November 2007

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14 more days to go until the Christmas holiday. Since I have worked several hours from home during the past few weeks without getting paid for it, I am giving myself guilt free time to do my own stuff today. (OK, maybe I feel a little guilt.)

Yesterday I had a dentist appointment. I need nearly $5000 worth of work done. Dang, it takes a lot of energy (in the form of money) to care for one little being’s teeth.  They are being super helpful and scheduling me in for all my work while I still have insurance.

Which leads me to the answer to Laura’s question: no- I do not have a job lined up. It just got to the point that the risk of remaining in the bud was too odious to my soul.  It remains to be seen if I will blossom. (Ack! I’m getting nervous about the leap I’m taking.)

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I quit my job. I gave them about two and a half month’s notice because four other people quit right before me and I didn’t want to leave them in the lurch. I’ve been calling in sick a lot because sometimes I just can’t stand going in. (There is a reason all those other people quit. There has been a huge amount of turn over in a year and a half. Is the message getting through to them yet???)

Everyday feels like a new level of humiliation. Ok, it’s not that horrible. I mean, they pay me. I get to take a lunch break (ususally.) I get to surf the internet when I’m not busy. I will take advantage of that during the next 15 work days.

My goal: go in to work each and every day during the next 15 work days. I can do it. I can do it. Right? I’m going to document the horror- the banal horror of it all- each day, so I don’t have to suffer alone.

Warning: a lot of complaining to come, self-justification, and a heaping dollop of whining.

Theresa Dinito writes about the dread of feeling masculine:

Masculine? Masculine. Ah, there’s the rub. The real double bind: feeling masculine.

The feelings I have when I feel masculine do not fit in with the definition of masculine. I do not feel like a man or a boy. What I feel when I’m feeling masculine is unfeminine, in the artificial sense of the word. The meanings and associations that have come to form around the word, feminine, have nothing at all to do with the actual living, human female being who does indeed grow hair, bleed and heaven help us, now and then doth posses and odor less than floral in bouquet.

The artificial female-the one that is held up for women in our society to emulate, smells flowery (always), is very thin, polite, dainty, delicate, pure, clean and hair free in all the required hair free places. Any deviation from one or more of the above requirements tips the scale over into the realm of unfeminine. Many deviations lead us down that dreaded road toward, masculinity…

It is a scale. Have you ever noticed that very petite women can be “firecrackers.” It’s like, they are petite enough that they can also be loud and opinionated and be seen as “feisty” instead of “bitchy” and still be a “feminine” “firecracker” rather than “emasculating.” (The qualities that men label “emasculating” say a lot about what men’s inner masculinity/femininity scales are like and what qualities they need to compare themselves to to feel masculine.)

I am tall, strong, hairy, and don’t wear make-up. I also have an hour glass shape which, combined with my long hair, tipped my scale safely towards feminine. Then my feet started hurting, so I started wearing clunky supportive shoes. Then I cut my hair.

The shoes and the short hair seem to have tipped my inner scale and it is teetering towards “masculine.” I don’t like this, in case you were wondering.

The teetering scale is probably why the size and gender of the people I’m around can tip it one way or the other. This is lame. I need, to totally mix my metaphors, to re-set my feminine set point so that it includes more of who I am, or to just not care. I want to feel comfortable in my skin again no matter who I’m around.

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