Currently Chasing: The Road Less Traveled

It’s not late. In fact, it’s around 8:30. I’ve finished packing for my big trip. Five bags, including my carry on. As I sit in my hotel room and stare at all these bags I realize there is not really much of me inside them. Sure they are full. But what are they full of?

Some shit that will keep me alive, some shit that will keep me occupied and some shit that will keep me feeling like a girl. Tinted moisturizer and all. Granted, whatever I apply to my face will most likely melt immediately, and whatever I do to my hair will be ruined by sweat and Kevlar. But that doesn’t matter. Putting on makeup and doing my hair is some sort of routine, and I’m maintaining it.

Although I don’t know why. It seems absolutely pointless to bother with my appearance these days.

Yesterday a very nice gentleman that I’ve seen around the hotel for the last few days stopped me in the hallway. He said,” I don’t normally do this, but I just have to tell you that you are smoking hot.” He went on to say that he digs girls with short hair and that I have caught his attention on every occasion. I thanked him for his interest and told him I appreciated the compliment. Then he asked me how long I was going to be around and if I’d like to get a drink with him. I told him I wouldn’t be around long but that if I saw him and his friends downstairs at the bar that possibly I would join them for a drink. He said he was hoping he could spend some one on one time with me …

That’s when I felt like saying … hmmm, just the three of us then? You, me and your wedding ring?

I’m getting the feeling that being attractive and fun these days equates to also being amusing and temporary. There also seems to be a misconception that these fun, attractive, amusing and temporary women don’t mind that equation one bit. But I have a problem with it. I’m half tempted to dump the makeup and the hair products and whatever else I have in my bags that keep me resembling something fuckable. And instead just walk around being a total bitch and telling people to fuck themselves.

A member of my unit even pulled me into the office and said he’s worried that I’ll end up getting sexually assaulted or something because I’m cute and people like to be around me…add that to the fact that I trust people to too easily and I’m polite. I guess all together that’s a recipe for rape. Even with all the things in these bags that are meant to harm, hurt and even kill others I’m still not going to look scary or even remotely intimidating. Especially not with Lancome light beige powder on my face, Pretty in Pink eye shadow on my lids, cream and sugar lip gloss on my lips, and lash blast mascara on my eyelashes.

Most people have never seen me mean. Even my current ex boyfriend who dug my heart out with a spoon still gets occasional emails that say “Hi, just wanted to write and say I hope your life is miserable. Hugs and kisses…Love me.” Even when I’m being hateful I’m nice about it. And it is coming off less and less like personality and more and more like weakness.

I’m going to get taken advantage of. Over. And. Over. AGAIN.

The other day in class a guy started off the lecture by reading a Robert Frost poem. It was “The Road Less Traveled.”

I think what I need to do is pick up all five of these bags and begin searching for that road less traveled, because this one isn’t making a bit of difference.

But I’m going to keep the makeup, just in case Mr. Frost is waiting for me at the end of the road.