Yesterday, I once again felt that weird, mildly disgusting visceral combined reaction. You know the one I'm talking about. You know what it feels like to sort of vomit up a "Congratulations" to friends and acquaintances as they cross a "milestone" in their lives. You know that while you're forcefully gushing about the centerpieces or the crib, there is a wicked little voice in the back of your skull whispering, "You're not fucking good enough. You're a piece of shit. You're 21 and you're not married or having kids. Go home and kill yourself." At the same time as you feel slightly, OK a lot, sorry for yourself, you get the other reaction, that phenomenon of "I'm supposed to be really happy for you but I can't completely devote my entire amount of happiness to you because you're hurting my pride." After that, then you feel a crushing guilt at being a bad friend and you drink an entire bottle of wine and watch Doctor Who because you not-so-secretly beg to be punished for your ineptitude.
A married couple of unequivocal beauty and love welcomed their first child into the world. Facebook and Twitter exploded with joy, well wishes, "What a beautiful baby!"-ies, and wonderment at the miracle of life. And yes, it is wonderful that these two people who love each other are starting to build a family. I get it. That's something we're all apparently supposed to do. Grow up, get jobs, get married, have babies, yell, pretend to love your in-laws, and then die.
People of the world, both men and women, please listen up: FUCKING STOP IT WITH THE BABIES, THE RINGS, THE "I'M MARRYING MY BEST FRIEND'S," THE FRILLS, THE CAKES, AND ALL THE OTHER PASTEL SHIT. It's become a rather revolting sensation. Honestly, sometimes I feel like we as a culture have gone back to the 50's, where the only thing to be proud of was if you were in your early twenties, met your spouse in college, dropped out of college, got married, hired a maid, and then popped out three kids within three-to-five years. I am really curious as to what the hell happened to being on your own, traveling, experiencing new things, and actually enjoying your young adult life, while your skin is still taught, your dick still works, and your tits are still perky, before introducing pastels into your decor (by the way, pastels are also colors that need to die).
If you want to blow up my newsfeed with your frilly shit, that's your prerogative. I could ignore it, but then I'd basically have less than 12 people to really talk to, because the very few of us have actually gotten over ourselves to tolerate someone else's nonsense. Being a semi-independent twenty-something has become something of a taboo. It's as if there's a snotty woman somewhere in an urban area, say L.A., proclaiming, "You're nothing special if you haven't married and divorced by age 26." Sure, I happen to be in a relationship of sorts. I don't know if I love the guy, nor if he loves me, but I'd like to figure that out without allowing Facebook the chance to weigh in on that. You know, being able to handle my relationship problems with the person in which I share that relationship, as opposed to blasting it all over cyberspace.
My greatest accomplishment to this day is actually somehow securing a 1-in-18 spot in this year's Masters of Arts in English Literature Program at George Mason University. Not to brag or anything, but it was tough to make it there. Really tough. I'd like to consider not killing myself an accomplishment, along with being comfortable with my body, surviving a gigantic cyst on my ovary, accepting the fact that I probably will never be able to even be a mother, graduating college, and meeting a man who doesn't seem to mind being two states away from me. However, there isn't a Hallmark aisle for any of that. There isn't a celebration for, "Hey, you can't have kids, which means you can almost definitely hike in Sri Lanka if you so choose!"
This has been a very disorganized rant and bitchfest. I know this. Just please give the world a break. While you're off creating unnecessary spawn in a very overpopulated world, my boyfriend is uncovering the secrets of the universe and I am deciphering the human condition. Where's my MA shower?
Oh, and for the couple who got married recently and neglected to invite me, remember this: you two would probably have never met had it not been for me. It's OK, though. I'm not mad about missing The Dark Knight Rises, then getting hit on by lesbians on the Metro.
~M
