Recently I read a blog entry by my friend Graydancer asking what metaphors do we live by and how those metaphors contribute to our lives. His, unfortunately, was of a crumbling house built on love. Mine, unfortunately, were not much better.
The first metaphor that came to mind was Cabin Bitch. My title, so earned at Rope Camp and lasting still, fits quite well. I strive to do for others, to put in the work to make others happy, to be the bitch for those around me so their lives are made better.
But there is an obvious downside to this. If I am looking out for everyone else, who is looking out for me? SkinnyBitch once told me (not in reference to my own actions) that those who seek to take care of everyone else do so because they do not take care of themselves.
Have I been taking care of me? Have I given as much time, care, attention, energy, affection as I do to everyone else in my life? The blunt and sadly true answer is no.
The second metaphor that came to mind was Teacher’s Pet. I was so dubbed almost a year ago at Dark Odyssey Fusion.
I know, full well though, that I have been a Teacher’s Pet for as long as I can remember. In school, I always got good grades. I always threw my hand up to answer questions, to give my opinion. I always worked hard, did my best, and was often on the Honor Roll. But, even more than that, I wanted attention from the teacher, from the person in charge.
I know my school girl fetish was fed on the times when I was singled out by mentors. In third grade, my teacher took me out on special dinners, doting on me. In high school, I spent time after school most days with my Math teacher. Granted this was partly out of convenience, but I still sought his approval, his attention. For a time, I battled him in the classroom, believing (and I still do) that I was smarter than he. Even still, it fed into my desire to be the best, to be worthy of his attention, and, dare I say it, his affection.
My Teacher’s Pet persona is so a part of me, I could never let it go. It would be like asking me to stop feeling like me; the quirky slutty inner twenty-five year old just would not have that. Teacher’s Pet may just be the only metaphor I do not look down upon and will keep for all my days.
As much as I want to be owned, as much as I want to be a part of something greater than myself, I often identify as a freelancer. Not only is it my job title, it feels like my life title. I go where life takes me. No one takes hold of me. No permanent attachments. No unending loyalties.
This metaphor only goes but so far. I know full well that if I were completely free of attachments or loyalties, I would not be living where I am. I would’ve moved to New York or LA right out of college. I would have a very different life.
Big Bro once called me a Lone Soldier. His metaphor is closer to how I feel, though he cautioned me against it. Being unpartnered, it often feels like I’m going it alone. Though I have a network of close friends, when I go to bed at night it’s just me and Tessie. I have no one to curl up to, no one’s arms to snuggle in, rest my head, take my ease. No one to bitch about my work, plan for future fun, share my life.
Big Bro didn’t want me to take up the moniker because he knows it is but a temporary state, a place holder for my future self. And that is what I keep telling myself.
But every day that goes by without me finding those partners for my life, everyday my Daddy hasn’t come home yet, it feels more and more true.
So no, I don’t believe my metaphors are enhancing my life. In fact, I know I need to work against them, to push past them, to think of new metaphors for who I want to be, for who I strive to be.
My metaphors are me running off an old script. I need to get cracking on new material.
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