god is a woman

What am I when I’m not simply potential?


Death isn’t something I think about very much. It’s inevitable and a normal part of life, so really what’s the point? There’s nothing I can do about it, just like there’s nothing I can do about the Universe expanding or the fact that our sun will eventually literally blow up in all our faces (and to think the Beatles wrote a song about you, ye ungrateful wench) and the Earth will become a flaming pile of destruction (metaphorically though, we’re already there).

I do, however, think about getting old. Which also happens to be inevitable and a normal part of life but the difference, in this case, is that I know what it’s like. I have physical, documented evidence of what it’s like to grow old, i.e. (from what I’ve seen) mostly bad hips and saying, “I’m too damn old for this”. Maybe shaking your fists at rowdy teenagers, I don’t know.

Point is, growing old bothers me.

What will I do when I don’t have my entire life ahead of me. What am I when I’m not young and idealistic (lolololol maybe idealistic isn’t the word. what do you call people who are disappointed about the glass being only half full but also intensely fearful of the glass breaking, leaving dangerous shards all over the carpet? what do you call them? losers? idk)

What am I when I’m not simply potential?

I suppose what I’m really asking is what am I when I’m not allowed to make mistakes anymore. What am I when the things I set out to do have been done or irreversibly not done depending on where life takes me. What am I when something I do wrong has consequences that reach far into the future (because everybody knows you get an entirely new identity once you turn twenty and your past is more or less erased and so nothing you’ve done till then matters. It’s why the underworld is crawling with pre-pubescent crime syndicates).

wHaT AM i.

A bird? A plane? Two bipedal cats in a trench coat trying to sneak into the opera?

lgbtq+ icon whom no one knows and whose orientation is actually represented by ‘+’???

Growing old under protest? (she says at eighteen. which, as you all know, is positively ancient.)



About the title:
She’s not, actually.
He’s not a man either.
He just is. She doesn’t subscribe to the gender binary. It’s just some translation problems, from what I understand.

Just like ships aren’t women. But the Titanic still broke your little adolescent heart in history class, didn’t she? (the ship, I mean, not the movie the movie THERE WERE OTHER PIECES OF SUITABLE DEBRIS HE COULD HAVE FLOATED ON IF NOT WITH ROSE THAT SELF-SACRIFICING LITTLE OLD STYLE STEP DANCING EARLY GATSBY FOOL)


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“What do you want?”

There it was.

It was a quiet simple question really. But that didn’t stop me from reducing into a blubbering blob of hopelessness, confusion and despair. The poor guy didn’t know what to do and the people standing behind me in the line were giving each other baffled looks.

“Miss…are you…are you okay?” he asked, tentatively offering me a napkin. I don’t think his customers usually burst into tears when asked what they’d like for breakfast, regardless of how delicious his muffins are, they rarely elicit such a passionate and emotional response.

“Yes. Yes, quite alright. I’m sorry about this. I don’t know what came over me. I’d like a blueberry muffin please” I apologise and try to smile it off. He gives me a sceptical look but nevertheless, warms up the muffin for me. I grab the brown packet and hurry out of the small café before some other baffled customer offers me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and inquires politely about my mental health.

It’s been happening a whole lot more frequently lately. Small, everyday things set me off. A salesman asking me if I’m sure about my purchase turns me into a leaky faucet, the cab driver asking me where I want to go sends me off to some land where profound questions find their profound answers, and like what just happened, a hot dog guy asking me what I want turns me into a confused mess.

The truth is I don’t know what I want. I know what I used to want, I know what I should want, but I do not know what I want right now.

And I don’t know where I want to go; for chrissake, I don’t even know which way is up never mind the direction in which my life is heading.

There must be something I’m doing wrong, right? I mean, it can’t be this hard and impossible. I know life isn’t all marshmallow pillows and rainbow poop, but it shouldn’t be this difficult, should it?