There are a couple of military grunts living above my mom’s apartment. Late one night, one of them said as they stomped up the stairs, “I’m gonna stop drinking. I gotta quit drinking.”
His roommate followed him up the stairs behind him and replied, “Don’t be a little bitch.”
I laughed when I heard this and suggested to my boyfriend that we create signs that said, “Don’t be a little bitch” and place them on the lawn in front of them.
But we’re lame. We didn’t.
There are, of course, a few things that bothered me about his roommate/friend’s statement. One of which makes me think of the “bro code” and the ways in which men teach each other to be tough. The other is my aversion and distain for the word “bitch”. Even in its so-called empowering use, I still find the word offensive, but that’s because I dated a man who referred to women as “bitches”, including me when he was angry, and his birth mother.
Although, even this sentence used in jest has something beautifully stupid behind it. I can’t wait to use it on my boyfriend when he least expects it. Heck, I can’t wait to use it on myself to remind me of the absurdity of life, my decisions and fears.
It seems perfect though, at this time of New Year’s resolutions, intentions and goal-setting to hear this. If I was at a different time in my life, I’d probably shrug this off as something guys say to each other.
If I was at a more stable time in my life, I’d probably be reflecting quietly, pen in hand, poised, making scratches, drinking coffee and dreaming big dreams. But since I’m in a rocking boat on route to what feels like nowhere, I’m feeling a wee bit cynical, a wee bit like I’m crawling through the jungle on my elbows.
Almost every day the direction of my life has taken a new turn. I’m too exhausted and busy to even have a good cry. Skyping with my friends has been my therapy and living my life out of order is becoming the new normal. I have never missed having a routine more than ever. But I’m trying to be grateful. When I can, I sit there and think of nothing. I don’t even have to try. It goes on shutdown mode. It’s a welcome break.
The BF seems to think we will look back at this time and count ourselves lucky. I’m not there yet.
This is the problem when you write about your life. I’m too close to the mess. I write for relief, but my world is part-time hostile and part-time hospitable right now. When you’re in the clothes dryer with a hornet’s nest, you just want to go fetal.
“Fucking shit,” one of the guys upstairs says.
I mutter back, “I hear ya, dude. I hear ya.”
Ever notice when you are waiting at the dentist or traveling that time slows down? Yeah, life has s l o w e d down. I keep waiting for a break, that flicker of light. I can’t really settle down and even read anything these days. I know I’m supposed to “lean into the discomfort” ala Brené Brown, but man, is that ever an easy thing to say and not do.
I know, I know. Don’t be a little bitch.
P.S. To the person who searched on my blog, “What is it when a white person tans and goes white very fast”, I don’t know.
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