by Kali Godzilla
Sometimes I hate this life. I resent all the unspoken demands put upon me, and all the ways that I don't measure up to a ghost or some ideal of womanly perfection that I can't even imagine WANTING to be on my most people-pleasing days.
Yes, I'm a recovering drunk/druggie selfish fear-based grasping black hole of need and resentment, and I daily throw on a gingham dress and rosy cheeks and learn to be grateful for my many blessings, and I truly am. Not lying — I've grown a lot.
That doesn't mean that somewhere inside me there isn't this gnashing destructive black thing that wants to be set free to stomp on power lines and pick up buses and throw them back down. This thing is also true, and it's biding its time, waiting for a break.
This thing is also me.
I want to break things. I want to say "NO" way more than I say yes. I want to hide the chocolate and make other people cook their own dinner and punch them in the eyes when their eyes look to me to fulfill their basic human needs.
I want to spend all my money and go to new places and find my tribe of raging misfit wives and mothers who don't know how the hell they ended up with this normal suburban life with weekly visits to the mother-in-law and emails from school and having to remind children to load the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, DON'T leave empty yogurt containers on the counter with the spoon sticking up like some golf flag on a green.
I want to run red lights, I want to wear fishnets, I want to sing torch songs in smoky basement jazz clubs and kiss a stranger. I want to blow my rent money on shoes and lipstick, I want to wear patchouli oil and make prank phone calls. I want to spray paint, "FUCK YOU" on billboards and bus stop advertisements and Rolling Stones lips on the sidewalk in front of churches.
I want to play the drums so loud that the neighbors call the cops. I want to punch through a window and shoot off M80s at midnight. I want to write hate letters and inappropriate love letters and cryptic letters to the editor. I want to dress like a ninja. I want to kick down a row of Harleys outside of a biker bar and then spray whoever comes running out with cat pee in a Super Soaker. I want to drive a tank over all the cars parked in the first few rows at Costco.
I want to tell my son's teachers that I'm twice their age and have taken dumps smarter than them. I want to stand up and yell, "THIS IS SUCH BULLSHIT!!!!" at every single work meeting I'm forced to attend. When the CEO of my company says, "Does anybody else have any questions?" I want to answer, "Yeah, do you want a pastry? Because I'm gonna go get myself one...” OH AND PASTRIES! I want to eat a big sloppy bacon cheeseburger in front of a big window at Whole Foods, taunting all the prissy people who want to "eat clean" and DO IT RIGHT, and I want to moan while grease drips down my face and nod my head YES because of the deliciousness exploding in my mouth. Fuck them and their holier-than-thou food weirdness — I am not a lesser person because I'd rather eat something tasty than a bag of kale that cost them $9. Fuck them.
I don't want to manage my time. I don't want to get it done. I don't want to smile pretty for the camera. I don't want to be funny on demand. I don't want to have all the answers. I don't know where your shoes are. I don't want to agree to disagree. I want to throw a drink in your face and slap you then make my eyes REALLY WIDE OPEN like I'm Alexis Carrington.
And fuck exercising unless you are talking about taking me dancing somewhere dark with crazy lights and too many people.
All I want to give is attitude. I want to take what I want. I want to leave what I don't want. I want to be the big baller, shot-caller, and hire a maid.
But instead, I put your food on your plate for you and hand it to you like I'm giving you a crown at a coronation. Eat up, motherfucker.
I am Kali Godzilla, I am a clean and sober 40-something married mother of two college boys living in suburbia somewhere near New York City. I'm an astrologer, singer/songwriter, writer, and am trying to start a badass scooter gang.