!KcoT!KciT

I don’t understand patience. Patience, I believe is a word used in retrospect. You gotta run! Run! Get the marathon over with, reach the finish line, burn your lungs. Of course no one told you to sit on your ass. But no one said that they would understand your patience either. Patience can be acknowledged, understood, given space for only when it’s over with. Its usage is determined by convenience...after you're done shooting across fire.

When you’re pumping adrenaline, breathing hard, sweat trickling down steady you don’t want to think gosh! It’s far!. It’s a similar mechanism that doesn’t want me to believe or acknowledge what I’m saying...anything not to induce the feeling that time is running by or maybe even running out.

Sexist upbringing leaves you with certain sensations and notions. Well, I really can't freaking clamp my legs together just cause i'm female and maybe it helps accentuate curves and yes i got nothing in between but i still can't so lay off! Born female there’s a posture, colours, design, interests impinged upon. Choice comes much later, especially if you get lucky to figure out the unsaid, that we are in fact persons.

So what I’m up against is a sexist attitude at every turn, which is escalating, as I’m 22, a campaign that has to be cracked by tomorrow morning, a whole gamut of emotions cause I just don’t know what the fuck I mean to him and left with expectations as low as ‘can you please not bark at me’, that others are zipping by to Sao Paulo and I’m having issues with getting to Thiruchirapalli, that now all I want to do is sit down with The Mahavishnu Orchestra and discover ‘the unknown thought’ and meditate on relevance, Pearls before swine taunting me, my insipid gray marshmallow teetering on a rounded bottom of extremes, and oh yes the blasted weather that’s all gray too. Where the fuck is the time for patience!

Patience is privileged.