Feminism, yes, a gaggle of women, gender gibberish. I seek out greys without shadows, blues, some people, cooking and eating, giving gifts, hugs and kisses from my family, churches, linen sheets, white dishes, the smell of jasmine and roses.
I continue to dance to make my daughter laugh; I continue to tremble when my partner touches me; I continue to cook to make my mother angry; I continue to watch television; I continue to look for things to surprise my friends with. I continue, I always continue.
I have a wall, ramparts and a drawbridge. I’m of an age, or even two. I want to be old and wizened.
I like lists: what I like, what I don’t like, what I need, what I don’t need, what I desire, what I detest. Everything has its place on a list.
I’m going to write about sex, women, relationships, gender…and no, it’s not going to be like Sex and the City, the series that has done the most damage to the feminine universe since Joan Collins’ shoulder pads in Dynasty.
Society’s becoming prudish but we’re going to win the right to be mad women.