Caterwauling

Tonight was one of those nights that, if I had $4 to rub together, I’d have probably bought a pack of cigarettes.

Yay poverty. 😉

I am typing through the throes of the world’s worst migraine, the likes of which shouldn’t be legal. It’ll be OK — my head’s jammed full of thoughts right now. I’m sure it’ll empty itself out soon enough.

That said, I feel like my life has gone from a hybrid of “Sex and the City” meets “Seinfeld” to a montage that includes “Desperate Housewives.” There are four of us in my immediate circle who are simply at the mercy of men sometimes — we’re all like Marcia Cross’ “Bree” character, waiting for our husband to come home from the hooker and throw us a bone. And the bone, when it comes (heh) is usually served up with a side dish of flaming dog poop. Which, of course, we have to clean up and dispose of. 😉

And it makes me wonder, were I a prettier girl (per society’s standards) or were I not a little bit sensitive thanks to some events from my past, would I have an easier time of things.

Now, call it a pity party or whatever you wish, but do you ever have the same inclination to think that, if you were a different person, would the same details that drive you batshit insane even be happening?

I had just typed about 10 paragraphs to support my earlier statement, but I killed them off. I think the simplicity says it all. Maybe I’m overly tired right now, but I spent the last hour thinking about my life as an “if/then” statement, and it’s a good thing the meeting I wanted to attend was ending just as I pulled into the parking lot — my cognitive dysentery involved some more tears than I’d care to admit.

I’m sure I’m just cranky right now (not hormonal, thanks. Just ready to tie a noose at the end of my rope, that’s all. It’ll pass). Because if nobody else loves me, damn it, *I* love me. And some days, I feel like I love the *me* who never quite managed to emerge more than the version that did.

One wonders if this is what rubs off on others. Maybe they would love — or, at least, respect — a different version of me that I just haven’t yet managed to be. Of course, does that mean I love a version of them that I don’t know but, yet, that I think … that I know … they are capable of achieving?

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 5th, 2005 at 9:28 PM and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.