Hormones Are Never Handy

I hate being a woman sometimes. Actually, I hate being human sometimes. You’re either too fat or too thin; too short or too tall; too pale or too dark; too rich or too poor; too shy or too pushy; too vocal or too passive; the list goes on and on. Sometimes, I wish I could be an animal. See, as a human woman I have to deal with hormones. Hormones are never handy. Like, I’m standing in line in the grocery store and a tabloid article about an actress who just had another child reminds me of my apparent inability to conceive and I start to cry.

Without warning the tears will flow out of my eyes and the woman behind the counter is wondering why the price of a carton of eggs and an RC Cola would upset me so much. That, or I’m at work and someone will make an innocent enough teasing comment, not meant to harm really, just meant as a jest, but I take it so very personally that as soon as they walk around the corner I’ve got waterfalls making noticeable lines on my dirty face because the dust from the boxes has coated my every inch of skin.

Else, I’m sitting in the computer lab at ten thirty at night reading my grandmother’s blog when all of a sudden I start to cry about something I have read before. The other night I even cried after a rerun of Full House. At least if I were an animal maybe life would be more simple. There would be eating, sleeping, fecal and urine elimination, reproduction, not a whole lot of excitement but it would be steady and routine and I don’t think I would find myself curled up in corner somewhere with a box of tissues and a gallon of ice cream watching some sad and saucy chick flick.

I just don’t understand myself sometimes. Half the time I am proud of my independence and the ability to think for myself and the other half of the time I’m waiting for someone to come along and kiss my wounds and tell me, “…Not to worry everything will be all right and I can make it all better…” But I know that’ll never happen. In the mean while I keep wishing I were a stallion. A stallion is wild and free; he’s the stud of the herd; he leads them through the wilderness with reckless abandon and strength and foreboding at once.

He is the king. That or I wish I were a chameleon. Chameleons are stable, adaptable. They can change colors to match their surroundings which makes them well-rounded, well-adjusted individuals. They don’t usually hang out with other chameleons making small talk about the latest Dawson’s Creek episode either. The only part I wouldn’t like is the whole eating bugs thing, but I suppose if I had been born a chameleon I wouldn’t know there was anything better to eat.

Maybe I should be a Challion–head of a chameleon, body of a stallion. That would be awesome. I want a Challion tattooed on me. I also want a two headed dragon, but these cost money I haven’t got. Money is a commodity becoming less and less available and less and less desirable as the days go by. In two months they will ask me if I wish to renew my lease and will tell them no and then go look for a smaller cheaper place with the bare necessities or even less than that and I will sleep on a mattress on the floor and live by candlelight for a fortnight if I have to, but I do not want to do that if I could avoid it.

I have asked boyfriend if he would like to look for a place together next time, but he doesn’t sound so enthusiastic about it. I can’t live my life on the fence like this, when I don’t know if were going or coming or if I’m cumming as he’s going away. I know you can’t give a man an ultimatum, because he’ll just do the opposite of what you want just to get you off his back, without thinking of what it’ll do to him if you go. And I know boyfriend.

He won’t beg me to stay because he thinks he’s above that, but he’ll miss me when I’m gone. But sometimes I just want to yell at him; tell him why won’t he make up his mind? I don’t know what the answer is, so I wish I were a Challion.

Ani DiFranco–I’m gonna turn and walk away. You can wait ’til I am far along, then run and come and catch my arm and say you’d die if I were gone. I want to hear you call my name. It’s too easy just to say it soft. I don’t like my language watered down; I don’t like my edges rounded off. I can’t always wait for your circumstance to improve. Love is loose, it shifts each time you move. Go ahead, put my back against the wall. Give it all up, or don’t give it to me at all. You never know, this could be our last night, so step back, step back into the light so I can see your silhouette. I’m not done looking yet. Save the profile for the camera. Give me your eye to eye. I know all your secrets and you know all of mine. Mostly I don’t go for the soft focus and the fantasy. I need something real I can think and say and see so I’m going to turn and walk away. You wait til I am far along, then run and come and catch my arm and say you’d die if I were gone. Yes, I’m going to turn and walk away, you can watch me go.

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