2011, and it's the last day of the year. I should perhaps predictably write down some touching thoughts in conclusion, maybe a wrap up of sorts. But the truth is I find all of that dreary. I had no plans tonight, and I confess this with the knowledge that apparently I've acquired a stalker on the blog, who could very well be reading this right now. Yes, a stalker.
Unlike most of my stalkers (obviously you're not living a full and modern life without at least one), this one's female and she reads me with no interest as to the strains of wisdom I painstakingly mill from my quiet yet unusual life. She reads me because she thinks me to be a Jezebel. No, make that Jezebel!!!! The name just begs to be shrieked out loud.
When I first learned she'd furtively observed me for some time, I was annoyed, disturbed, pissed, you know the usual run of emotions attributed to unwelcome observation. Am I writing this for her? No, not really.
But if she does spend the time reading this and more importantly comprehending it - unlikely but let's be magnanimous, I hope that rather than using it for clues of how I am in fact the prominent figure in her betrayal fantasies, it somehow occurs to her that being "Jezebel" is a necessary rite of passage in every strong and authentic woman's life.
When I first learned she'd furtively observed me for some time, I was annoyed, disturbed, pissed, you know the usual run of emotions attributed to unwelcome observation. Am I writing this for her? No, not really.
But if she does spend the time reading this and more importantly comprehending it - unlikely but let's be magnanimous, I hope that rather than using it for clues of how I am in fact the prominent figure in her betrayal fantasies, it somehow occurs to her that being "Jezebel" is a necessary rite of passage in every strong and authentic woman's life.
Not so much a permanent identifier as it is an occasional state of grace. If you're a woman and you're dealing with life in all its truth and glory, trust me, you WILL at some point have a highly strung Jezebel!!! flung at you. I'm not saying it's never deserved, after all mistakes and the plain wrong do happen, but interestingly enough, it's the loudest when it isn't. There seems to be a ratio between the volume of the accusation and the investment of the accuser in blame, whether or not it's merited.
archie comics
Being Jezebel means you're handy as a fallen figure, convenient as a cause (of their difficulty), and just simply not going with the program they've prescribed for you. Sometimes, not a single sliver of clothing ever need leave your body to get the title. Sometimes, all it means is that you told the truth they'd rather not have heard.
http://ayahajime.hubpages.com/
The irony is men who do betray, lie or cheat are never assigned the loathing moniker. It's not the same as when unfaithful old lovers are spoken of and they're somewhat generously recounted as being "slutty", or "love rats, or "cheats" - "at the time". None of these words are remotely as ancient or damning in scope as Jezebel!!! They get the added bonus of having their behavior attributed as something impermanent or transitory, a phase rather than perhaps a character flaw, or even just a facet of who they are. There are after all, people perfectly incapable of conventional monogamy.
And please, let's stem the "men will be men" argument right here, right now. By people, I mean every gender, every orientation, no exceptions. We have all at one time or another crossed the line in varying degrees, and hurt another. It may have been through another lover, an unholy focus on work or hobby, or worst, that icy absence of care and attention, through indifference.
The point isn't that you're just too weak to overcome your biology, the point is that you promised something you couldn't deliver and you lied to another. The point is honesty.
Any contract in any part of the world consigning agreement of goods or services would be considered breach and subject to liability if either were not given or fulfilled. Let's face it, honesty's not easy, specially not in the face of considerable force for certain outcomes. In reality, it's not solely reliant on the moral fiber of the confesser, even if we like to think it is.
In our quest for truth, we need to recognize that we also have to account for being able to stand it when it's given to us. And that can be even harder.
When I'd learned of the stalker I'd immediately sought solace in my friends, virtual and otherwise. The result was surprising, because these are a community of people not given to purchasing such black and white thinking. Mostly they worried I would curtail my own honesty, and that it would affect the candor with which I write. I worried about the same thing. Would the stalker bully me into editing? What was wrong with her anyway? Of course, in my mind this can be a whole gamut of things and justifiably so, since she's pestered me in other ways.
And please, let's stem the "men will be men" argument right here, right now. By people, I mean every gender, every orientation, no exceptions. We have all at one time or another crossed the line in varying degrees, and hurt another. It may have been through another lover, an unholy focus on work or hobby, or worst, that icy absence of care and attention, through indifference.
The point isn't that you're just too weak to overcome your biology, the point is that you promised something you couldn't deliver and you lied to another. The point is honesty.
Any contract in any part of the world consigning agreement of goods or services would be considered breach and subject to liability if either were not given or fulfilled. Let's face it, honesty's not easy, specially not in the face of considerable force for certain outcomes. In reality, it's not solely reliant on the moral fiber of the confesser, even if we like to think it is.
In our quest for truth, we need to recognize that we also have to account for being able to stand it when it's given to us. And that can be even harder.
When I'd learned of the stalker I'd immediately sought solace in my friends, virtual and otherwise. The result was surprising, because these are a community of people not given to purchasing such black and white thinking. Mostly they worried I would curtail my own honesty, and that it would affect the candor with which I write. I worried about the same thing. Would the stalker bully me into editing? What was wrong with her anyway? Of course, in my mind this can be a whole gamut of things and justifiably so, since she's pestered me in other ways.
Yet I've come to the odd conclusion that however tenuous her hold on sanity is, I can't really dissociate myself from sympathizing. I know where she's coming from, even if when I was suffering likewise, I chose not to use the same tactics. In a broader sense, her belief that I am Jezebel only made me realize that this was part of the female condition. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd already experienced it herself.
Aside from the historical context, Jezebel has come to mean all sorts of things, mainly someone promiscuous, unheeding of mores. A whore. A harlot. A slut. How many times have we used those words against each other? Too many. Yet the whores, harlots and sluts of the world still have a thriving business.
Unbeknown to us, they could be a mother, a sister, a friend, a daughter. Yet we have dashed them to the ground by branding. By unequivocally making it their responsibility to police mankind's morality. We have limited them to the obvious role, which were unwilling participants, which are too weak to leave, which ones of them really thought this is what I want to do. And which ones have chosen to do the kind of work many wouldn't and do it with dignity and caring. And which ones get the name when they haven't even done the work?
Aside from the historical context, Jezebel has come to mean all sorts of things, mainly someone promiscuous, unheeding of mores. A whore. A harlot. A slut. How many times have we used those words against each other? Too many. Yet the whores, harlots and sluts of the world still have a thriving business.
Unbeknown to us, they could be a mother, a sister, a friend, a daughter. Yet we have dashed them to the ground by branding. By unequivocally making it their responsibility to police mankind's morality. We have limited them to the obvious role, which were unwilling participants, which are too weak to leave, which ones of them really thought this is what I want to do. And which ones have chosen to do the kind of work many wouldn't and do it with dignity and caring. And which ones get the name when they haven't even done the work?
When we observe market forces, we hear CEO's of companies often explain the wonder of their latest product with the sentence, "Well, we started to make it when it became obvious there was a demand for it." Yes, there was a demand for it. A need. Who's need? Exactly. I don't even have to answer that question. We all know whose need and whose demand. But they are not the ones marginalized and called Jezebel.
The name itself has a conjectured meaning, ranging from being bereft of a husband, morality or gasp, both. But to me, it's only meant one thing thus far, that I've finally been able to lay claim to myself and my life, the way it actually is. Yes, I accept my life for the As Is Aisle that it is. Not the way I wish it could be, or the way someone told me it ought to be. Just how it is - the wounding abyss of the past, the imperfection of the present, the gifts I've been blessed with, and the uncertainty of the future. The reality of the people I've loved before and the sins they've committed. The hope of the one I'm yet to love, finally. And me, from who I was to everything it's made me to the choices I'm still creating for the once and future self I'm still to be.
It's true. I have no husband, and my mores are my own. How many of us can say this? Most probably. So to my sisters, willing and otherwise, use the name wisely. We are Jezebel because we've earned it. And we should be proud of having lived through enough to take the best that name has ever implied.
The name itself has a conjectured meaning, ranging from being bereft of a husband, morality or gasp, both. But to me, it's only meant one thing thus far, that I've finally been able to lay claim to myself and my life, the way it actually is. Yes, I accept my life for the As Is Aisle that it is. Not the way I wish it could be, or the way someone told me it ought to be. Just how it is - the wounding abyss of the past, the imperfection of the present, the gifts I've been blessed with, and the uncertainty of the future. The reality of the people I've loved before and the sins they've committed. The hope of the one I'm yet to love, finally. And me, from who I was to everything it's made me to the choices I'm still creating for the once and future self I'm still to be.
It's true. I have no husband, and my mores are my own. How many of us can say this? Most probably. So to my sisters, willing and otherwise, use the name wisely. We are Jezebel because we've earned it. And we should be proud of having lived through enough to take the best that name has ever implied.
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