If you want to sing out…


…sing out!

As you can probably tell, by most of these ramblings, Reader (if, in fact, you do exist), I’m not the sort of girl who just shuts up, on cue. If something’s on my mind, chances are, it’s coming out of my mouth. This, is where I have a hard time, with the menfolk. I’ve had a couple try to beat the verve right out of me, had a few attempt heartless manipulation, and had others just out-and-out break it off. I prefer (for obvious reasons) the last one. You’d be surprised, however, at how many people try to change the other one, in their relationships, before finally jumping ship, leaving the half-changed better (though, usually, worse) for the wear. I try to learn something, from everyone, myself. If I can come out unscathed; wunderbar! It’s just about damned impossible, I know.

I think, if you can take everything you learn, particularly hardships, and make use of them in your life, it’s really all worth it. The hard times tend to make for better times, and the things you wish you could forget will keep you from making the same mistake, again. I like to sing at the top of my lungs in the car (occasionally, in the shower, too), but this is something that was successfully manipulated out of me. It makes me sad, because it’s hard to lose a piece of yourself as a casualty of genuine douchebaggery. I know, I know, it’s not a word, but it should be. I think I’ll start a petition. Anyhow, there are lots of things about me I hope I can get back, on the other side of whatever this is, and things I hope to lose.

I know I’m supposed to be a “lady”, and that certain things are expected of the fairer sex, such as not swearing like the bi-product of a trucker and a sailor’s torrid weekend. I just can’t help it. I swear considerably less, in front of my daughter, and sometimes, it needs an escape. It builds up, after a day of absurdities and frustrations, alike, to the point that adult company (at last) is like a welcome release on a slightly leaking pressure valve. Swearing at sporting events, has slipped away. In fact, I haven’t been out to a Braves game in two years, a hockey game in four; now that the Thrashers are gone, it’ll be ever longer; or a football game, since I was eleven. It was so long ago, Bledsoe was throwing for the Pats, and Brady wasn’t much more than a Provincetown wet dream. Technically, I don’t think I’m allowed to like sports and men, at the same time, in this region of the country.

Honestly, I just want to be myself, again. Like Maude, I want to sing out, “still fighting for the Big Issues, but now in my small, individual way.” I’ll leave you, Reader, with that.