If there is one thing I am grateful for with the women in my family is that they didn’t give into these subversive patriarchal assaults . My mother was always physically and mentally strong. I think during all of our moves growing up, she did most of the physical labor. Though I loathe some of the emotional stoicism inherited to me by the women of my family, I’m glad that I was never assumed to be nurturing or caretaking. In fact that was never really my calling, and I’m glad that was never something that was actively projected on me the way it was by society at large.
I don’t want to be a wife or a mother. Anytime I say this to people—dates, the odd friend or acquaintance—I am perpetually met with the ‘well you’ll never know, maybe you’ll change your mind’. Am I not allowed to have autonomy over my own life? Why do you care if I reproduce or introduce a legally binding contract into my relationship? Is that what’s supposed to give me value? Fuck offfffff.
I’ve been mulling over these thoughts today, and to cope I angrily broke down boxes in my alleyway. ❤
I had an ex once tell me that I was, quote: a-little-trashy. And so what if I am. Tired of being perceived in this narrow gender norm way.
Now that I’ve emptied the surface content of my brain, in other news, I had late lunch with a friend today that was really refreshing. We were able to talk authentically and communicate at a real level. It’s a friendship that has evolved to grow more vulnerable lately, and I’m grateful for it. I don’t think I even have the emotional capacity for toxic/inauthentic friends. It’s so draining and for what? I’m trying to grow towards greater levels of connectivity, and I’m glad I’m starting to find that.
I’m also contemplating my own authenticity. I know that in some ways I am a hypocrite, but I think my awareness of that still says something. Contradictions are inherent in human beings, and I’m okay with that. Exploring which parts of me belong to me and which parts I’ve absorbed from others. There’s something about the transition into adulthood wherein we are expected to form cognitive dissonance and learn to cope with things that initially bothered us by ignoring them or minimizing them. And I’m trying to reject that programming. I want to feel uncomfortable if it means growing greater authenticity.
I’m actually really happy about my new apartment 🙂 I am still in the unpacking-transitional phase in which there is much clutter lying about; and also I still have some furniture I might like to sell on Facebook Marketplace for a quick buck CHA CHING. I want this space to feel intentional and not cluttered. I very much like stuff but I want the things that are visible to feel like they were meant to be there, and not like I was just too lazy to put them away, oops.
When I can afford it, I’d like to add some estate-sale-flea-market-vintage pieces. But again, being mindful of my dwindling budget now that I am ~cut off~ and of my space in general. I think my favorite part is the bathroom. Don’t come for me but purchased a child’s bath mat in the shape of a unicorn. It was hell of a lot cheaper than the others, and it very much evoked the nostalgia of the 1982 classic hit children’s cartoon “The Last Unicorn” which will send me into tears every time.
I’ve been very slow in my unpacking as I’ve been distracted by my re-watching of King of the Hill. It takes me back to my roots in a very yikes way. But also I guess I am more yee haw than I admit even to myself. Come to think of it, my mother’s father’s family full on owns a RANCH. Where they literally raise cattle. Wow!
[The only time I remember going to the ranch, I double-dipped in the guacamole and had my hand slapped by mom. Lmk in the comments if u are a loud and proud double dipper.]
Sometimes I miss country folk, because at least you know where you stand with them. I don’t know if there’s even that much of a “bless your heart” culture in West Texas because it’s literally a town of people engaging in the most dangerous forms of labor that I don’t think that they have time. I think I miss some of the unpretentiousness of my mom’s hometown if it didn’t also go hand in hand with feeling alienated if you were any whiff of subculture or left leaning.
Maybe I will make a Frito® Pie. At once unbecoming and low brow, it is also the fuel of cozy camping vibes and the call of Summer. Some may love her, others may scorn her, I guess that’s a bit of me :’)