The artistic mood of Frida makes me think about many things. Why did I partially buy into Mexicans being perceived as illegal immigrants with no sense of country, no sense of self, and therefore no sense of worth? Why did I not recognize that a love of art and more importantly it's creation, and the push for human recognizance appear to be intertwined (I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it needs to be stated). Why when I think of Mexico, I think first of Tijuana, drug cartels, and border patrols, and the one funny ass episode of American Dad where Roger the alien, is a "performer" of sorts with a donkey in a Mexican bar? WTF?
Then there are my self indulgent girly thoughts of love, weight, commitment to self and others, who is me (or whom am i)? Will I ever truly know my purpose? Can I love someone else? What is allegiance, loyalty? Why is the drug of television so important to me? Will someone look beyond my emotional and physical scars to see me? (Will they tell what they find when they do? Will I dare believe them!?)
So many questions.
This mental quivering is occurring because I am actively attempting to transform myself: my weight, my location, and my Zen. And with transformation(s) come the relentless questioning and hopefully some answers, even partial answers will suffice. And as you will soon discover some cognitive dissonance ...
What the fuck is this?
I am fat. Not phat. Fat. The old fashioned kind. The uncool kind. The albatross of middle age, the crossover from appealing woman to woman done in by time, of being estrogen endowed, of being a woman who bore children years and years old (the last being fourteen years ago).
Yes, I am fat. And middle-aged. And alone. And lonely. Perhaps, riding the rim of desperation.
Funny (and not) how I chose to reveal myself to you by defining myself in terms of weight. As much as I do not wish to be a slave to cultural norms, I am indeed slave-like in my assessment of me. What a fucking disappointment! At this age!
I am a half-century grrl. I should know better. I should have a better sense of myself. Intellectually more than half the time, I know that I am not what the culture defines me as. I know better. I'm supposed to know better ... I'm the smart one. How is it that the marketing wizards know how to press the right buttons with me to bring my intellectual ass down a notch.
And now back to the regular schizophrenic portion of our program .... Ahh, yes the artistic intent in Frida speaks universally to women ... blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
Damn! What is the title of this piece? "I am afraid of looking for You and finding ...Me" (Go figure huh)? Did I even come close? (Grrl, get some help)! LOL
BTW: the picture above is not mine. I procured it from the internet. Here is it's #: 8932_152355249196_96334944196_2420351_4642033_n.jpg.
Fantabulous is it not?