April 24, 2003
Shortcomings
I am going to trade in my vagina for something fucking useful. Or reasonable. Or able to fell villains in a single, brutal stroke.
No, seriously.
I'm tired of being a girl. I'm tired of ridiculous, of desperate, of cast-away eyes and bleeding hearts. I'm tired of caring so much about everything and only being told that I'm crazy and irrational for doing so. I'm tired of telling myself that I'm crazy and irrational.
Not that I want to be a man. No, then I wouldn't care about anything, except occasionally myself, and I won't understand anyone, especially girls, and blame it on my innate insensitivity. That I just don't have all of those feelings, so, really, how can I be blamed?
Insert Superior Male Reason Look here.
I'm tired of that, too.
I shouldn't get upset about little things, but I do. Little things mean something to girls, they are our keys to all the big things, whose existences we continually doubt.
If I were a boy, it wouldn't have mattered that he dashed out of bed this morning without saying goodbye. If I were a boy, I'd have been asleep and snoring instead of waiting for his kiss.
If I were a boy, I'd be one flaming homo.
But I'm not. I'm a girl. And I'm livid with him, and disgusted with myself, and due to Libran double logic I can both see how silly I am being but want only to burst into tears about it.
I always think of him. There is this tiny little super considerate part of me that is reserved solely for him.
And it's like he doesn't have that. At all. Unless I'm in pain or crying or sitting naked in his lap, the sweet gestures and compliments won't come.
What relevance bear mine, then? Why bother?
It wouldn't change anything, if I stopped doing sweet little things for him. He'd never notice. And that would just make me even madder.
This is both the best and worst relationship ever. Real, desperate love is never just love. It's pissed off, too.
Dependency. Ugh. Fuck me.
astera at 10:12 a.m.