I’m fine, really, I just needed to go for a jog and to say the fuck-word ten hundred times
I step into the elevator and stare in the mirror at what can only be described as a thirty-something, American dork giving me the stink eye. She’s wearing these dumb blue running shorts she’s had for like 15 years which act as some ridiculous cake topper for the hairy and mole-ridden legs that haven’t seen the sun in 9 months and that are probably about to get rocked into a melanoma frenzy by the hot Seville sun.
There are tits somewhere under this sports bra that is so tight that I become forcefully acquainted with the previously unknown phenomenon called ‘back fat’, which I just quickly add to the list of body parts I would like exchanged for something else. The hidden, smashed up tits are stupid, inadequate blobs of uselessness though because they’ve never once served either one of their real purposes. I’d be better off with mosquito bites, or cancerous moles or watermelon jelly beans for tits.
My workout clothes are out of style and too small for me because I refuse to spend more money on shit that's gonna rot in my closet from lack of use. And by 'refuse to spend money on' I mean 'can't buy because pretty soon I’m gonna be unemployed'. But whatever, I'm not talking about money and my stupidly precarious job situation, okay, I'm talking about the fact that my boobs are idle, ineffectual flesh quagmires and that I never fucking exercise because I have problems with self-discipline.
Today's different though. Today I'm going running. Yeah, like, with my ipod and all my stupid gear and shit. And I look like a total dork but I don't care. Because my body parts are stupid anyway and they go with my dumb outfit.
Today I want to smash pavement with my heels, until my head turns a scary shade of red with a rush of the opiate of endorphins, no matter how much the impact pulverizes my whiny little bitch of a sacrum that, while I'm at it, should be added to the list of body parts that need to be exchanged.
I raise my lip slightly exposing my teeth in disapproval at my reflection. Stupid elevator mirrors. I should have taken the stairs. I decide that I don’t care if my sacrum shatters into a million pieces. It’s not like I’m pregnant and I need to be careful. It’s not like I’m “healthy” anyway. Nature already decided that my kind are to die out, so what’s the diff? Ha! The pavement is going to feel what I want to do to people’s faces. People like my doctor with his stupid 25 thousand million dollar scheme he has cooked up to make me a sci-fi baby in a petri dish because I apparently require weird lab equipment and a million dollars to have a family. He'll only do this after stabbing me for scary blood tests and looking in at all my rotted organs and after cutting out a chunk of my husband’s balls and after making him jack off on demand. Bam! How does that feel, stupid pavement face? What up with your science now, bitch? The pavement also gets to be all the stupid people that have pestered us to have kids because my god, it’s so goddamn simple, you just lay down and deposit your cum and voila!- you have a vomiting woman and a positive pregnancy test and truckloads of like hope and excitement and shit and, you know, a future that doesn't resemble the fucked up one that's in my mind right now.
I blast the music on my ipod and hope people hear it and know I’m not interested in humanly high fives, chit chat, eye contact, sharing the universe with them, offering them a drop of water if they were dying of thirst, or being a member of their stupid society with their stupid ideas and their seeds they spread like a germ diaspora while my shit never gets fertilized because it sucks. Them, with their perfectly functioning ovaries and sperm, with their abilities to bust out their junk at any given moment and create the seedlings of a human, statistically speaking, with nearly anyone that just happens to walk by. Them, with, you know things like property in their name and, oh I don’t know, a steady income so that they could adopt a little baby if they wanted to, a little baby that needed a mommy and daddy and that's out there and that needs me. I know I only live in a rental apartment and I might not have a job soon, but I'm gonna make it and so fuck you for not letting me have a family until I'm fucking old and gray and too decrepit to have one.
I don’t belong in that society. I guess I’ll just hang back here with the a-holes that think breast milk in a sealed container in a fridge at work is offensive and that say they don’t want kids simply because they don’t like what it would do to their beautiful bodies as if gravity ain’t gonna fuck that shit up anyway. We'll just hang out here with our dogs and talk about furminators and about how great life is without kids and how people with kids fucking suck.
By the time I get back home, my head is clear and I don’t hate everyone anymore, and science and society are cool as shit again, and I'm gonna survive, I guess. But my face is red for the next three hours and my back really fucking hurts.
Stupid sacrum.
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15 comments:
I love your inner dialogue, it sounds as nasty and self-hating as mine. And I wish you got preggo as easily as a sixteen year old girl just back from Purity camp. And I hope you find the money for your sci fi bebe or Someone Important realizes lots of insolvent renters raise babies and gives you a baby that needs a mom and dad. It's true, you can have lots of childless fun, Gene and I dream about it a lot more than I care to admit. Still, the kids are good, they get you out of your head, they love you even when you're fucked up and make you work so hard to be better. They also make you feel wholly incompetent, wildly impatient and completely fucked. You deserve to feel that so I hope you get the chance.
I love the way you write Blues, one because it's interesting to read and two, I always get another sliver of who I think you are--it's like a picture downloading slowly, line by line.
And Spain is still on the table for Mr.Formerly and I, I am determined.
Sheesh.
Great snapshot of your inner workings.
Familiar too.
Stick with it is all I can say.
running is a great way of getting the fucks out.
and yes it's completely fucked that so much of our reproduction (wanting kids, not wanting kids) is in the control of *every-other-fucking-body*. it's unfair and sucky and makes you want to smash something.
See that! Exercising IS good for you! Look at how much better you feel. And you might be a dork, but you're our dork.
Jeezus. One great post after another. I know I've said this before; you don't post very often but when you do, you make it count. That's contrary to my "throw it all out there and something might stick" method.
Everything UB said, plus...Fuck. I'm sorry. Hope it works out.
Yeah, I've found the best thing about exercise - the only good thing, in fact - is as a means of getting the frustration out.
The breeding thing? Hang in there. It ain't all that uncommon these days. Something going on in the Western fertility pool.
@FF - Thanks for the nice things you say. This is a really milder version of what my real inner dialogue is. I just didn't want you guys to worry. ;-) Well, I'm not that self-loathing. Err, kinda. Thing is, I know we can get the money for a sci-fi baby, but I'm not convinced that I want to do things that way. But it appears it would be much easier for us to find the money than to do what would be required to be able to adopt - which is pretty much impossible right now.
@Xbox - I get it now. Fully.
@Jen - If I didn't run, I would just punch things and I don't think that would go over real well in my house. So running feels like I'm punching things with my feet.
@UB - who knew everyone was right that exercise was a stress reliever, even though for me it's a back killer. My back better get over it, cause right now I NEED to run. As to your posting, I think you're doing pretty damn good. I wish I had it in me to post as often as you do but most days I just draw a complete blank and tell myself, "no one will care about that stupid shit in your head". I should have more balls and post more often. I think bloggers that post more often have greater chances of writing greater stuff. It's all in the practice and that's where I get lazy.
@pueblogirl- I know, it's hard to know what to say. I never knew what to say to people in this position and I'm having a hard time knowing what to say to myself now that will keep me positive.
@A Free Man - we're a dying race. Which is why I need a kid so bad. I need someone to be there when I die. Weird, but I actually think that a lot. Cycle of life stuff, you know?
I wished like hell for xbox to reproduce. I'm not taking credit or anything, but I think the results speak for themselves. I'll be turning that attention to you, now.
Be prepared.
(This was so good,by the way.)
Thank you Ginny. I know. I'm thinking as long as Xbox is still hanging around, I'll be fine. He's like my lucky charm or something. I'm hoping some of it will rub off on me.
I never had any trouble getting pregnant, just couldn't stay that way longer than 2 months. Blessings to you both.
I agree with UB. You don't write very often but when you do I'm completely blown away. Wish I had as much talent.
I want to say chin up and that everything will work out but I don't know this for sure. I just hope that you get your wish.
@HIF - that sucks, worse even that this.
@Sid - thank you and no worries. I know it will happen or it won't and I guess I'll find out soon enough.
I could have written this, except instead of babies substitute like, well, men. I'm not paying for them or growing them in a lab, but fuck are they scarce.
The other day I went out for a 5 Mile run. I had my sweatpants on, and a cool little t-shirt, and I rolled my house keys down my socks, and I started walking. You know, to warm up.
I found a way into a part of the neighborhood where no one would know me, and turned from walking to running. It felt great. I was 16 again, and everything was possible. Look at me, running uphill!
The sprinklers were going outside a house, and instead of avoiding them, I ran straight through them like the Greek God that I was.
Then I got tired. Half a mile in. The End.
You know, there was a time in my life where nothing was working. I didn't have a job, I didn't have money, and I was forced to stay at a house of a married couple who hated each other. Their only way to communicate was to make fun of me.
I remember walking around town to escape the couple, which made things worse, because everyone around me had a job and a place to live.
It was the start of a long dark period, that I wish I could say has made me stronger, but it didn't.
Still, I know, just like I knew then, that my obsession with other people's happiness was misguided. Even though I knew it then, I couldn't do anything about it.
You deserve to be happy. Don't forget it.
And I'm sure you have beautiful boobs.
You're just a fucking, genius, you know that? Missed you. A lot.
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