Tired. So Tired.

[fan_eunice]

This has just not been a good month for my inner angry feminist. At all. It's not any one thing, it is really not. It has been a series of things, any one of which alone would not be enough to tip me over into this exhausted and hurt place I find myself in tonight. But it's like, everywhere I turn the hits just keep on coming, large and small...flipping around cable randomly, summer movie going, web surfing, shows that I love, things that I just half-watch when I'm bored...everywhere. Eventually the straw breaks your back. And I hate this. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate feeling bitter and joyless and cynical. I just want my stories. I love my stories. Sometimes I wish I didn't. Then maybe I wouldn't feel so much like getting kicked in the head was the price of admission sometimes. But it is. And I am tired. Every now and then all the defensive mechanisms I use so that it doesn't kill the joy, these things I am drawn to, the parts of my stories I love, it all just falls away and all I can see is this pattern, this exclusion, this pervasive thing so deeply rooted that there is no getting away from it. Not ever. And I just want to scream that it is not fair. And then one more thing that I may have handwaved or shrugged off yesterday, or that may not even be that big of a deal...it is just too much.

This would be me, screaming into the void. Back to finding the joy later. I'm fresh out.