no one will read this but…

…i’m going to write it anyway.

I’m going to start a story. I’ve been working on it in my favorite location, which is my sofa, IN MY BRAIN. I was going to outline some stuff, and I may before I start actually typing. I can’t sit and outline the story arc PLUS the characters PLUS the plot twists and whatever. (A) that’s too disciplined, and (b) I’m not disciplined, I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet or not. So I’m just going to start. I have the working title (“Repeated, Intense Stress”) and the basic gist of the story I want to tell. I probably should at least get some main characters, figure out what they want, and what is stopping them getting it. There. That will be my outline:

Main Character 1

Problem:

Obstacle:

Main Character 2

Problem:

Obstacle:

Begin typing, tally ho and away!

This is pretty much how I approach every single thing in my life. Which may also be why every day I go: I’m going to get up early tomorrow and lift weights. Then I go to bed at 1 AM and sleep til 10:30 AM and can barely make a pot of coffee before it’s 3 PM and I’m already trying to figure out how to pull myself the couch and at least empty the dishwasher. (I’m joking, it’s not that bad…except on Mondays, Wednesdays, and every rainy Sunday.) (Also: I make ZERO apologies for how I spend my summers. I fit 12 months of work into 10 months, and half of that is front and back end loaded on the end of my work years, and really I don’t know how it’s gotten like this but if anyone can figure out how to make it stop I’ll gladly work a regular work year and only whine a tiny bit less about it.)

Man I’m angry. Listen. Don’t try to interact with me on Twitter if you’re there to judge me on any level, be an arrogant jerk, or apologize for some man accused of some heinous thing. I no longer have the patience for it.

Also: don’t try to interact with me if, two years or two months or even two hours ago, I unequivocally and very clearly with great and tremendous force told you to stay the ever living hell away from me. For. EVAH. And don’t whine to me about forgiveness of YOUR sins. If I’ve stopped interacting with you, punching at you with my words, etc etc and so forth, trust me: you’re forgiven. But it does NOT mean you and what you said or did are forgotten. I don’t care WHAT you have to say about MY actions. Focus on YOURS. Take care of YOU. I don’t care how many women you’ve convinced you’re a great guy. I don’t care how many spiritual people you quote or how much lip service you pay to goodness and kindness, how much you talk about how you’ve changed. Are you kidding me?? I’ve got gigantic files saved on a flash drive to remind me of what you did, lest I start to get stupid again. I don’t keep these to be an asshole, I keep these as insurance policies, to protect myself. I now understand the nature of selfish men. You know what you did. So if I’m not going after you to publicly ruin you, then you’re forgiven. But forgiveness does NOT mean I have to EVER interact with you again. In any way, ESPECIALLY if your intent while interacting with me was to take advantage of me, use me, prey upon my vulnerability and lack of boundaries, and just generally use me as your personal hump toy. You are a bad man. Go away.

So don’t like my tweets, don’t encourage your latest social media friends to follow me,  don’t interact with people you see me interact with frequently, don’t even LOOK like you’re trying to get one of your little toes back in my door. When I get to a point I very angrily and publicly tell you to GO AWAY, and start calling you names, a door has been slammed, locked, bolted, with several 2x4s nailed across it and a gigantic piece of metal welded on top of all THAT, for good measure. This is called the INFJ Door Slam, even though I officially always come out INFP on those tests. I do have some INFJ in me, quite a lot actually, and I’m wondering if the two are just really kind of interchangeable. Or maybe I’m sun in INFP with a moon in INFJ. Either way, the INFJ Door Slam is a real thing, and even though the INFP in me is begging the INFJ in me to please not be so cold and hard-hearted, my INFJ feminist has put in her ear buds and is currently blasting Alanis Morrisette’s You Oughtta Know until her eardrums beg for mercy.

That’s how I work.

Speaking of…I got to hear from an old friend about two weeks ago. He texted, then he called me. It was a good and a bad conversation, in that I was able to apologize in person for going after him very publicly for hurting my heart. He did try to do the right by me, and I acted like…well, I acted like an entitled little bitch. Which I am not, but in that time period, with what I was dealing with and going through? I was. So I told him he hadn’t deserved a lot of what I said about him…but then he said a bunch of things that made me go: hmm. Maybe you DID deserve at least SOME of it.

The last conversation we had via text basically was him being very cutesy, and me going: get in touch with me if you want to have a REAL conversation and be FRIENDS. Because unlike the two men I’ve INFJ door slammed on, I did not INFJ door slam on B. Which makes me sad. Because I genuinely kind of adore B and think he’s funny and has got great man growth potential. When he’s not being a perv.

Which is also part of the story I’m about to write. Kinda. Sorta. Just…Men, please don’t use women. On any level. Not sweet women at least. If you’re old enough, you know the difference between a sweet, nice, good girl versus a female version of you. I’m sure there are chicks out there who are just out for the sex. Please go find them. Please do not find sweet, good girls on the Internet and use them. Just please don’t. Because what happens is, you wreak havoc and damage and then whine and get upset when it comes back on you. I will NOT apologize for any horrible thing I have said or done to ANY man I’ve met via Twitter. Ask those two guys. They may not tell you the whole truth, but I guarantee if they read this they know exactly what I’m talking about and why. They know what they did.

Guys are all weirded out and upset by the #MeToo stuff and our extreme anger. Are men seriously saying they reeeallly don’t understand and are shocked why some girl they really thought was very sweet would suddenly go ape shit angry on them? After being physically and verbally abused by men in the past? And then told she was basically just a convenience? REALLY.

Go do some self-examining. YOUR past actions, YOUR past choices. You wanna get mad at us for being upset you used our bodies for your needs? Then don’t do that. You wanna get mad at us for ruining your “happy” home life by taking out a wrecking ball  (YOU handed to us) and becoming whistle blowers? Then don’t cheat. Plus, while you’re so upset about the repeated, intense stress that caused you, does it ever occur to you that you, yes YOU, caused repeated, intense stress for the women you were so gleefully hiding right out in plain sight? You think that was fun? You think deciding to be a whistle blower is fun? You know what happens to whistle blowers, right? Go look it up. They don’t have fun lives. Look at Edward Snowden.

So yeah. I’m pretty ticked. I don’t have a lot of patience for male tools on the Internet OR the apologist, simpering women who gang up on the women for them…the chicks who don’t get what’s going on yet. I probably don’t punch the women as hard, and that’s probably because I used to be in their ranks, and I know why they are the way they are. But Internet dudes? Oooh. Y’all. Y’ALL. Just. Make wise choices. Please.

Anyway. I don’t know how this story will turn out. I’ve read different opinions: don’t write mad…write mad!! Don’t write while drinking…write drunk, edit sober!! Don’t write fictionalized real life narratives…write what you know!! So screw it. I’m writing a fictionalized real life narrative while mad and drinking. (which, contrary to what you may be thinking at this point, I have actually not started doing…yet.)

Here’s an excerpt I worked on the other day. I was texting a friend about some stuff she was dealing with, and I literally looked at a paragraph I’d typed to her and went: that looks like it should be part of a story. And off I went.

img_3649
“Repeated, Intense Stress”…indeed.

And just so no one thinks I’m completely lost, please know I have GOOD men in my life. Steady men, men who bring my heart a lot of happiness, a lot of peace. And I even have men I interact with online who are GENTLEMEN. Sweet, good guys who I think will make lovely friends for a long time. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’ve scared them shitless. So we cool.

The End.

Now look. I just took this picture (and yes yes yes! I DID Photo Shop to smooth out my 46 year old forehead wrinkles! So sue me). Do I LOOK like a scary girl? I say NO. And that’s  been a large part of my problem – I’m sweet and full of love. I’m a good person. But check yourself, because I’ve hit my ceiling; I simply no longer have time for sketchy, selfish men.

 

2 thoughts on “no one will read this but…

    1. Ha! Thank you. Well I feel like I still need to cool off some more, and pull my personal/private life together a bit more. I’ve been through a lot in my life and over the last 3-4 years since deciding to separate, I let in some really damaged and broken people. Not a good thing when one is struggling to heal one’s own self. I’ve got better boundaries now, but I’ve got some hard work to do. I do want to write about it—I’m a big believer in turning the negative into a positive. Thank you for your sweet support—means a lot. 🙂

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