I should preface this by saying that... Actually, I don't really have a preface. Here we go.
Frustrated. Frustrated that I can't seem to find the "right" words to explain what it is that I am feeling, what I have been feeling for some time now. I suppose I don't need to fancy things up and make this post eloquent and poetic - it's a blog, for crying out loud. A blog is a dumping ground of petty thoughts, self-absorbed ramblings, and quirky photos of kitties. Blogs aren't usually up for National Book (Blog?) Awards, so I should just relax and... dump. Oh god, that sounded wrong. Anyway, here is my dump!
People expect too much out of me. Correction: Males expect too much out of me. Not to be all Eternal-Sunshine on everyone's ass, but I am, more often than not, a concept to many. Whether it's "Pepsi Ginsberg" or "Orem Meg" (or whatever other persona I for some reason have), men think they know me and, yes, to some degree own me. Half of the time I don't even realize that I am slightly under their thumb. I find myself starting to feel guilty if I don't live up to whatever they expect of me, if I don't give them the time of day. I notice myself seeking their approval and validation. I catch myself caring more about what they want more than caring about what I want. Good gracious, girl - things must change.
I don't owe men anything. I don't owe them my body, my mind, my time, my sanity. I should not put up with any controlling behavior, I should not put up with any manipulative words, I should not put up with whiny bullshit.
For the love of Santa Buddha Jesus, it's time I grow a pair of metaphorical balls (what is the female version of this phrase? grow some ovaries?) and start putting myself first. I don't need to make excuses or feel guilty for, you know, taking care of myself from time to time. If I want to stay home all night long by myself and watch Gumby cartoons on YouTube while eating a couple of pudding cups, then by golly I will.