Existential 911

Ok, kids. You need to brace yourselves. This is a rant.

I'm having a serious existential crisis here and need some feedback. This means, if you are a friend, and a lurker, or a lurker who is a friend, prop me up here, folks. Give me advice, counsel, or buy me a goddamn drink.

Cause crawling under the floorboards to die and stink the place up doesn't seem to be an option. Nor does coming back on Christmas Eve to rattle chains and say things like "I wear the chains I forged in life..."

I am flummoxed by my situation at work. Daily. Hourly. I know, I know, all the spiritual teachers say that I can use it as part of my practice. But goldurnit, I am just not there on the path to enlightenment yet. Sheesh. I can't even claim bodhisattva status (fyi, bodhisattvas are those who choose to remain in samsara until all sentient beings have achieved enlightenment). I have to admit something here - I have learned that it bothers me to know that not everyone likes me. I know, I'm supposed to be waaaayy beyond that. And I'm the most famous one to say, "Who gives a shit what other people think?" Well, I'm here to tell you, folks, when you catch someone giving you a look that is sooo full of loathing that it nails you to the floor, well, that just sucks. Yes, sometimes I feel like I have a scarlet brand on my forehead that says, "Yes, I have slept with other women's husbands/boyfriends." Just because I did a bad thing doesn't mean I'm a bad person. But, you know what, I guess I am just not everyone's cup of tea.

But more importantly, there's this other situation and it is so disturbing to me that I am completely stumped. It's called gender discrimination with a creepy undertone of sexual harassment, and I've talked to my boss about it. The company is aware of it, and FOUR OTHER WOMEN prior to me complained about it (before subsequently quitting), and still they don't do anything about it. Hey, Archer, you out there? Can you refer me to a good EEOC lawyer? 'Cause I don't understand why the company allowed the women to be driven out and these ASSHOLES still have jobs. What. The. Fuck. Any lawyers out there who want to comment? You know, Karmic Justice just isn't enough here. I mean, yes, I do believe that any man who sexually harasses women -- it bounces onto his female loved ones two times over. When an untoward comment was made to me once here (by someone now departed) I did shut him up by quietly asking him, "Do you have a daughter, Al?"

I am flummoxed by men... At what point did I become so distrustful and watchful and wary? I mean, for the luvva Mike, my heart could have its own sound effects (cue slamming door, bolt sliding, and drawbridge going up. Oh wait, then don't forget the sound of the General Lee peeling out at high speed.) When did I make all of these mofo RULES? "I will ask twice. If I ask twice and you say no, then I will never ask again." Granted, men have done some pretty terrible things to me, frequently with my permission. And hoooo boy, did my mother do a number on me. And you know what? My brothers are pretty mean people. My Dad is the most loveable man on the planet, but when it comes right down to it, he's feckless.

And you know what? Sometimes I get so fucking tired of always being so goddamned strong and independent and I-don't-need-anyone's-help-cause-I've-got-my-own-toolbox and I know how to change my own oil. Sometimes I wish to whoever that my mother had taught me all the things that other girls learned how to be, how to be outwardly weak and bat my eyes and make men want to buy me expensive stuff (why is it that no man in my life has ever wanted to buy me expensive stuff?) and take care of me like a little piece of girlfluff while all the time getting exactly what I want. Iron fist in velvet glove, steel magnolia, blah, blah blah. Sometimes I wish to god I didn't feel like I'm going through life all elbowy and poky-outy and prickly and snarky. Those little pieces of girlfluff, they can actually eat. me. alive. So I wish to god I could meet someone who looks at me and sees my elbows and poky-outy parts and doesn't think that is who I am but who actually sees the breakable inside that wants and needs all of the tenderheartedness and gentleness that he has to offer and that maybe, sometimes, I need to be set down on velvet and treated like a rare and special diamond.

I don't actually believe that is too much to ask.

You guys tell me.

Cause I'm freakin' exhausted.