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21st Century Lesbian Trailer Trash

These are the mad musings of a middle aged woman, dyke, nurse, poet. I have a dog, a cat, a mobile home, and delusions of grandeur.

Name:
Location: California, United States

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Ravings of a Mad Dyke

Warning: "She said she was angry. Why are you all acting surprised when she gets angry?"

The above is a quote from the psychologist who ran a 3 day grief workshop I attended many years ago. It was the first time someone gave me actual permission to have my feelings in a group of people. Generally, if we have negative feelings other than sadness, we are taught to have them in private.

2 days ago, during the morning meeting, I was letting the nurses have it over an issue that is a constant sore spot for me. It's a game called Let's Make More Work for Pam Because We Are Lazy and Don't Give a Shit.

One of the department heads, as usual, had to jump in to say "Whoa! Don't kill the messenger." Mind you I had taken great care to make it clear that it was not the messenger with whom I was perturbed. But this particular woman seems to be afraid of anger. Therefore, she makes it her business to try to manage my feelings. This, of course, makes me more angry. I told her to quit telling me that it was not OK to have my feelings.

Like all strong women, I have a well developed Inner Bitch. I let her out on a regular basis. Mostly because it takes too much energy to keep her under control. At work I call myself the HBIC. That stands for Head Bitch in Charge. I supervise a bevy of Little BITs. That stands for Little Bitch in Training.

It make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know that I am passing my wisdom on to younger women. I would be happy if I could leave my Bitchiness in my will for my nieces. I would hate to think of them going through life without it.

The world is still a hard place for women. We make less money. We bear and raise the children. We are responsible for making sure the world isn't completely overrun by insanity. In return, we get bruises, black eyes, broken bones, and nasty descriptive words in rap lyrics. We are more likely to be poverty stricken. And we are more likely to retire eating dog food for lunch.

I know all about single dads, poor men, and the inequities of class and race in our culture. Still, poor women are more poor than poor men. I know some beknighted soul out there will fall outside the statistical norm. That will not undo the basic truth of the matter.

None of this means that I want to take anything away from anyone. It just means that I want a more equitable world order. This probably means that I am a communist on some level. From each according to her abilities and to each according to her needs.

I like capitalism. But I shudder to think of a world where more and more children are suffering from poor nutrition, poor health care, and an inadequate educational system. When we are young, most of us love children. When we are older, we begin to see what a truly precious commodity they are. More important than oil. More precious than gold.

This is only one of the reasons that I am angry.



Kinja, the weblog guide

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