Tight spaces

I’m tired of shouting my words to a world that seems hell bent on dividing itself. Tired of having to announce the agenda of my gender amongst the ape like man. Tired of pointing out the differences that matter and the similarities that means so much more. Why do we still have to use the F word in future tense when in this modern world it should be past, but workplaces are still tense with the same old wars and streets are still unsafe, unseemly and filled with the things we locked the doors and our hearts for? I still look behind me; I still proclaim the obviousness of who I am just to be seen, to be heard, to be taken seriously. I cannot change my gender nor can I change how much it means to me to be borne into its burden. I am a woman and one of substance, which means the sourness of the gender wars sting just that little bit more. I see rubbish everywhere, on our screens, in our media, amongst our leaders, in our places of learning and unlearning, on the sports field and in the very systems that define our civil state of mind. I am still blown away by the mindlessness of the masses, the stupidity of the everyday citizen and the flimsy structure of the fibre the forms the majority of our beings. I am still shocked that it can still change me, repulse me and harden the very essence of my femininity. Why in 2013 do our screens beam images of women competing for the affections of a man? Not men, but one man, a single man with the choice of twenty odd women lining up to be judge, compared and tested for the prize of a stranger with a dick! Why this is considered entertainment and why the viewership is just women is perhaps the most insulting part of it all. But it doesn’t just stop at the “Bachelor” and mundane TV shows like it, as these disturbing messages are everywhere from music clips to board meetings. Our role models packed up and left years ago or even worse are humiliated just for opening their mouths. It has become so uncool to stand for anything anymore that every girl seems to fall for everything but the things that actually make her real, happy and at peace with the world and her place within it. It just doesn’t sit well with me when I have to have discussion with men in higher positions about why it is inappropriate to use the C word at work and to physically touch women in the workplace. The ape like brain of my superior seems to think picking up female co-workers like a toy was a sigh of affection and treating them mean to keep them keen was just a way to keep them in line, and inevitably falling at his feet. Working with apes is maddening, running circles around their talentless protected arses is even more so. Yet we all have stories of stupidity to swap, we all have reasons to shake our heads and fold our hearts in closer to our prized chests. Women will also be less because women have allowed the untruth of it all to ring true. Women have allowed things to matter less, including themselves; they have sat back and become a participant in this stupid game of men. So it continues, and my frustration will occasionally boil over to the point of putting words on white paper. I will continue to explain to work colleagues why their sexual exploits are not workplace subjects. I will continue to switch the channel on my TV, to not consume media that is designed to contain me, and I will continue to listen to girlfriends that settle for less in men all in their misguided pursuit of worth. I will continue to listen to women’s plans to lose weight and look younger in the hope of becoming more. I will continue to watch the best of them wind their life back to fit the smallest of spaces that has been reserved for them. Call me when it becomes too claustrophobic.