Someone Else is Going to Get It

TyRANTosaurus Margo!
          Woke up pissed this morning (I suppose that’s better than waking up in terror, which used to be par for the course).  I was going to go to the gym to burn off some of the tension, but first (as always), I got on the scale.  Just keepin’ it real, folks: 

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            I’m physically healthy.  My hair’s not falling out.  My teeth are fine (and try those Crest Whitestrips—they really work!).  Control freak that I am, I bought an expensive fertility monitor, and it indicates that I am ovulating (today, in fact).  I still menstruate.  I’m still sub-clinical, in other words. 
        And let me tell you something: I have never, ever received as much appreciative attention from males as I have recently.  That’s a fact, and I’m not bragging about it; I think it’s fucked up.  I know you’re thinking, “Miss Margo, they’re staring at you because they’re appalled and you look like a hockey stick with hair.”  But no, I’ve been hit on since I was 14 years old, and I’m telling you, I get stopped on the street, I get passed business cards, I get invited to dinner (hardy-har-har),  I get modeling jobs even though I’m past the modeling expiration date, and The Biz—should I take it up again this weekend—is booming.  I found photos of myself that my (good) boyfriend took of me when I was 20 years old.  There is no comparison.  Today, it makes me full of hatred.  But it’s okay.  I think it’s healthy. The hatred, I mean.  In the proper context, hatred can be therapeutic.
           I have learned, from my neo-Freudian analyst, that in a sense, opposites are the same thing.  Instead of a spectrum, from right to left, they are more like a circle that unites underneath. The desire to murder and the urge towards suicide are the same thing, the same energy.  For the first time in a long time—maybe one of the first times in my life—I feel full of rage.  And I feel very, very dangerous.  Power, directed outward. 

         I am preparing to go to war with an institution whose organizational structure and political culture is not unlike that of, say, Bulgaria.  I will get what I want—I will earn what I want—and I will not stop.

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