Thursday, June 23, 2011

Stormy Weather

I had to leave class and go to the bathroom so I could throw a mini temper-tantrum. I have a right to be mad. I guess I was feeling so weak I let myself get dicked around. Dr. George was right, though. We come from different schools of thought. My interpersonal relationships are just as intimate as my casual ones. Every conversation is a discussion, debate, a way to get to know one another.

...And I am not a Southerner. I can't even begin to understand how to think like one.

This is my trying tour of duty. I hope to look back one day and remember how I endured, thank it for making me stronger, and promise I'll never go back.

I was thinking the other day about how my Father never blamed himself for anything. When I was younger, I saw this a weakness, because it takes real strength to admit that you're wrong, or need help. I've been so concerned about being honest with myself, that I'll accept blame way before I blame anyone else. I'm going to stop doing that. This is not my fault. I'm awesome, but I'm not going to be much more than a friend to any of these dudes. It's too bad really, cause we have a lot to learn from each other, I'm just not allowed to bash Southern Boys over the head with respect and equal opinions of both sexes. It's really frustrating, but no self-righteous speech of mine is going to change them. I'm just going to focus my energy elsewhere.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Bandaid

I read an article yesterday about a model who went on a penniless walking pilgrimage. I could find a good place for my things, its the memories I can't seem to let go.

"You never remembered something as hard as you could so you could tell someone later?"

It's part of being intimate. I think.

"You're jumping the boat."
"Well as long as we're both clear about that, I don't see what the problem is."

But I was scared, and tensed at certain pressure points. I'm like a coil of ropes and when I woke up, I wasn't sure why I had needed that in the first place. He's gone. His mouth, his body, his hands. And everyone, everywhere will feel different, like a bandaid for the scratch.

"Please don't judge me." It was the first thing that came out of my mouth as we stood face to face. He looked like a confused little kid and I thought maybe all along that's what he was hiding under the dye and fancy shoes. He didn't provoke me, but I fell into conversation with his inner thoughts. The kind you shouldn't have to defend. The kind that make you feel uncomfortable when ever someone brings them up. So I don't know why I went there. I don't have anything to loose.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

You Complain, you complain, you complain.

At some point as a child I learned to tune out the hard stuff: words spiked with poison, that come from a place of anger and pain. Being whipped around in my seat after a corner taken too fast, the feeling of his fist on my shoulder blade, teeth, knuckles, and the knife in the palm of my hand. I had to run to a place where I knew he wouldn't find me. I'm a coward, but he came after me, and I was scared.

This was the last time I saw him. This was our goodbye. Fitting.

A few days later I was sitting on a porch in Richmond. There was a girl with thick blond hair and almond shaped eyes wearing a black tee shirt and slacks. We talked about a lot of things, but somehow came to the feeling, the anxiety, and the confusion of blatant bullying. I see more of it in the south, where I don't look like other girls, and conformity is highly valued. She was telling me that I should pull out a little crazy, that I should get big, get mean, and stick up for myself.

I've seen guys get angry when their pride is injured. When a girl gets mad, she's a bitch.

I promised myself I would never get mad for irrational reasons, but sometimes I feel angry, and I put it in a box for later. So when I drop my cellphone on the pavement, or spill wine on myself, its like the world's ending. It's literally that small.

So a couple of things: If you think you can get sex out of a relationship you don't value, you're going to die alone. You're 26. If you think you can take advantage of someone for 10 months, but they're a bitch 'cause they're fed up, you're probably gonna die alone. If you think I'm a threat to you, you're just plain wrong. "It's what you do, not who you were, what you wear, or where you've been. So do something." You can dress a part, look a part, act a part, but deep down, if you're an ignorant southern boy, you're just that, and no one with any sense wont see through it. You could be the most amazing, kind person on earth, but if you're dating a manipulator who's taken control of you're relationships, you're just a coward. So what's the point? Make up your own mind.

That's pretty much everything I've been pissed about for a while now. I'm gonna try to be a little more selfish from this point forward.

In other news, I'm single, ineligible, and uninterested. I drove 12 hours in the last 2 days and loved every single second of pavement. Everyone everywhere that I've ever known are still my friends even if we don't talk that often (I know that seems obvious, but I just learned that recently...and thank goodness! Because it's the cause of a lot of my woes). I'm okay, and living in the South is actually pretty sweet. I have the whole country at my fingertips. The future is pretty exciting, and I have awesome friends.