Where’s My Trophy?

One of my favorite questions to ask at any random time is, “Where’s my trophy?” For what, you ask. For being a woman. Once a month, we endure a myriad of emotions, pain and anything else under the sun. How dreadful to be happy, depressed, angry, aggravated and in tears all within 30 minutes? Again, where’s my trophy? Are children supposed to be it because I don’t have any yet. It doesn’t stop there though. In my 40s and 50s, I have to endure menopause and combust into flames from hot flashes, too?  I wouldn’t trade being a woman for ANYTHING in the world, but today,this right here, is bringing me down. Today, this is me……

 

Nothing good can come from this.

Le sigh. I’ll be popping these Ibuprofen like sunflower seeds today. I pray I can get myself together within the next hour or two because I have a ton of work to do. Maybe some music will help, but for some reason this one keeps coming to mind….

But enough about me. That’s life.

I don’t consider myself a feminist, but I do read Jezebel occasionally. This morning they published “Twitter’s Incredibly Depressing #rulesforgirls.” Read it and weep, ladies. Perhaps the most depressing thing of all is I’m sure most of the responses came from “Black Twitter.” Lord help.

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