This morning, I did what I often do (after I finally got up to pee) and habitually clicked open my social media feed. Those dopamine hits are no joke. And neither are my addictive tendencies. Especially when it comes down to what it’s like to actually live ALONE during Covid-19. I hear – ok, read – people complaining all the time about how much it sucks to have to hang our with their spouses/partners/parents/roommates/kids so much these days, and while my hermetic lifestyle may perhaps lend itself more easily to the cultivation of compassion than your average, run-of-the-mill, more “traditional” householding, I’m pretty much still almost always all like :
Huh. Yeah. I’m sure it does suck to have to actually look at the people you claim to care about the most all the time. You know, and share space with them. And your feelings. And/or your futile attempts at escaping them (feelings) by over-drinking-smoking-pill-popping-shopping-schtupping-doom-scrolling and/or binge-watching in the name of not-actually-coping. But try living actually ALONE for like five minutes. Yeah, no. I guaran-f*ckin-tee you couldn’t hack it : People with actual families. We all make life choices. Nobody makes the bed – ever – but me.
I do know some people also over-eat-exercise and/or even gamble to not-cope. But those are three behaviors I just don’t understand, personally. And so I will simply acknowledge their existence, withhold judgement, and move on with my life. I mainly drink, smoke and purchase online courses : Me.
Well, ok. I do know what it’s like to eat a whole half-package of Oreo cookies and/or a whole entire carton of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in one sitting – on a regular basis, like daily – and/or go to Yoga class way too much in a valiant effort to not-cope. But gambling? I lost twenty bucks once at Harrah’s Casino sometime back in the nineties, and have been flabbergasted ever since. I just stopped immediately. Like after that one time I did meth-amphetamines in my twenties. I don’t like losing things. Least of all money – or my mind.
But anyway, this morning an awesome old-school-punk-rock grrlfriend of mine, who wrote this Zine back when Zines were a thing, entitled “Yeah, I F*cked Him”, she came over that one time like twenty years ago to cook food for me when I actually had a Man but was still too depressed to eat, and now lives on the West Coast – alone, but with cats – she had posted one of those Facebook “games” They get you to play by playing on your narcissistic tendencies, so They can gather secret Facebook information on all your “friends” who thought they could trust you to not be so self-centered and careless with their secrets. Whoops. Sorry. Go ahead and unfriend me. You can still text me.
This one was called “Who Was Your Past Life Twin” or something. Hers was a fictitious Guatemalan assassin from the eighteenth century. I wow-ed it, commented briefly : “don’t doubt it” and sealed it with kissy-face iconography. Then I clicked the link.
Wouldn’t you know it? The damn machine said I was a Witch.
So, I have so much to say about this. First off : Being a Witch is definitely a whole job. As is assassin. Or teacher. Or nurse. Or nun. Which were the other options afforded to the folks in Facebooklandia – who still insist on using the pronoun She – playing the “Who Was Your Past Life Twin” game. I kept tapping to play again, so I do know these things. I’m big into research. “Hooker” might have also been an option – maybe even “Unpaid Sex Slave” – but I got bored with playing. Do you see where I’m headed with this?
Women are systematically led to believe that our options are limited, and we must exist exclusively in the service of men, children or institutionalized patriarchal religion. Any Woman who dares to dream of living her best life outside of that paradigm is labeled a murderess, a Witch or a whore. Female dogs. We’re also often referred to as female dogs, when we get uppity and start acting like a Boss Bitch.
Secondly: Centuries upon centuries of femicide is no joke. And yes, Mr. Spellcheck : femicide is an actual word – as is misogyny. I see you have finally condescended to acknowledge the existence of the hatred of Women, in general – but not yet the cold hard fact of our mass murder in an effort to terrorize us into submission. Do you see what I mean?
Centuries upon centuries upon centuries of untold suffering – and the goddamned documented historical FACTS of the repeated, rampant and global practice of the brutal rape, torture, enslavement and murdering of Women in an ongoing effort to eradicate our claim to our rightful place in society as healers, community leaders and holders of sacred information – have indeed not done the trick. Sorry not sorry, brothers. We are still here. Despite all your rape, torture, enslavement and murdering. So, yeah. F*ck that noise.
Also: Clitirodectemies. I looked that one up on Google to make sure I was spelling it right Mr. Spellcheck, and was validated in like two seconds by the Geography of Genital Mutilation Flashcards I found on Quizlet. You can click the link right above where it says : “Egypt – International Sex Guide – 22 year old with a tight body, soft B-cup tits, bronze skin and a nice little pussy that hadn’t been disfigured by a clitirodectamy”, and see for yourself. I think the sex guide dude probably spelled it the wrong way, but either way – you can see that cutting off Women’s clits and selling them into slavery is still a thing. So you might want to think about entering it into your database, at least for the time being. Ignoring shit doesn’t just make it go away. Just ask my family.
Number three: All Women are Witches. We’re friggin miracle workers. Seriously. Especially the ones who have managed to give birth to a whole baby. Or dealt with the grief of not doing so and kept living. Or decided that’s just not what they’re here for and done other things entirely. I do recognize that some of us are more “traditionally witchy” than others, due to the equation of our birthdate numbers adding up to 8 or something. I don’t pretend to understand it at all, really. I just accept it – all things esoteric, celebrate the Solstice and move on with my life : as a healer, community leader and holder of sacred information.
But the ease with which I do this has not come without some serious contemplation on my part, and at the expense of centuries upon centuries upon centuries of untold numbers of Women suffering brutal rape, torture, enslavement, murder and clitirodectemies. Amongst other indignities.
I had a 95 year old yoga student once who felt compelled after class one day to tell me about how her husband who “was in the service” used to take her measurements every week and keep them framed in a prominent place in the house so she “wouldn’t get fat.” She told me this story after saying, “I wish I had been as skinny as you”. I guess because she thought if she had been slight of frame, this would not have happened to her. I left the senior center where I was teaching that morning and doubled over crying in my truck before I even got to wherever it was I was supposed to be going next.
That shit sucks : Being convinced you have to sleep next to a man and his tape measure just to survive. And then having to find it in your heart some kind of way to forgive him for it because you understand he himself was brutalized by military service I’m sure he was doing in an effort to support his family. But still believing that it was your own body that had betrayed you and caused all that heartbreak. Rather than being able to truly accept yourself as the miracle worker you are, obviously. Because of some Witch shit. And centuries upon centuries upon centuries of untold suffering.
So I guess because the numbers of my birthdate add up to 8, that’s part of my purpose on this planet : to help facilitate the release of brutal memories that may otherwise fester and cause dis-ease in the spirit/mind/body. Some traditional Witch shit, I’m guessing.
Also: Go, Greta. I’m so happy for you, you have your whole own Hulu documentary and everything. I’m even a little bit jelly. That happens with Witches sometimes still, admittedly. Being jealous of one another, I mean. But I’ve learned to just notice the feelings of envy, attribute them aptly to Women doing our best to survive within the end times – i.e. the final vestiges of the Patriarchy – and move on with my life : as a healer, community leader and holder of sacred information.
Oh. And there’s one more thing about the “Who Was Your Past Life Twin” game that makes me want to say something. It’s more of a question, really. Are there really a lot of Lopezes in Venezuela, or is the game racist too? I guess I could Google it. Just saying.