"like a lot of you, i hate. but i hate with style and creativity." -henry rollins
ok, i'm not exactly sure what got me under such a black cloud today, but it's reached these epic proportions. it's like anyone who comes anywhere near me becomes the enemy. be happy you're viewing this over the internet, where i can't get you.
the roots of some of this go back to september. i was on a business trip and this had required me to bring a considerable amount of baggage (the physical, not the emotional kind) in the form of samples, etc. i ended up traveling with three bags that were really heavy. my strongest memory of this trip is me, struggling to get all of these bags off the carousel and onto a cart while the two men i was traveling with stood some distance off, drank coffee and giggled at the spectacle i was creating.
yesterday, i got ot see the flip side of my situation. a woman of my acquaintance, had managed to convince the director of her department to come and pick her up in at the airport because she was too freaked out by business travel to risk taking a ten-minute cab ride on her own. apparently, this is completely acceptable behaviour in a thirty-five year old woman. i should add that this woman has a case history of freaking out and running crying to whatever man is in a position of authority and getting sympathy for it.
i wouldn't have a problem with this scenario if i could point to some tangible benefit i was getting from trying to maintain some sort of composure and independence. but the fact is, the men around me, particularly those i do or have worked with, are a lot more likely to tease me about my shoe fetish than to ask my opinion on a matter of substance. i'm still treated like a bimbo, i just don't get the perks.
this used to bother me less, back when i was younger, because when you're young, you don't expect that anyone takes you seriously as a rule (and young women always get the bimbo perks anyway). now that i'm old and gnarled and bitter, it bugs me. it bugs me a lot when i think about it, which is with increasing frequency.
if anyone's looking for me, i'll be wallowing in the vat of self-pity i've had built in my apartment.