"The thing women have got to learn is that nobody gives you power. You just take it."
Roseanne Barr (via thesumofmyparts)
my ability to dream is dead
All I wanted to do when I was little was be a cowgirl.
Not a doctor or a lawyer or President of the United States, just a cowgirl. That way I could ride horses everyday and ride off into the sunset with a rough-and-tumble, unshaven cowboy wearing a hat with an uncanny resemblance to my dead father’s.
I’m not sure exactly which moment is the one when I stopped wishing to escape off into a Dixie Chicks song but I’m fairly certain it did not have to with the compensation and benefits package. Things got complicated.
You’re smart. You work a little too hard and the other kids hate you for that. Things get out of hand at home and you won’t let anyone know even though you’re sure they already know. All you can do is read, memorize, teach your 5 year old sister to multiply. These are the only things in the world that make sense and stay put. Words and numbers can’t drink until they hit your mom or yell until they leave you. Later on, they won’t ask you to pack your things or endanger your family by inviting strangers into your home. They just stay there, right on the page where you left them.
So I worked a little harder, stayed a little longer so I could prove to myself that I was in control. I was in control of something. All that mattered was reaching the top of whatever I was doing. So long happiness, hello success. You can tell me all night long that success can bring you happiness, like my therapist. You know what I have to say about that?
FUCK YOU. NOT THIS KIND. NOT THIS KIND OF SUCCESS THAT SHREDS YOUR SOUL. NOT WHEN IT IS THE ONLY GLUE THAT HOLDS YOUR SENSE OF SELF TOGETHER. ITS NOT SATISFYING LIKE YOU THINK OF IT WHEN YOU IMAGINE YOURSELF IN MY SHOES. ITS ONLY PAINFUL NOW.
I can no longer even imagine what will bring me happiness, my ability to dream is dead.
"A man’s at odds to know his mind cause his mind is aught he has to know it with. He can know his heart, but he don’t want to. Rightly so. Best not to look in there."
Blood Meridian, Cormac McCarthy
"Real suffering has a face and a smell. It lasts in its most intense form no matter what you drape over it. And it knows your name."
The Liars Club, Mary Karr
Part of “The Hallway” by Miranda July. Who I adore.
A woman disembarking a train, 1950s. Photo by Allan Grant.