I’m furious. I’m enraged. I’m weary. I’m horny, but that’s not going to be part of the post today. In the comments from my last post, whabs brings up the point that guilt is supposed to be a part of what it means to be a woman. I have learned that lesson all-too-well. I feel guilty nearly every goddamn minute of my life. I have learned to mitigate it somewhat so it’s just a muted chorus, but it used to dominate my thoughts. Which was why I was suicidal by age eleven. Well, not the only reason, but one of them.
In no particular order, I felt guilty for not being married, for not having children, for being bi, for being loud about issues such as racism, for not being a Christian, for letting myself get out of shape, for thoroughly enjoying sex in so many different ways and with so many different people, for not making more of myself, for wasting my life, for not having to worry as much about money as do other people, for not being able to single-handedly save the world, for being alternately aloof and clingy, for being so damn narcisstic, for craving fame, for not working hard enough to get said fame, for being a repudiation of everything my mom is, for accidentally kicking Raven twice today, for not being a better aunt/sister/daughter/friend/cat caregiver, for the Cold War, for evaluating my worth as how skinny I am, for not being enough of ______ (fill in the blank) and too much of _______ (fill in this blank, too).
Now, while I’m worrying about everything little thing I’ve ever done wrong and will ever do wrong in my life, there are people who act like their shit don’t stink. Because I follow politics, my examples are of politicians and of the so-called pundits who opine about said pols.