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Concerns about the inequality of being an independent woman. |
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I hate being an Independent Woman! Whoever had the bright idea it might be the 'way to go' was either a masochist, a workaholic or a woman hater. Now don't get me wrong. I would be the first to throw myself under the hooves of a galloping horse, or chain myself to railings or even turn down nourishment if I thought it would make me equal in the eyes of the world to men. Of course I would never have to do any of these things as I am more than equal. I just do not want to be a mug, or be 'more' equal. Equality should not mean I have to do everything. Tidy the house and work full time. Care for the children and decorate the home. Fix the car, cook and clean. Be a sex kitten in the bedroom and a finacial guru. Of course I am both these things and the rest, but why do I get the feeling I have shot myself in the foot! Lucky me gets the pleasure of organising and paying for everything. I have to look good despite having less time in the bathroom to get ready, because my man is in there preening. I have to book the restuarant, choose the food, and pay the bill. All this, and I am not even a control freak! Am I so old fashioned that I crave a man to open a door for me or perhaps fight to the bar to order me a drink occasionally? Am I so wierd that I appreciate a man walking next to the kerb, so his sword hand is free? When a man says he wants to look after me, should I not expect that may be in other ways other than to hold my hand or tell me he loves me? Is it me? Nobody said that to be equal I would have to be better than a man. It does not seem fair. Are my values so different? Why am I always disappointed? Are my expectations so out of whack? Well, this baby is about to turn, lay down groundrules and ask for a bit more fairness and a bit less 'equality.' It obviously means something different for others, or at the very least, I would get equal pay. So, time to lash myself to those railings. Come on if you are hard enough!! |
| Gut Wrenching! I know what that means now. We are what we eat they say, which means I must have scoffed a heap of infested, flesh eating pirahnas, as they have been gnawing away at me all night. My library store of self diagnosis, self help books have made a sombre read, as I ticked off the hours, like a prisoner scratching days on a damp cell wall. Ah well, the pain pales away when I consider a dear friend who is about to have part of her bowel chopped away forever. I feel the guilt of a hypochondriac who knows they are attention seeking, but why does not that make the pain any less? I could take troubled nights in my stride, but my new young husband sleeps soundly while I pace the floor in agony. Muffled moans and wretching only increase the stress, and mortality sneaks up and terrifies me. It was not so bad when I did not have so much to loose. Watching someone battle with cancer , makes me realise what a coward I am. Could I smile so sweetly and be so selfless? I will want to scream form the roof tops about how unfair it is. 'It's not my turn!' I cannot go now, I have not tidied my desk, said goodbye to my friends, or made peace with my family! So, I shall make a deal. If I prove to be healthier then my symptoms dictate, I shall be a better person. I shall be kind to animals, polite to my friends, and get rid of my ironing pile. Well, it's a start. |
| Have you ever had to stand by and watch a person self destruct? When intervention is rebuffed and any suggestion seen as criticism, it is a hard thing to observe, and quite painful to feel. I am talking about those friends who seem determind to drink or smoke themselves to death. Its like watching a junkie, who injects a quick fix poison and deteriorates before your very eyes. They know what they are doing, but will not stop. If you join them you collude, and if you challenge them you are not a true friend. To help them is to stop them, and in their eyes that is no help at all. They will hate you for caring and probably reject you with bitter arguments and anger. So, to stand and watch them kamikaze, is like watching a piece of your heart being chopped up like cheap liver. Like holding out your hand to recieve the lashing of a belt, and know that it is hurting the beater more. Such a strange feeling. Understanding and hiding behind smiles, like the sting of an acerbic custard pie a clown wipes from his eyes as they walk away, their painted red mouth hiding a silent scream. How much strength of character and risk does it take to say, 'STOP' shut up and listen!' Rattle those shoulders as you shake some truth in, as it is painfully clear kind words and understanding does not work. Who would risk a dear friendship? Perhaps a true friend? Playbacker |
| I am sure I am not the only person with this problem. Many a tree has fallen to asuage the thirst for evidence, data and the need for some people to feel important. I nearly drowned once when I was a teenager. Swimming in an outdoor public pool in Bishop's Stortford, with no heating and a light sheet of frost which I broke with my first stroke. After the inital panic when cramp set in, I became calm and resigned to the fact I was going to sink once too often. It became clear that if one was going to die, drowing was quite a cool option. (I use the word 'cool' to indicate the charm of it, not the temperature.) Lets face it, when you are numb, you're numb! I digress. I can still recall the sense of tranquility that overcame me as I sank to the bottom of that freezing man made pool, and whenever I think about it, I smile. As the years past, I often thought that if I had to go, I should leave my clothes wrapped neatly on the shore, and swim to the horizon. I never did! I met my demons and dealt with them on the way. As I sit surrounded by paperwork, some 40 years after my previous near death experience, I pondered on the whole scenario of drowning. I started to think, if drowning in paperwork is how I see my life, what better things are there to drown in? Self Pity? Beer? Chanel No. 5? No. Now I help other people deal with their demons. Hence the mountain of paperwork. What a priveledge to work in this arena. So, no longer drowning, just waving!! Playbacker |
| I am sure I am not the only person with this problem. Many a tree has fallen to asuage the thirst for evidence, data and the need for some people to feel important. I nearly drowned once when I was a teenager. Swimming in an outdoor public pool in Bishop's Stortford, with no heating and a light sheet of frost which I broke with my first stroke. After the inital panic when cramp set in, I became calm and resigned to the fact I was going to sink once too often. It became clear that if one was going to die, drowing was quite a cool option. (I use the word 'cool' to indicate the charm of it, not the temperature.) Lets face it, when you are numb, you're numb! I digress. I can still recall the sense of tranquility that overcame me as I sank to the bottom of that freezing man made pool, and whenever I think about it, I smile. As the years past, I often thought that if I had to go, I should leave my clothes wrapped neatly on the shore, and swim to the horizon. I never did! I met my demons and dealt with them on the way. As I sit surrounded by paperwork, some 40 years after my previous near death experience, I pondered on the whole scenario of drowning. I started to think, if drowning in paperwork is how I see my life, what better things are there to drown in? Self Pity? Beer? Chanel No. 5? No. Now I help other people deal with their demons. Hence the mountain of paperwork. What a priveledge to work in this arena. So, no longer drowning, just waving!! Playbacker |
| Dale Carnegie had a point. I remember buying,'How to Stop Worrying and Start Living' for 7/6p old money. Now I am starting to wish I had read it! The last 40 years may have taken a very different turn. I might not have stayed awake all last night worrying about things I can do nothing about. I might not have agonised about other peoples feelings, and concentrated a little more on my own. 'Prioritised and logically examined situations and turned my lemon into a lemonade more. 'Anticipated the worst case scenario and calcualted how to improve on the situation. 'Accepted the facts and having drawn a line, moved on. So why don't I do these things? Because I care too much! If I could lance the 'caring' bit, I might not have bled so profusely. I have the knife, the skill, the awareness and the will, but still let things fester. So, maybe some words of wisdon did permeate through, in an undetectable way, like osmosis. Maybe I just decided I didn't want to allow a book to alter the real me. So it 'goodbye' to ole' Carnegie and, hang on a minute! What's this I see? Move over Dale and make way for Steve Covey. Phew! For a minute I thought I was on my own! Playbacker |
| Well, The Queen is 80! I am 50. Her thirty year head start has given her castles, crowns and a sense of responsibility for a whole nation. I am master of all I survey, but cannot claim her lineage. So what does it all mean? When members of the public say 'She means more to me than anything!, or contestants on Pop Idol say 'Winning means more than anything in the world', do they actually mean more important than their own families? If the 'Happiest day of a life' is meeting the Queen, and wishing her Happy Birthday, as she scuttles past cluthching her begloved hand to her heart in case one of her people try to shake it, then what about the day they got married or when their child was born? I am reminded of Cordelia as she rebuked her Father saying that if she love him more than anyone, it would be a sad recognition of the commitment she made to her husband. Who do we love most? The children we bear, the parent we loose, or the grandpa that bounced us on his knee and told us stories. Perhaps the dog that kept us quiet company and only showed unconditional love? The strains and fragments of love we meet in this life bear poor witness to the pain of loss. I watched an unremarkable film once, but one line echoes with wisdom and sense. 'It is a poor heart that only loves one person.' Phew, that's a relief! Otherwise I might be really up a creek without a paddle. Not just because of my own canoe, but the rudderless actions of others who try to convince me of love. So, I swear allegiance to the Queen as I did as a Girl Guide. As my sons did in the Army. As the crowd did at Windsor. God Save the Queen, and spare a thought for you and I! Playbacker |
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