The Land of Objectification | A Rodent’s Nest
A little bit of sugar, but lots of poison, too.
Has it ever occurred to anyone that when you have a few too many encounters, getting physically hurt in casual… You eventually just say,
“I would prefer to do that with someone I feel safe with. Ideally, the love of my life.”
How many times does a girl have to think,
That’s not really what I expected or wanted.
Before she wakes up and decides to only choose the men who will listen? Ideally, it’s just one. I know others have their preferences too. In the same way, I believe people choose how to identify and who they want.
So why is my preference under such scrutiny?
Is it really such blasphemy to believe I’m deeply attracted to men that intellectually and physically stimulate me?
In a landscape of objectification, yes, to me it is deeply attractive to feel seen as a human being.
Oh, and if you’ve ever read the story of a girl getting raped with jade, you’d have a better understanding as to why there’s a preference for a human man, and not an object.
My husband would rather fuck other girls who steal my likeness than answer my calls or texts. His friends like to laugh when I cry. So do his whores. They steal my likeness because they know he can’t finish without thinking about me. I know they secretly wish I were dead, if only so they can skin me, barely alive, and wear my body like a second skin. Their false image and false compliments make me sick to the point that I cannot eat. The thought of them whispering my words into his ears makes me want to disappear, just as they wish.
The jacket was my dad’s.
The jeans were vintage.
The bag was a gift from the brand.
The promise ring was a gift from my dad to my mom, from the heart.
The fur is family fur.
Her knockoff versions smelled of slavery.
I can tell when she is asking a question that he had asked her, even when she claims it was her pastor.
“Do you believe you can separate art from the artist?”
And that promise ring she claimed was her mother’s? Over a year ago, the internet called my mother a whore for accepting a promise ring from my dad at nineteen. A caption naming me? A photograph on a street, where I took a picture and posted it? Really original. I wonder how she finds tanning on her cousin’s ex-fiancé’s roof.
Is her dad even passed as she claimed? She constantly belittled that place of work, “I would love to work here… but what would my father think?” Well…? I believe those who have passed watch over us. However, judging a place of work? I would judge someone taking their pastor’s name in vain before I judged an honest living.
However, when a rat tried to steal his music and she sent false threats against my education, I knew a network of thieves when I heard it. No one disrespects my husband and me like that. I don’t care who they think they are. My best friend always told me about those types. I put them in a very particular category:
My best friend always told me about those types. I put them in a very particular category:
The Cheats and Sneaks.
Or simply:
Aura Stealers.
That girl who stole my aura, I would consider that rape. Did she rape you, too?
I guess that’s what happens when your tears sound like money.
At least that’s what my old bosses and one of their buddies used to say when they thought I couldn’t hear.
It’s a bit jarring when you mention that your sister’s wedding is in Pennsylvania, and the response is,
“There are a lot of oil families in Pennsylvania.”
Is there? What an odd thing to say.
Growing up on the West Coast, privacy was more respected. Sure, the school district showed:
College Prep Courses.
Honors Classes.
Advanced Placement Classes.
International Baccalaureate Programs.
It was all about the school’s curriculum. The year my class joined the upper courses, the school had accepted students from another school district for the students with outstanding scores. When you met a friend’s parents for the first time, they would ask what your parents did. Other than that, there weren’t too many questions. Everyone was mindful not to be invasive.
I’ve found that on the East Coast, they find comfort in money signals.
“What college did you go to?”
“What bag do you bring to work?”
“Where do you vacation?”
“What did your parents do for work? Are they still working?”
“What neighborhood do they live in now?”
“You give off ‘transient energy’.” That’s funny, because I was at that place of work a year before them, and when they post in my homeland, they certainly look like a transient to me.
What do you do when your boss pulls up a map and says,
“Show me where you grew up.” ?
I found that when people dig for too many questions, it was easiest just to say,
“California money.” It was a safe blanket statement. They would typically nod along as if they knew exactly what that meant. They had no idea. It could’ve met anything from art, literature, technology, real estate, land development, farming, construction, law, entertainment, or science. The West was wild, and the possibilities were endless.
It was a land that didn’t build to the sky. It built across the land. As the geography sits on the tectonic plates of the earth, it is notorious for shifting and causing unimaginable wreckage at times. The damage could be so costly that everyone learned about earthquake insurance at a very young age. It was implemented into every structure, down to the cabinet closures. In between the peaks and valleys, around the bend, and off the coast. Powered by the winds and the solar rays of Apollo.
Some people tried to equate my previous line of work with private equity. How funny, I never viewed it that way.
Why were people so curious?
Haven’t you ever just been sick and tired of what you know everyone has said or does say about you? I could certainly list a few things I’ve been called.
“Spoiled.”
“Fraud.”
“Sweet.”
“Bitch.”
“Prude.”
“Whore.”
“Unprofessional.”
“Unkind.”
“Socialite.”
I won’t even get into what people have said about my body. Notice how many of these claims contradict each other? When it feels like you’re constantly being perceived at a certain point, you just want to hide. When it feels like you’ll get punished for simply breathing, you stop feeling much of anything.
“Rehearsed.” That was funny when the only person who rehearsed was the one trying to state that.
Remember: what people try to say about you that isn’t true reveals a lot more about them.
There are many times and moments I can think of when I’ve tried to leave gracefully and on a cordial note, just to witness a trap being set. When I’ve decided and announced it, kindly just ignore it and reduce it. Certainly, left me thinking,
“Are they deaf or dumb? Certainly disrespectful.”
Truthfully, I knew the answer.
A rodent’s nest smells like death.
It’s where the grave robbers roam.
I once had a mouse problem in my apartment in Kips Bay. The pest control guy would stop by every month. He mentioned something that stuck with me,
“Rats are quite smart. If they know you’re trying to catch them, they won’t come back. But mice? Mice are rather stupid, and they’ll keep coming back until they’re dead.”
A little mouse doesn’t even realize that cats know how to catch them, and so do dogs.
During the Plague of the New Age, the city was deserted. However, not so deserted that I didn’t fall victim to a package thief. For months, all of the packages I ordered would get stolen before I even had time to check if they were delivered.
It was me, the city, and the rodents that remained.
In college, there was a singular episode that I didn’t know everyone skipped until after I watched it.
“You’re not supposed to watch that episode. I’ve watched the entire series, but everyone skips that one.”
Of course, I ran as quickly as possible. Who cares what people say if I can look in the mirror and sleep at night? My conscience doesn’t feel heavy on my pillow, and I don’t flinch at my reflection.
And I’ll remember her, standing with her ass in the air, telling me to picture him unable to properly clean his ass. She had no idea he was writing love letters to me.
I hope never to think of her or it ever again. I hope never to see or hear of her ever again. If I do, I’ll certainly tell her how my ears were red after every encounter with her, and I’ll remind her that I’ll check after she leaves my sight. My ears certainly ring with what rings true and what rings false. Every word she ever spoke to me rang false. Yes, I’m very familiar with someone using the death of a family member as a manipulative tactic. Certainly, enough to recognize it in real time.
Hell Hath No Fury Like Karma
No, there was no revenge.
No revenge because my ancestors are close allies with Karma, and they don’t mess with my protection.
No revenge because a relationship built on MY tears is doomed to drown in its own misery.
No revenge because everyone pays their dues to Karma sooner or later.
What she didn’t know was something I taught my husband. Cover art doesn’t always last.
