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Fuck Politeness

This is a revolution, not a public relations movement

Damn I hate PMS. It’s that time of the month where all the little things niggling me about my life just kinda seem to pile in on me. Where suddenly the emotions I feel about those things seem to dominate rather than being a tool in my decision making.

A good friend told me that studies had shown that women don’t *create* issues during pms, that it’s the issues that are there all the time, feeling time-pressured, or unsupported, or having grief about something that they’re keeping at bay, or family issues, or what have you, and that at that point of the month, you just feel them more, you feel a little more easily frustrated or upset by those things. But the things are legitimate.

So I just popped a wee shit attack. It’s Sunday night and I’m tired. I had an unexpected change in plans which meant it was too late for other plans. But this was just a straw issue you know. When I asked my mum to come down for my son’s birthday she kinda said they had to visit an ill relative…like there’s not two days in the weekend or something. Or like they couldn’t skip church once. It’s. His. Birthday. I go up North for each and every birthday.

Also…well dad’s criminal escapade continues. He pleaded not guilty, which means they have to ‘prove’ he did it, which shits me cos it just means that he will get away with it cos how can they ‘prove’ it without video evidence. Real fucking mature Dad. Fuck.

Also it’s hard to go up there. The house is MASSIVELY hot. There’s a dog I’m vaguely allergic to (suddenly dogs and cats set me off, this just started in the last year), and it’s mega dusty. Which is MEGA bad for my chronically asthmatic son, and for myself, both of us having allergic reactions to dust. I’ve tried to point it out gently but to no avail. So if I want to spend time with my family I have to sleep in a hot and dusty room that has had redbacks and often has cockroaches and moths. Not exactly appealling. Especially in February weather.

ALSO my friend, one of the only mums I have anything in common with has ovarian cancer. She’s had it for a while. It’s pretty damned aggressive. She’s had it twice. Now she’s had operations to remove brain tumours associated with the ovarian cancer. Several of them. I’m kinda scared that my friend’s going to die. She has two kids. The dad’s a total fucking deadbeat. I can’t think of a single thing to do to help and I also have guilt. We used to spend a fair bit of time together. And then I got full time work and was in a relationship and now we don’t see each other often.

And I have to go back to study soon and I really don’t want to. You know? I kind of think that one full time job and one child with special needs, parented solo is kind of ENOUGH you know? But if I ever want to pay off my goddamned debts and earn enough to have something so whacky as savings, I have to keep studying. You know the funny thing? I DON’T EVEN CARE ABOUT LAW. What I WANT to do is a PhD on masculinity and culture. But you know…Howard’s Hey Slutbag Single Parents, You Have To Work More Than Fifteen Hours AND NO Study DOES NOT COUNT put paid to that.

It wasn’t an unfeasable dream either. Do Honours, start PhD, teach while studying.

Anyway. I don’t hate my job and it’s bringing a security I like. I’m so used to my income hovering around the poverty line that it often surprises me when I realise I can, you know, pay for things without risking my electricity connection.

Last week mini FP started school again and I’d done the shoes/bag/lunchbox run, and then he came home with The List…you know, 700 ballpoint blue pens (NOT clicking) 400 red biros with screw caps, coloured pencils, textas, oil pastels, calculators, scissors, 35 display folders, a large pencil case and a small pencil case (I kid you n0t) an old priest and a new priest (ok, not really that, they frown on priests in schoolbags).

Even last year, this was a stressful time of the year. This year, I handed mini FP a $50 note, and sent him off to get the stuff on the list. This made me happy in two ways: one I realised I could spare the $50 and not stress; two he was independant enough to go get all that stuff saving me time, stress, and shopping which I HATE.

So this change in circumstances is nice. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still just ‘marking time’ on the old credit card debt, and savings is an amusing concept, but hell, being able to pay bills, buy food, and actually squirrel non perishables away is really rather awesome. So giving up one dream and working with what you have is not without benifits. But…well, you know. Instead of putting through house sales and learning about worker’s comp, I could be teaching critical thinking, something that sets me afire with joy.

Ah well…that’s that really. It just sucks.

Oh yeah. And plus this STINKING STUPID fucking world we live in. If one more person tells me feminism is irrelevant and we live in a matriarchal tyranny, I will kill them by beating them to death with a rolled up copy of the newspaper documenting the discussions of the rape of that 13 year old girl being framed as sex.

Anyway…so it’s not REALLY the fault of the uterus, but really, it’s ONE MORE THING I could do without. Plus. I’m not going to use it, there are others who need it. Surely I could just…remove it, dust it off and give it away?

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