THE WILD WOMAN DIARY:
Experiments in the Feminine Reality
One million yoni egg contractions
nothing interesting at all
“Um, hello?? I know you can hear me. Anyway. I know you’re all excited about your little wild woman diary, or pussy ninja diary, or like, whatever. By the way, ew. But, have you ever asked yourself who is actually going to read it? Because, honestly? It’s, like. The. Lamest. Thing. Ever."
Meet the evil bitch that lives in my head.
She’s always around. Sometimes her voice is soft and staticky, the barely audible sound of talk radio playing on the other side of a long warehouse, easy to drown out, easy to talk over.
But other times, usually when I’m actually trying to get something done, it’s like being subjected to ear-splitting death metal in a broom closet packed with subwoofers.
I wonder. When did this outsider arrive?
Maybe the shift was deceptively incremental, the proverbial frog in boiling water, still thinking to itself “Jacuzzi…”, even as the scent of cooked chicken begins to waft through the air. Whenever it was, at some point, I stepped outside of myself, and became instead the person watching, questioning, judging, criticizing.
Is this transition what it means to be an adult, what it means to be human? At what point does this separation happen? Is it when we begin to compare ourselves to others? When we decide that we are not good enough as we are--that in fact, we need to better?
I have wondered if I’m crazy for long enough to know that it doesn’t help to wonder.
The wondering makes you crazier.
Needless to say, despite practicing with a yoni egg two days in a row, I have yet to reach enlightenment.
Owner of Keggel, hopeless nomadic, performance artist, earthling.
The Wild Woman Diary is a multimedia art project on several platforms.
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