I just hurried to take the trash out before it got dark. Yes, I’m still bothered.
Can we just revisit my shitty Sunday night full of dread and fear? As you may recall, some animal was bothering the garbage cans right outside my window and I extrapolated from that that I was about to be murdered by killer hobos.
I should let this go, but I can’t, because I think, in part, it reveals that I’m a bad feminist. Which really sucks, because my definition of a good feminist is basically “Don’t wait around hoping to be rescued by big strong men, even if they are cute and armed. Take care of your damn self.”
Y’all, I just want one thing right now. I want, when faced with something that scares the shit out of me, to think “Holy shit, things are really frightening, but I know just what to do. I’m going to kick that thing’s ass.” And that can be a real or metaphorical ass-kicking, either way.
The thing is that I already feel grossly incompetent. And I know everyone feels grossly incompetent at times, so that’s fine, but I feel grossly incompetent and like the only grown-up in my household. Which is also fine. I made some choices; I let some shit get to points it shouldn’t have gotten to; life goes on. I’m not complaining; I’m just saying.
Like it or not, I’m the person who has to take care of shit, because if there’s not one grown-up in the house, there won’t be power or cable or food or even one god-damn car so that people can get to work.
The head of a household made up of one person who can’t even stay by herself for four nights before she’s huddled up under her covers like the comforter is going to provide her with magic protection against knife-wielding railway killers and one ne’er-do-well who can’t be bothered to keep a car or a job for any longer than the moment it ceases to be fun and three other mammals who need to eat and shit and occasionally go to the doctor needs to be strong and together. She should probably be working to increase her net worth.
Instead, it’s just me, who can’t even figure out what the fuck to do when something’s in her trash.
On the other hand, I’d like for just five seconds to stop being so god damned Midwestern. “Oh, I didn’t want to bother anyone.” “It’s no trouble, I’ll just live with it.” Y’all my grandma went around for twenty years with her uterus partially hanging into her vagina because she didn’t want to trouble the doctor.
Is that what I want? To never be able to ask for help when I need it because I don’t want to bother anyone?
Well, yeah, kind of. It’s a whole lot easier to just count on yourself, instead of letting others take care of you a little bit. They don’t cover this kind of stuff at our radical feminist man-hating, baby-killing, lesbian witch coven meetings, so I’m kind of at a loss.
It’s really fucked up how much I depend on the Butcher for my emotional well-being and how little I trust him to do right by the household. And the fucking dog thing is still bothering me, which is the same damn issue. It’s not that the dog cannot stay here while we’re at my cousin’s wedding–my god, I’m tired of hearing me talk about it, and yet here I go again–it’s that I trust the Professor to take care of my emotional well-being and yet I’m completely unsettled about letting her take care of my dog, who has, as we all know, come to embody half of my world.
My god, if I had to leave my car and Mrs. Wigglebottom in someone’s care for the day, I’d need a fucking therapist.
And it’s not that the Professor is untrustworthy. The woman is one of the most-trustworthy people on the planet. I trust her with my life, and I don’t say that lightly.
It’s that I am being a total idiot about this shit.
My god. Did I have a point? A fucking hour ago, I started out to say something about feeling like a bad feminist and from there we’ve gotten to me admitting an overdependance on the well-being of my dog and car and my inability to negotiate regular human interaction without selling the people that I care about short.
God damn. I wish this had been more of a post about me wishing I knew how to kick someone in the face and wanting to discover inner strength and wisdom and all that inspirational feminist bullshit you’ve come to love. But somehow, we never got there.