Pieces of Me

On worn and tattered pages
Ink stained and torn
Living memories and emotions
Small pieces of me

Odd, abstract thoughts
Flutter in and out of consciousness
Tears in the darkness
Rage in cold delight

In the silence of white noise
Bitter acceptance
As I begin the walk alone
A small voice cries in defiance

Yellowed pages boxed up
Old friends wrapped in ribbon
Gently closed and set aside
And I gather up the pieces of me

Pages of virginal white
Wait for ink to stain
Calm beauty comes forth
Wrapped in angels wings

Old memories sigh
Accepting their dismissal
They know that they were only
A prelude to a book unwritten

- June 2002

So, you’ve had those days, right? You didn’t get enough sleep, you woke up cranky, the cat pissed in your shoes, and so on… The beautiful weather we had last weekend is now a distant memory, and Gothboy (who is also my own personal weather nerd) decreed earlier this week that we can expect snow today. Joy.

Work remains to be hectic, although there is a rumor that it will lessen somewhat in the very near future. I scoff. I haven’t been to the gym in over a week and a half, and considering that I like to go 5 times a week, well, let’s just say it’s starting to make me cranky. I think in the last month I’ve made it to the gym three times. *grrrr*

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In my last post, one of the things I mentioned being disgusted with was the judge in the Chicago area video rape case…

In another highly publicized video rape case, there is finally a little justice. The infamous OC Three received six years. Not quite what I would have given them.

I would ask you to please read the victim’s statement. Read it to yourself, read it quietly, and ask yourself, “What if this was my daughter?” And then read it again. Can you tell me that six years is enough? If you aren’t moved, if you aren’t angry, then I suspect you are either dead, dying, or, as they say down south, in need of a killin’.

As the saying goes, if you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.

Let me just put the disclaimer in here now. If you are a co-worker, this is your opportunity to click out and go read something nice and warm and fluffy. If you choose to stay, don’t stare at me funny tomorrow.

I’m still up to my neck in alligators at work, hence my lack of posting here, or elsewhere for that matter. But I’m supposed to blog today, because it’s Blog Against Sexism Day. And I can’t.

I’m sorry, I haven’t the words. I stare at the world I live in and I want to shake people until their eyes fall out. I want to scream from the rooftops that we are killing our daughters, that we are stripping them of their right to be human. Will it do any good?

Blog Against Sexism. What in the hell does that mean anyway? Will we all write about how outraged we are that South Dakota sucks monkey balls? How shocked we are that the Italian government has lost their collective minds? How disgusted we are that a judge tried to force a young woman to watch a video of her own rape and then rejoice because he changed his mind? How dismayed we are that one of those rapists was acquitted?

And on and on and on…

Does it do any good? If someone, somewhere, will tell me that all of this collective rage and anger will accomplish something, count me in. Otherwise, color me just one more outraged woman living in a world I can barely tolerate. I’m too tired to be this angry.

Stop the world, this uterus wants to get off.