She’s so Sweet… Barf!

I’m such a nobody. One of those nice grrls everyone else pats on the head and forgets a few minutes later. “Her? Oh, yes. She was sweet. What was her name…?”

I read my writing, stuff I think of as mature, adult, advanced beyond the sweet virgin. It’s not. It is sweet and nice and reeks of budding virginess. How does one lose that? I’m sick of myself.

The more I try to be something else the more I get slapped back down. As if I’m attached to a very strong rubber band. I can’t get away from it. I don’t even think fucking a married man will make any real difference. Maybe that’s why I decided to do it. Not that I actually did. No, I didn’t chicken out or anything like that. I went, I met him. We chatted. He said I as sweet and inoccent.

It’s like a disease. When do I get to become a woman? How long do I have to stay in this boring, sweet, cocoon of icky nice grrlness. What do I have to do to get rid of it?

What’s so damn wrong with me? I’m going to be 40 in December. I’m so tired of me.

Maybe I’ve just never really, completely cut the apron strings. Yet, I’ve been on my own for years. I’ve been married. I had sex, all of three times. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. What am I waiting for?

Maybe if I robbed a bank, took up a career as a hit woman or just started working on becoming a hateful bitch… There has to be something I’ve missed along the way. What makes other women lose this sweet, innoccence nice grrl garbage? There must be something I’ve missed.

How can I hate myself so much and yet think I’m the cat’s meow at the same time?

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