mill town and immediately knew just what it would be for.
I am taking my favorite scary/spooky/dark/eerie shorts and poems from the Curious Post and I am hand-writing them all inside this book. There are only a handful of them, so I will have to see how many pages are left in the end. I may write some lyrics from a friend's creepy songs (that he used to play at Curious Post events), I may sketch some illustrations or symbols from the writings, I may talk a bit about where my inspiration came from, or even just do a quick write-up about the Curious Post. My mother was unable to attend any of the events, and so I think it might be fun/something nice for her to read about and look back on.
Decisions, decisions. My life is just oh, so hard. This is what happens when you're in your twenties with no children, I think. And you're creative. And possibly over-caffeinated.
Good morning, blog.
With the weather getting colder, fashion suffering and as such my will to join activities in the outside world withering away at breakneck speed, I have immersed myself a little further into the Writing Abyss. It feels great, as it always has (and hopefully will continue to). I have yet to write a complete draft or form a deliciously creepy short story for the Curious Post, but I have started a few things. The purpose of these things is often not to finish them, but to let them fly out of you. Get these half-thoughts out on paper (or on screen) to better clear your brain tank for fully-formed - or should I say "fully deformed" - bloody howlers. As there is nothing more satisfying than creating and completing, top to bottom, a great scary short. Humorous Fiction certainly has its place, as it is mainly what I will read, but there's just a quality about the creepies that no other genre could ever hope to qualify for.
So writing the bits and bobs out helps... What else? Reading, of course. Others' work will aid you in shaping your own literary concepts and styles. Searching out scary things, things that have already happened, things that certainly could, every day things that could be scary, given just the slightest twist (always found old people terrifying, quite honestly). Writing in this blog surely helps - exercising the old typing muscles so by the time I am ready to kill it on the keyboard, it all just flows like butter instead of running the risk of losing chunks of the coolest details in the hiccups of my inability to type smoothly. Same goes for a daily/nightly journal.
The last way (that I can think of) that I have been helping myself in this endeavor is by finishing up a project for my mother (preferably in time for the holidays, but there's no chance I'm rushing this one). I found an old book with a patterned material cover. No title, no lines or words on the pages, no suggestion of what it should or might be. I purchased it from a local thrift store when I was in the other mill town and immediately knew just what it would be for.
I am taking my favorite scary/spooky/dark/eerie shorts and poems from the Curious Post and I am hand-writing them all inside this book. There are only a handful of them, so I will have to see how many pages are left in the end. I may write some lyrics from a friend's creepy songs (that he used to play at Curious Post events), I may sketch some illustrations or symbols from the writings, I may talk a bit about where my inspiration came from, or even just do a quick write-up about the Curious Post. My mother was unable to attend any of the events, and so I think it might be fun/something nice for her to read about and look back on.
Decisions, decisions. My life is just oh, so hard. This is what happens when you're in your twenties with no children, I think. And you're creative. And possibly over-caffeinated.
Thursday, October 18, 2018
Who Started This?
Chicken - egg situation:
woman: "I'm not in a dating space right now"
man: 'There's no way she means me.'
Was it women? Saying things they don't mean in order to guard their actual feelings? Were they trying to play a game and see if it would stick? Or are men to blame for somehow assuming they're ALL the exception to the rule? I find this behavior quite curious and terribly frustrating. Yes, you could boil it down and simplify it to the act of "just another man not listening to a woman", but I am not sure it is so blatantly sexist. I don't know that men even know that they're doing this. I'm not saying that makes it okay, because - and let me be clear -
IT
DOESN'T.
If it were just a simple misunderstanding;
man: "...Oh, you didn't mean other ppl? You meant me, too? Oh. Shit. Sorry 'bout that, then."
That would be one thing. But it never is. Or at least certainly hasn't been in my case. Don't get me wrong; this is a relatively new discovery for me, and as such am keeping the typical open mind about it until I can do proper research on it (for what it's worth, I would trade facts in a heartbeat to just never have to go through this again). To quote Austin Powers: "Having said all that, I do have some thoughts..."
So far, I have made it abundantly clear that I am, in fact, not dating right now. I shouldn't. It won't be quality/my best self and I refuse to waste my time with anything less anymore. There's just no reason. I know I only have so much resolve when it comes to actual physical contact in that way, and as such am trying to break the news to everyone to better protect them and myself. I have told women, I have definitely told men; all of my friends. Most of them are probably sick of hearing me say this. That's fair - but clearly enough-to-get-sick-of is still not enough when it comes to the male ego.
Surely not all men are like this. I don't like getting grouped in with all 20-somethings, all people of my generation, all women etc... and it would be illogical to assume that one man could speak on behalf of all of them. Those men are an exception to this blog. To the kind of male and overall arrogant attitude/thinking process I am now assertively against. But they are still not an exception to my rule of "not being ready to date right now". You could be the man of my dreams and I would still be relieved to know you had someone else you were going after. And if by the time I'm ready to date you are married to said other person? Fair. My loss. I'm not going to pout about it because it is not sensible to wait for me and the whole prospect of a man doing so at this point would prove to be incredibly stressful to me. It's not personal. Which, by the way, surely proves moreover that I am not ready to date. To quote Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail: "...It ought to begin by being personal."
I am a logical, yet understanding and sensitive person. I am patient. I am sensible. I don't feel as though I am asking for too much to just be single - and not hassled - while I am sorting some things out. And even if I was asking for too much by expecting this; trust me. I am doing you a favor by denying a relationship with you at this point in time.
I have never in my life assumed that someone of the opposite sex is sexually interested in me simply because they are being polite to me. Because they are laughing at my jokes. Because they are taking the time to talk/listen to me about my day. Because I can relate to them. Because they asked me how I was doing, or even remembered something about me. Some people love others. Some people treat their friends with respect and love. Some people just fucking care. And I refuse to not care. So I guess this is the price I pay for not compromising that principle. You wanna know why people get bitter about relationships/the opposite sex? Haven't the foggiest, old chap.
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
Autumn and After
I pulled out and freshened up my cozy sweaters, readied my boots and queued up the Fleet Foxes. I even swapped my typical iced Americano for that of a toasty hot one.
Then I went outside for a smoke after 4pm.
Jesus.
It's fucking cold already. I knew it was coming! I have been (and continue) trying to keep up with the weather, prepare for the outdoors with my layers of sensibly thick purchases from the thrift store and refuse to skip a meal or a wink of sleep in a feeble attempt to keep sickness at bay. I am likely more prepared this year than ever before, but still it was not enough to shield my body from the shock of Autumn.
You can spin me tales of long walks, seasonal lattes & pumpkin carving, but I would forgo it all just to stay comfortably warm. I am getting older. Soon the only weather I will be able to stand is that of a "real scorcher" as I begin to trace migration patterns; southbound, with the other white-feathered birds. Perhaps I will surprise everyone and land somewhere in Texas. Go Cowboys.
I love driving, and the pending cold weather does its best to destroy the joy ride. That goes at least double for the casual jog or race walk. You can no longer throw something on and go. I think that might be it. I think that the minute I have to plan something to death, the fun gets sucked right out of it. Where are we going? Is there parking close to the building? Is it more up or down hill? Are we staying until dusk? Later? What's the forecast? And then, of course, you have to factor in the usual questions that let you know whether or not to wear heels, a dress, eat before you go, bring a bottle of wine, champagne or infused teas.
AND IF! By the end of this ordeal your spouse/friend/family member you are attending with somehow can stand you long enough to get in the car and get to this event, something inevitably will go wrong. Be it the weather ("Wow, colder than I thought..."), the timing ("...Storm should've passed by now") or the usual stuff (i.e. transportation, uncomfortable outfit/shoes) that is absolutely made immediately so much worse with the added effect of freezing your little ass off.
Halloween should be fun, though.
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Food-Piphany
I think I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
I know I used to suffer something awful from a sensory disorder. (No I haven't gone to a doctor for this, but sometimes you just don't have to.)
One of the symptoms of OCD is that you may have a strange relationship with cleaning, orderliness (that's an actual word?? Whoa) as well as guilt. A person suffering from sensory issues may hold issue with foods of certain quality and/or strange texture. I recently was able to change my relationship with the food that I eat by going vegan! It has been over a year now, and never have I ever been so damned comfortable with grocery shopping, prepping, cooking or eating food. Furthermore, it is so easy to take care of my dishes - there's nothing dodgy to me about veggies, rice and legumes!
I used to have a strenuous relationship with the food going into my body and the food I cleaned from a plate. Sometimes it was the rubbery texture of a chicken patty, sometimes it was the astounding amount of cheese someone had decided to litter my pizza with, and it always was absolutely horrifying to touch any of the food on a plate that had already been eaten off of. Naturally this was seen as an attempt at dodging my chores, but I can assure you that was not the case.
Meat was always creepy - sure, less so when it was in the form of a strip or giant pepperoni-esque circle, made just for sandwiches, but if I ever saw the chicken breast before my mother cooked it, I would be completely disgusted. So that was fairly easy to give up. Dairy used to weird me out something fierce - the thought of the process, the texture of most of it, the fact that if you left it un-refrigerated it would immediately turn to garbage. Once I learned that the Diary industry is the stuff of nightmares, I quickly decided to venture into veganism - and I'm so glad I did.
In addition to the "cleaner-living" aspect to this lifestyle/diet, I have no guilt over what I am eating, as it never had a face/nothing with a face had to suffer for it. It is terribly difficult to cook vegan food incorrectly, as most of it is perfectly edible in its raw form, so there goes the pressure of feeling as though you might get sick/get someone else sick from your cooking. And if you're eating whole food, you have no reason to fear the odd texture of processed "food" (basically just don't eat moldy fruit and you'll be kosher).
I'm not entirely sure why it took me so long to make the correlation, but I am ever so glad that I did. I'm not afraid of food anymore. I enjoy myself when I am eating. One less thing to worry about in a day (especially for a busy Obsessive Compulsive mind) is one big step toward happiness and contentment.
I know I used to suffer something awful from a sensory disorder. (No I haven't gone to a doctor for this, but sometimes you just don't have to.)
One of the symptoms of OCD is that you may have a strange relationship with cleaning, orderliness (that's an actual word?? Whoa) as well as guilt. A person suffering from sensory issues may hold issue with foods of certain quality and/or strange texture. I recently was able to change my relationship with the food that I eat by going vegan! It has been over a year now, and never have I ever been so damned comfortable with grocery shopping, prepping, cooking or eating food. Furthermore, it is so easy to take care of my dishes - there's nothing dodgy to me about veggies, rice and legumes!
I used to have a strenuous relationship with the food going into my body and the food I cleaned from a plate. Sometimes it was the rubbery texture of a chicken patty, sometimes it was the astounding amount of cheese someone had decided to litter my pizza with, and it always was absolutely horrifying to touch any of the food on a plate that had already been eaten off of. Naturally this was seen as an attempt at dodging my chores, but I can assure you that was not the case.
Meat was always creepy - sure, less so when it was in the form of a strip or giant pepperoni-esque circle, made just for sandwiches, but if I ever saw the chicken breast before my mother cooked it, I would be completely disgusted. So that was fairly easy to give up. Dairy used to weird me out something fierce - the thought of the process, the texture of most of it, the fact that if you left it un-refrigerated it would immediately turn to garbage. Once I learned that the Diary industry is the stuff of nightmares, I quickly decided to venture into veganism - and I'm so glad I did.
In addition to the "cleaner-living" aspect to this lifestyle/diet, I have no guilt over what I am eating, as it never had a face/nothing with a face had to suffer for it. It is terribly difficult to cook vegan food incorrectly, as most of it is perfectly edible in its raw form, so there goes the pressure of feeling as though you might get sick/get someone else sick from your cooking. And if you're eating whole food, you have no reason to fear the odd texture of processed "food" (basically just don't eat moldy fruit and you'll be kosher).
I'm not entirely sure why it took me so long to make the correlation, but I am ever so glad that I did. I'm not afraid of food anymore. I enjoy myself when I am eating. One less thing to worry about in a day (especially for a busy Obsessive Compulsive mind) is one big step toward happiness and contentment.
The Sixties
It is as if I have been transported to the sixties.
I feel partially responsible, of course, this being the only decade that I have ever yearned for. Not in exchange for my own, of course, just for a visit. Mostly for the fashion and the music.
I work my small business, locally-owned office job in my pencil skirt and Italian-inspired loafers with the pointed toe, look completed by a white, tucked-in oxford and mod haircut. Half way through my shift I walk outside and before I can light my cigarette, I notice the sidewalk is rife with political signs being held and waved by a group of older people who have assembled in their frustration for the "way things are going". Cars that speed down the one-way occasionally honk. I hear the murmur of the people; something about health care. Something else about the elderly. Something else about the Republican party. I pay no mind. I snub out my cigarette and throw it in a nearby bin - I was taught not to litter.
Once back inside said office job's building, the discussion on the local broadcast raises in volume. My male boss - sweating from manual man-labor - curses under his breath. Something about women's rights. Something else about women's rights. I tune my own dial to the freeing sounds of the Kinks.
I suppose that something like this has always happened around this time of year; voting time, I mean. Maybe it's been just long enough since the last go-round that I have forgotten the details. Maybe I'm just noticing it because I am finally in the thick of things, downtown, in it. Or maybe it's never been this obvious. This wild. Maybe it's just a matter of time until we commence mandatory drills, heads under our desks.
I feel partially responsible, of course, this being the only decade that I have ever yearned for. Not in exchange for my own, of course, just for a visit. Mostly for the fashion and the music.
I work my small business, locally-owned office job in my pencil skirt and Italian-inspired loafers with the pointed toe, look completed by a white, tucked-in oxford and mod haircut. Half way through my shift I walk outside and before I can light my cigarette, I notice the sidewalk is rife with political signs being held and waved by a group of older people who have assembled in their frustration for the "way things are going". Cars that speed down the one-way occasionally honk. I hear the murmur of the people; something about health care. Something else about the elderly. Something else about the Republican party. I pay no mind. I snub out my cigarette and throw it in a nearby bin - I was taught not to litter.
Once back inside said office job's building, the discussion on the local broadcast raises in volume. My male boss - sweating from manual man-labor - curses under his breath. Something about women's rights. Something else about women's rights. I tune my own dial to the freeing sounds of the Kinks.
I suppose that something like this has always happened around this time of year; voting time, I mean. Maybe it's been just long enough since the last go-round that I have forgotten the details. Maybe I'm just noticing it because I am finally in the thick of things, downtown, in it. Or maybe it's never been this obvious. This wild. Maybe it's just a matter of time until we commence mandatory drills, heads under our desks.
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