And if you understand or agree with that, then you know more than I do! So let me try, all be it stupidly, to explain. Because as Coco Chanel once said, “The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud”.
I was talking to a friend, a male friend, not that it should make any difference, but in this case it does slightly (though not I should add because of some stupid nod to feminism, though my first automatic reaction without thinking it through, was to defend the female sex. As it turned out reflectively, wrongly!), and he told me he thinks that all females are fickle.
Fickle? I do not think so I said. I do not think so at all. I have never been so. I could never be so. I am loyal. I am loving. I am considerate, compassionate….. I am crazy, I am an idiot, I can become paranoid, and I can become nervous. I can lose myself (as you all know by now) through worry of never being good enough.
In short, in a relationship, I can be fickle. Not fickle with my feelings, but fickle with myself.
Nevertheless, it can get worse as I also believe that friends should not be fickle with friends. Friends should care about how their actions may affect their friends feelings. (No matter how you may or may not feel on this subject) (And unfortunately given that at the moment I just want to live and enjoy my life, really live, an impulse taking over more and more). Friends should not be fickle with their feelings (or friends).However it would seem to me at least, females are fickle when led (for want of a better word) by (some) men.
God, can I write that? I don’t even know, I guess I just did. You see recently I have needed to escape me. Not that there is anything wrong with me, rather that I just wanted to capture a little bit more of me. With uncharacteristic urges, wants, things I want to say, things I thought I might have to do, things I would have loved doing (again and again), things I want to do…. Oh things I want to do.
Moreover, it would help. I would and could say I recognised myself in them. I saw a bit of me. A bit of me I always knew was there. A bit of me I have longed (fantasized) to find. A bit I want to grab with both hands, now I’ve started to see her, a bit I want to grab by the ass.
Because she would be “kick-ass”, she would not accept less than a muse that must, what’s more she will enjoy looking, and she will enjoy being.
But here’s the sting in the tail, or the kick in the teeth if you will…. It leaves me as a female lured as easy as a piece of prey, and quite more or less in a bit of a fickle pickle! So I guess, which is amazing as you would say, means you were right all along, and yes, I mean you! Another argument I will not win!
With a note at the end to say…. No, no to no matter how much I may or may not be in a fickle pickle…. I am going to live my life. For myself. To the full. And there is one thing I will never ever be fickle with anymore (though I am not stupid, and know I will have down moments I will have to pull myself through, moments where I will need my friends to pick me up, but hey that’s why I have pencils and paper). I will never ever be fickle to myself and my character, my feelings or eccentricities again. Which should mean in the future, to whoever that muse may be, an unconditional (uncompromised) me!
You see really, to summarise, a plot that came later, a thought that should have come sooner…. I am a good person, I am not a fickle woman, I just happen to fall for (in love with) men whom I spend longer than a train journey with. Someone will always be prettier than me. Someone will always be smarter than me. Someone will always be younger than me. But they will never be me.
(And is it wrong that me is chuckling. Just wondering that’s all! That and what happens when you fall for fun? Or become addicted to the fun? (I should point out I’m not talking things, as ever I am talking people, hadn’t you figured that out by now, people (men) are a drug of choice, and highly addictive at that, even if you’re just sitting still watching!).
I keep on adding endings, as I think, as I go along, as I sketch my page to go along with this post, so please do excuse the ramblings at the end…. But I was wondering if I am self-destructing…. am I too old for a naive teenage like rebellion (seem I don’t think I really ever had time to have one back then) or too young for a mid-life crisis? Or is it just me and who I am. Is it just my human nature? Or more worryingly, and perhaps most tellingly, is it simply my ability to combine self-obsession with a complete absence of self-knowledge? Now that does make me laugh.
To be honest that’s where you have to find your strength from. Not from self-destructing. Not finding that thing that takes you out of yourself for the half hour, five minutes, or three and a half hours that means you can escape yourself. You have to find that inner strength, that being that is you, who you can be 100%, 24/7. That you who will not get upset when things don’t go your way. That you who won’t upset people because they won’t believe you, or that nothing’s happened. That you that they will love, and grow to trust. The person you are, the person you can be wherever you are, whoever you are with, where there is never a whenever, because you are always them. I can try to put it in another way, simply, it’s that if you are a person who would worry for me and the part of me that would grab that piece of ass….well you don’t need to. Because yes, I will grab it, but at the same time I want it in tandem with coming home to someone who will massage my shoulders at the end of the day, kiss my neck with his arm around my middle just before I go to sleep, and then wake me up in the middle of the night with a smile on his face because he’s has a thought that’s gone through his head and he needs to act on it there and then. I guess what I’m trying to say (as liberated as I might like to be) I don’t want (or feel comfortable) with one without the other. And I want to be the person I am, without trying to be something I know I am not, and without trying to impress people who I don’t need to impress. Does that make sense? I think it should, because I’ve kind of being welcoming her back recently. Which means, if your surname is Davies too…. No, I didn’t.
(Pencils and paper, and all things lovely, with a page from my new sort-of sketch book, which I want to fill with loveliness, life, and it’s facets, and narcissistically the world according to me.)