Obviously, I am in a sappy mood, but meh.

So. After we did lunch at Panera, Matt, Mare and myself just stood around chatting. I’m not sure what brought it up, but Matt asked me, “Why don’t you like the idea of being feminine?”

WELL.

I suppose a part of it is me simply rebeling against my mother, as I’m sure I’ll do for the rest of my life. She wasn’t around often enough to teach me the more feminine aspects of life, i.e., makeup, fashion, and the like. I learned about those things on my own, or from the few female friends I have. And quite frankly, I never became much interested in those things. Even as a little girl.

From birth to perhaps age six, I was forced to wear these awful frilly dresses doused in lace. Itchy as fuck. And cumbersome like you cannot imagine. These dresses came with matching shoes and stockings. Try running around the neighborhood dressed like a doll. Terrible. I could barely move. Eventually I was able to just wear jeans or shorts and T-shirts, but that is also when I got into more trouble. I was a tinkerer. Still am. A less polite way of putting it is that I like to play with shit. Literally. I can play with almost anything I put into my hands. I used to put random onjects into the VCR or piano, just to see what would happen. Poor piano. It became impossible to play at one point.

I wanted to catch butterflies and feed them to spiders I’d imprison in jars. I was one of those little girls who would pour salt onto snails and slugs. I played almost any of the sports the neighborhood guys would play. All except for street hockey. Not my thing.

I think I was eleven when my mother complained to me that I walked like a boy. Or to be exact, she said, “You walk like your dad and brother.”

I wasn’t sure how to react. Even though I was still pretty young, I kind of understood that I was behaving incorrectly. I started paying attention to how I walked. OK, try to imagine this. When you are walking, arbitrarily glance at your feet. Do your toes point forward, or do they point outward, just a bit? Well, apparently back then my toes pointed too outward. I became self-conscious about it and started training myself to walk with my toes pointed forward all the time. It took quite some doing. Such a simple act became a chore.

Interjection: I’ve read somewhere that walking with your toes pointed forward is supposed to improve one’s posture. Ought to research that.

Enough of my mother and her tenuous grasp on my personal growth.

Another reason I shun any inherent femininity is because I have instilled in myself a sense that all things feminine are weak. Being overly emotional or dramatic. Being indecisive or dim-witted, etcetera. The stereotypical traits our Western society has so graciously bestowed upon females.

I want to be a terror. Or a friend, to my male counterparts. I want to be the type of woman with the tenacity and verve that can almost be frightening.

But I digress.

I just enjoy the idea of having any sort of strong effect on a person.

And I enjoy the notion of being other than what is expected of me as a female.

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So.

I am reading this book called Sexus: The Rose Crucifixion by Henry Miller. And the man has a terrible amount of good stuff to say in between all the raunchy sex he’s having. And oh my, the sex makes me blush profusely. And also makes me wish I could be so free with myself…

But again, I’m going off on tangents. I have an awful time staying on track, so I must apologize. Thoughts and memories and incidents whirl around in my mind, as if caught up by a torrid wind.

Sometimes I feel like I’m grasping at their trails.

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Damn lucky.

Watched “The Princess Bride” last night. Terribly amused.

A thousand thank you’s to you. You know who you are.

I almost bought the movie myself on Monday.

After the movie, we went on a nocturnal stroll, which we haven’t done in a while. The air was sultry and the sky was clear. It felt so much better to be outside than in my room, where the daytime heat had made it stifling. We explored the neighborhood across from my own. Piles of free firewood were strewn about. And despite the heat, I cursed the damn sprinklers because having my legs slick with water was fairly uncomfortable. Curse my decision to wear shorts!

I found a branch and started play-fencing. After reading “The Princess Bride” and watching the film adaptation, I’ve developed a desire to learn how to swordfight. I was playfully jabbing the air, and David, and regular intervals.

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At present, I feel alternately tired and elated. I feel like I should take a nap, but another part of me wants to play video games.