A Girl in a War

Let me prelude this by saying I’m a little tipsy. And by a little tipsy, I don’t mean tipsy is an understatement. I mean that “tipsy” makes my inhibitions go a little, and when in the right circumstances, such as being bored to death tonight, makes my inhibitions focus inward rather than flaunt themselves in my surroundings. 

So I’m the tiniest bit drunk and still frustrated with myself that I haven’t put together a thematic, singular post in awhile. That I haven’t had time or energy. 

So here goes some thoughts from tonight. Things I need to finish.

Death today was particularly evident. 

I need to vomit up my anger. I need to vent, be upset, have it singularly all thought out and halfway published and known. And then I need to move on. I remember how upset I was with a few past boyfriends. I wrote angry letters to them, which I’m almost positive (or hoping) affected them to the core of their being, and then I was able to move on. For the life of me, I can’t remember what I wrote in those letters, because now I understand those past boyfriends to be flippant relationships of adolescence. But still, I moved from being on the cliff of life changing decisions and an angry letter. And once I wrote the letter, I barely gave them a thought. So I need to write that little letter. Some of it belongs to him. Most of it is for myself.

I cannot stand to surround myself with idiots. Particularly men. I cannot understand why people do not strive to be bigger versions of themselves. No ambition. No hunger. By their early 20’s they have beer guts and curse like sailors and satisfy themselves on budlight. It’s so… sad. They choose to be young boys. And I look around the room and think “Who’s man enough for a woman like me?” I think I have the attitude and the confidence (enough) to claim myself a woman. Not a lady, not a girl. But a woman. With pride and humility and grace and beauty (though perhaps inner) and youthfulness of a real woman. That maybe it’s not what I have or what I’ve developed, but what I aim to become that entitles me to that honor. — In any case, I know that I’m either smug or I truly cannot handle men who behave like idiots.

I need to make a list of the little luxuries of my life. What makes my day worthwhile? Why? What can I get rid of?

I understand that being a wallflower is perhaps one of the greatest roles a person can play. I understand why I love Sal Paradise’s and why Dean Moriarty’s are a dime a dozen. Listening is everything. 

If I were to make comic books, I would start with the “Adventures of Shadow and Tucker.” Two dogs make a very different dynamic within a household and upon a person. 

I miss a comfortable kiss. I don’t miss the kiss being an escape for someone else’s inner loneliness and insecurity. 

I heard an interview of John Mellencamp. I like him now. I also need to listen to more of Tennessee Williams. 

I need to cook more for myself. Myself alone. 

Kroger sushi isn’t that good. Neither is starbucks. I really can’t taste the coffee. I taste the plastic. I miss the Daily Grind and chuck tailors and the blatant honest unapologetic homegrowness of Buckhannon. I miss living in a small town that became a blank slate for growth. I can’t wait to go back. 

Ever since watching Madmen, I have become extremely intolerant of commercials and our consumer driven society. I have never itched to get out more than I have in the past three months. We waste. We value convenience over human life. We have no idea what it means to be empathetic. I hate us. We’re pathetic, small people. I don’t want to be apart of this sin, this economic society any longer. Really, give it a few hours of research, and you’ll never be more disgusted with yourself and your neighbor. 

Goodnight.