Monday, November 16, 2009
Self Doubting Bitch
Please just go ahead and scroll past this post right now. Because I plan to whine, and not even eloquently. So I want to be able to break dance. I want to not be addicted to Google Reader. I want to not miss being a smoker. I want blond cork-screw curls. I want to be comfortable sharing with the pick a little talk a little women, that I am surrounding myself with all of a fucking sudden, that I don't care if they think I'm a good parent, neighbor, wife, reader, movie-goer or person. Oh, and I'd like to mean it. I want to have had a great childhood and some vague example of what I'd like to be to my boys. I want to have known a smidge about myself before my 25th birthday. I want to not be in constant competition with my mother. I want a hard body. I want to save my kids from the intensive life that I fear Northern Virginia could have planned for them. I want to say over-crowded; caged; never see the light of day; nailed to the spot; like a Norwegian Blue only not quite dead instead of intensive. Wow, am I really that much of a smug morally superior bully? Bully, yes. Smug and morally superior, I am today. I'm lovely, I should be medicated. Well, medicated better.