lay it down; senseless sensibility

It's been a rough couple of days, even if I've chosen not to acknowledge it to anyone other than myself. I think this is me, admitting that I can't do it anymore, admitting that I'm down and I need to get back up. Not defeat, but that I'm not strong enough to do this alone. That I'm not alone.

Senseless sensibility sounds strange, but it makes perfect sense to me. I've been indulging in too much of it, and it's driving me crazy. Backtrack to the conversation I had with a friend who insisted that if women were rated by a point system, (not unlike PR applications) cooking would score pretty high points. We sat on his couch and watched Jamie Oliver. Or rather, he watched, and I thought. The Ms Fine/ La Femme Nikita/ Rachel/ Rachelle/ Lydia inside of me said, " what RUBBISH. Women don't do housework or cook anymore! Henpecked House Husbands any day!" The Stud/ MCP/ blah blah man representation said "Of Course they do. Any woman worth her salt can cook! She's independent, and outrageously unafraid of dirt and cockroaches." So here I was, thinking about it, and I decided, with an all too cynical reluctance, that my point system awarder friend was quite right. Thus began the totalitarian regime that I implimented, with largely beneficial and yet not very comforting effects. I'm becoming encumbered with thoughts of responsibility that reduce my childhood to what I now know is a false sense of security that i can never retrieve. Then why bother doing what I'm doing now, right? I guess that even though I'm becoming more disillusioned, whatever I'm learning now is so important and so embarrassingly fundamental that should I not acquire it, I should be a fool. So march on, Sara. Your childhood will stay with you forever but you can't live it forever.

Drat.