Tag Archives: Bitch Goddess’ Thoughts

Grieving

Grieving is a bitch.

Normally, I’m a very composed person. With my training in PR, I’ve handled all sorts of situations and to be graceful under pressure. I never crack. I can tell people anything, no matter how devastating or funny, with a straight face. I have to be detached from the situation and just tell it as it is. My take on grieving is to do it privately. Suck it in, live with it. I am the poster child of calm.

But this is dad. My own Tevye. I don’t feel like talking to all these people, repeating everything over and over again from the President to the lowly janitor. It’s completely draining whatever I have left inside me.

And to have him gone all too quickly, without having the chance to really tell him what I wanted to say, resolve all my daddy issues, I have become such a wreck. I took time for granted. He was such a magnanimous person that one would think he would live forever.

I just want to sit by the coffin and look at him, and please, allow me to bawl like a baby no matter how scandalous I think it is (and probably scold myself later on).

So, yeah. Fuck me senseless and let me bury my head under the sheets.

Mantra

First commandment when you’re in a relationship with me:

1. Thou shall not mess with The Bitch Goddess

Strawberry ice cream and other guilty pleasures aside, whenever somebody disappoints me and I end up hurting, I become a walking disaster. I end up doing evil, cruel, unthought-of things, and I do them secretly.

I feel remorse after a while, though. And I hate myself for that. Why should I be remorseful? I got hurt in the first place.

I just wish I had a personal butler that would remind me of my mantra that I used to preach to my girls:

Never allow anyone to hurt you without your permission.

Anyone up for it? I seriously need a loudspeaker on my ear.

Relief

I have no excuse not to write anymore.

I moved to this new blog, updated and customized it to my liking.

I tried to run away from a growing and loyal audience, all because it became too stifling. How many of us have done this very same thing? Trying to avoid people we love and care about and the price to pay? Silence. 

I’m ready to talk now. Write. And frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass. 

Welcome back, Bitch Goddess.

For V

ONE ART
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

I chose to lose you. Until you’re ready. Goodbye, Macguy.