Strbellysneetch’s Weblog

Even when you know intellectually and emotionally that a decision is right, it still hurts.

Make sure you’re ready to take the phrase “I don’t want to” out of your vernacular according to Phyllis Schlafly.

According to the “home-making”-psuedo-politician, women having happily participated in nuptial vows can not, by the very nature of the contract, be sexually assaulted by their husbands.

By getting married, the woman has consented to sex, and I don’t think you can call it rape.

Really? I suppose we should go one step further and theorize that when you get married it’s not up to you anymore whether you have kids or not as well.

The logic behind this astounds me. Not to mention the inner hackles that get upset when reminded that there really are people out there fighting for ideas like this.

I especially enjoy her ‘educated opinion’ on women with both children and a career…”While Schlafly said she has no problem with women raising a family and pursuing a professional career, she said they can’t be done at the same time.”

I wonder what her family thinks about all the idealist traveling she does for her ’career’? 
 

Even though it was yesterday.

All day I had been feeling reticent about going to the birthday dinner that everyone had planned. The little scared “I-don’t-want-to-deal-with-the-hard-stuff” person in me contemplated not going at all at the last minute but even though you’re not here anymore it would have felt a little like I was ditching out on you; and even though we joked about that when you were here, you’re not here anymore and that’s just not acceptable or funny.

As I was sitting there, I listened a lot and I thought a lot. I thought about the last time I saw you at dinner on Capitol Hill with Jake and how I got lost (like always) looking for the restaurant and had to call you. I haven’t eaten Indian food since, and by the way I still owe you the money that I borrowed that evening. I didn’t get much of a chance to pay you back; as it turns out it was the last time I ever talked to you. I’m glad I gave you a hug, but I wish that I would have told you that I loved you.

I thought about going to your townhouse for dinner after you bought it, not long before the Indian food evening. I thought about our conversation regarding our current relationships, and how after dinner it was nice to just sit with you and watch Iron Chef while you went on and on about how attractive one of the girls on the show was. I remembered not wanting to leave that night because it felt so good to spend time with you-it reminded me of being 12 years old again, playing video games at your house after adventuring on our bikes to here or there.

I thought about getting you all brided up for your wedding day, and how scared you told me you were just before it was all supposed to start. I remembered feeling like an inadequate maid of honor at calming your fears, seeing as how I had never really even been close to being married before; but I remembered as well how proud I was to stand up there with you once the ceremony started.

I thought about feeling guilty about not calling your family since it all happened, especially when Jill talked about how she has been calling and spending time with them. I thought about the fact that since your wedding day I hadn’t actually talked to your mom until your funeral when during a tear-streaked hug she told me that you loved me so much, but I was hurting so bad, and so entrenched in a crazy imaginary world where you were still alive that I couldn’t manage any words to respond with. I listened to Jill talk about how poorly your brother is doing since you have been gone and that hurt too because I know it would have hurt you to the core.   

I thought about how you always made me laugh regardless of what was going on in my life; that was the easiest to remember because that talent to engage people came from one of the many wonderful bright spots in your heart. As I sat there listening to the general conversation about who was working where or engaged to whom now I saw you in every single one of us, in all of our differences that you loved. There are no words to express the gratitude I felt at being able to see that; but there are also no words to express how much it hurt to see it. A friend told me that you must be special for so many people to make a point of getting together on your birthday after you’re gone; he was right. As an aside, as much as you might have enjoyed seeing Emily’s new baby (despite our shared avoidance of babies in general), you also would have gotten a laugh at Kay and I taking bets about who, out of those that wanted to hold him, would get thrown up on first.

Most of all I thought about how much I miss you like hell. I also realized that it’s time to let go of the selfish guilt at my perceived inability to have seen that something was so wrong; it wasn’t about anyone else but how you felt and what you wanted, and you didn’t want anyone to help. It might take me forever and a day to let go of that but eventually I will.

Happy Birthday.

I came home from work only to be greeted by flowers that certainly hadn’t been there when I left. My stupid little heart melted right then and there; and I loved it.