Will you marry me? Eh, maybe. We’ll see.

I don’t know if I plan on having children when I’m older. I don’t even know if I plan on getting married at all.

Why is this so shocking? Why is it that when I mention this to others they act as if it is utterly shocking, the notion of a woman not wanting to get married and have kids. What happened to that lovely thing I like to call the feminist movement that allowed me to have more of a choice and control over my future? I am in no way, shape or form any less of a woman due to my decision.

I’m not opposed to marriage as a whole. If you want to get married, I wish you the best of luck. I’m happy for you, really. Nor am I saying that I will for sure never get married and have kids. I may. But it is not the goal of my life. I will be happy and satisfied if those events don’t happen. I am not going to spend the bulk of my energy trying to form relationships in hopes they’ll end in a marriage proposal. If it happens, great. If not, just as great.

Brownies

A few days ago I wrote out my own personal affirmation. In so many ways it was liberating, but at the same time scary.

But now, whenever insecurity starts creeping in I remind myself of that post and of my own worth.

It’s so liberating to allow yourself to make mistakes.

On another note, Snow Patrol’s new CD is excellent and I would recommend it. And in other news, I am applying to a residential college on campus. It’s the dorms where the “weird” kids on campus live and I think I would be ten times happier there. This is something I’m actually kind of excited about. You have to apply and answer weird questions, such as “Short people get rained on last. You’ve been shrunk to 2 inches tall. What do you do with your extra time?” I don’t know if I’ll get in, mainly because there are so many applications, but also because they supposedly prefer to accept first- and second-years. So we’ll see.

mixed signals

So here’s the deal. I am a young woman trying to make her way in the world.

I’m going to make mistakes. I’m going to fuck up every now and then, and pretty bad sometimes.

I’m going to change my mind as I acquire new information. Go ahead, call me a flip-flopper. I’ll even contradict myself. I’m not going to make sense.

I’ll be whiney and bitchy, nice and sweet. I’ll be both open and narrow minded. I’m going to be repressive and hold grudges. I’m going to complain, but also praise.

I am going to stand with my two feet firmly planted on the ground and keep my chin up. I am not going to be ashamed for my values, beliefs and viewpoint. I’m tired of expressing myself, only to feel like an idiot. My opinions are JUST as valuable and valid as yours.

There will be days where I’ll feel secure and perhaps even more days I’ll feel insecure. There are days I’ll feel fat and ugly, then there’ll be days where I’ll be pissed that I’m being made to feel ashamed of my appearance.

“I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,

I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.”

I won’t allow myself to be silenced, by me or anyone else.

Wish you were here

Often times I walk around feeling like a piece of me is missing. I wrap my arms around myself because I haven’t had a real hug in ages. I feel bereft.

I miss you, but I don’t know who you are.