A Usual Mistake

"I like to tell all my fairy god-daughters and my niece that when I'm gone, they can sit on the floor and go through all these journals, and they can walk through my life, and they can smell the gardenia perfume on the pages. They can have it in their hands, who I was."

-Stevie Nicks


4. And Other Mythical Creatures

June 9, 2016


It's been a few months, I think, since I last wrote online. I wonder if I still remember how to do this. New keyboard. Expect lots of typos.

It's 1:38 am. Sometimes I wonder why I can't live on the schedule of a normal human being.

I've been receiving a lot of signs, lately, or maybe imagining them based on some internalized conflict, about being more feminine. But, really, what does that mean? Femininity has become a media sensation, basically synonymous with ethereal perfection. Maybe that's always what femininity was, and women for centuries have been wondering exactly how they're supposed to be feminine. Maybe I'm giving up too soon, or don't feel like trying, but it seems like women spend their whole lives trying to be ~more~ of everything.

On the other hand, though, it sometimes feels superficial to be worried about being feminine. Sometimes if I put my hair up, I look in the mirror and take it down again, because it's not worth worrying constantly if it's falling out of getting lopsided. If I put on mascara - the only makeup I actually own and know how to use - I only think that I'll just be wiping it off again in a few hours, after it's smeared my eyelids like a raccoon. If I get dressed up, wear a dress, wear anything out of the ordinary, I picture being told devastating news that day, and how stupid it would seem then, to be dressed like that.

I suppose there's strength in femininity. How many cultures revolve around matriarchs? How many families? It's a paradox, though, because, for example, men. They pay attention to feminine women, bend over backwards for them, but if she has something to say, it's discounted as shallow. To most people, it's one or the other. Internal or external beauty. Not that there aren't women who are both. Manic pixie dream girls, mostly. So maybe it is men's fantasy to have a woman who is beautiful ~and~ smart.

I don't know. I feel like I'm going in circles.

But that's my dilemma. Is femininity...strength? Is it compromising your strength? Does anyone know?

I'm confused. And not entirely sure it makes a difference one way or the other. Sometimes I live in my head so much that it seems people will think I'm strange no matter how I dress or behave.

I'm constantly tempted to add quotes and lyrics to my journals to make my points, but I'm already worried enough about not having any original ideas. But honestly, is there anything I'm ~not~ worrying constantly about?

I'm tired. It's exhausting, worrying so much. People have a never-ending mental conversation with themselves, but mine sometimes feels like being incessantly shrieked at by a sugar rushed child. Part of it is that I have no one I can really talk to. I have a best friend, and you'd think that talking to someone is what makes you their best friend, but in our case, it was just circumstance and habit. We met in kindergarten, she moved away after seventh grade, and we made pointed efforts to stay in touch, which means that now, we live five thousand miles apart and have hardly anything in common, but are still best friends by default. And for one thing, she doesn't like to talk about deep things. Or maybe she does, but it's awkward to do it across computer screens and time zones and an ocean. Even when she's here, we're always laughing. Which doesn't sound like a bad thing, but that's not how life works, and neither should important relationships. Maybe we just don't have the day-to-day familiarity to be comfortable talking about existential things.

Anyway. My point is, my internal monologue is pretty much shouting at me 24/7 because it has no one else to talk - at any volume - to.

And yet, I can't think of anything to write. Again, it's a matter of importance. The little things, I can say to whomever; reactions and ongoing conversations don't matter so much. And the big things are sometimes just too oppressive.

When you think about it, I don't have a lot happening in my life. I'm not in school, and even if I were, it's summer. I'm supposed to be in California right now, but I had a panic attack the morning I was supposed to leave and missed my flight. I had also wanted to have a job by this point, but ~there's~ an anxiety minefield. I've started realizing that clerks and waitresses and salesgirls are actually my age now. But that hardly helps me pluck up the courage to go job-hunting, because I hardly relate to people my age at all. This is not some hipster discourse here. I mean, I hardly go to school, so I'm not really around other teenagers that often. Most of them are six inches taller than me, which really doesn't help. Not only is it intimidating, it's just hard to connect with someone when your planes of reference are completely different. Most of them wear makeup and trendy clothes, and have sleek straight hair. Which I don't. For one, I don't see the point of current fashion, and would rather wear whatever I think looks good. For another, I don't have the patience or incentive to learn how to do my makeup, and then do it every day, and for another, even if I did straighten my hair, it would be curly again by lunchtime. So I just feel ~different.~ And a little inferior. It takes a crazy amount of arrogance to look at the majority, wonder why you're not like them, and deduce that you're better. Or even just different. A crazy amount of arrogance, or maybe just confidence, that I do not have.

They say that if you're isolated too long, you feel like you're going insane. Prisoners in solitary confinement do. Say that, not go insane, although maybe that's true as well.

I just need to get out of my head. And out of my bedroom. The whole circuitous point of this is, I'm not sure how.

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