Having a vagina can be really stressful. Being a girl is just inherently more annoying than being a boy. And I’m not even talking about the big stuff like periods or child birth. I’m talking about the small, everyday things that really add up, like not being able to jump high, having to sit with your legs closed, not being able to eat a bagel without wanting to kill yourself afterward (but also knowing that feeling this way makes you a shallow anti feminist, which then tacks on more guilt), having to go bra shopping (#hell), constantly getting your lover’s unkempt man-pubes caught at the back of your throat, etc. And then, worst of all, girls have to deal with an excessive amount of feelings and emotions–so many that at times it’s impossible to keep them under control until suddenly they come spilling out violently in an avalanche of emotion. (Boys have feeling too, however they have slightly less intense/sophisticated ones, which makes them easier to keep track of.)
One thing that instigates these emotional avalanches–for me at least–is weed. I don’t normally smoke weed for this very reason. However every once in a while I think “Oh, what the hey?!” and do it anyway, after which I instantly become totally emotionally uninhibited and unable to deduce how or when to shut the fuck up, and end up having conversations (AKA monologues) like this one:
“I love your body,” I said, “probably too much. I dream about your knees and elbows. I could fuck just your knees and elbows for the rest of my life and be satisfied.”
“Like, I love it how your knees are the widest points on your legs, and how your arms seem all stretched out and too long for your body. You look like an over enthusiastic line drawing.”
“I just… I want to have revolutionary sex with you every day for the rest of my life. And I’m not even really sure what I mean by that, but, well, it sounded good in my head.”
“Are you stoned?”
“Sometimes I jerk off thinking about you jerking off.”
“It’s like I worship you or something. God, I’m such a loser. It’s just that… I swear, I’ve never met someone who seems so above life, if that makes any sense. It’s hard for me to explain. It’s like… so for example, you move your hands when you talk, right? Making casual gestures–the sort of ordinary movements that everyone makes all the time. But when you do it it feels different: better, more spiritual. It feels like there should be an orchestra accompanying your every movement. It’s like you’re not real or something. When you open your mouth to speak I half expect pearls to come out of your mouth instead of words. Ugh… maybe I’m making too much out of this. It’s just that, you’re really beautiful in an end of the world kind of way. Is any of this making sense to you?
“Like even when I squint my eyes so hard that your face is no longer a face, and you just become this messy, flesh-colored smudge, even then I think you’re the most beautiful smudge on the face of the earth.