“…when I hear women saying that the cards are stacked against them because of the Patriarchy I think, “Yeah no shit. Welcome to the world, Princess. Stop stomping your dainty little foot sniffling “not fair!” Grab the fucking deck and reshuffle.”
The first time Steve put his hands on me, I sighed, audibly, said, “Okay, then,” and thought, “So this is how it’s gonna be, eh?” I was displeased, not offended or violated.
You did it again, I told myself. Spread open your arms, pointed at your vital places and said, “aim for here…it will hurt best here.”
” I was asking for the relief from living that the drug supposedly gave, with none of the greasy memories I tied to it still attached.”
. I loved it. I hated it. It felt sick there and so special too. Like Nigger Ben Butte, all wrong, distasteful even, but sickly compelling in its defiance.
I put him to bed tonight. I tried to tickle, hug, sing, play. Slow, gentle; I know not to smother or overwhelm him. Interspersed between each new attempt was the constant refrain, near tears, “Get out! Get Out! Get Out!” pointing at the door.
I’ve turned in nine chapters of my book in under three months, maybe about four more to go. The book is funny. I am funny. Underwear and toilets are funny. It all comes together. I have friends who are disppointed in how I’ve chosen to use my way with words. People who think humor…