feed me.

Had a curious conversation with my dental hygienist. She told me she doesn’t like to go anywhere alone -- not to the movies, not shopping, and certainly not out to eat.

How some weekends she’ll stay home alone because her kids are at their dad’s and no friends are free. She’s not happy about it. It makes her sad to sit alone in an empty house. But she sees no alternative.

Hearing all this reminded me, curiously enough, about a conversation my grandmother and I had once about women and masturbation.

Wasn’t a conversation, really. It was my Grandma appalled that someone on the radio said it was okay, and she ranted for awhile.

I stayed quiet. My grandmother and I are pretty much opposed on most social issues. This McCain thing? She’d be all over it. But she’s my Grama and I seldom fight back. Only once I suggested, with respect but with firm assurance, that I was not sympathetic to her position (or lack thereof) on gay rights. She bottled it and we moved on.

The only thing we agree on, really, is that we love each other to pieces.

But in my suppressed silence, as I listened to her go off, I was unfolding the metaphor behind that idea: That women should rely wholly on the participation of someone else for their satisfaction.

For their happiness.

And how that idea might extend to the rest of life. To getting things done. To experiencing new things. To going places and doing things that interest me -- not the quorum.

Decided that approach wasn't for me.

The world’s too big to wait for an invitation.



(p.s. once again slightly disturbed that I've managed to blog about something strangely sexual and unexpected -- my grandmother & masturbation -- all in the same post. we'll see how long my nerve lasts and how long this stays live.)