I attend a church that is very careful to use gender-neutral language in all hymns, prayers, and liturgical forms. Honestly, I don't see the point. God is clearly a guy. Only a Guy God would have created, or allowed the evolutionary process to create, something as poorly designed as the female body. Particularly down there.
So yes, I have spent the last several days dealing with "female problems." As in, I'm trying very hard to understand the nuances of a rather complicated argument in a book of essays on Victorian constructions of Englishness vs Britishness, but actually all I'm really thinking is, damn, my crotch really burns.
It's quite amazing, given the structural flaws of the female body design, that women ever achieve anything of intellectual note. So often I feel like nothing more than a host for various infections, a bacterial breeding ground, a playyard for little squiggly viral bodies. If it was just me, I'd figure, well ok. It's me. Insomniac, headache-prone, neurotic, allergic, nutty me. But it's every woman with whom I am intimate enough to be familiar with the state of her vagina and vulva. So, I figure it's probably every woman, tho' I haven't yet accosted my regular supermarket check-out girl or the department secretary to see if my theory is correct. But my sister Cheryl is constantly having to insert yogurt up there to get the proper bacterial balance and my good friend Karen regularly sits on a warm hardboiled egg for relief. Yes, she sits on an egg. When I get really down, I think of Karen on her egg and feel bizarrely comforted.
Except the thing is, if God were female, if God at least embraced femaleness, we wouldn't have to sit on eggs. I have few religious beliefs of which I am absolutely certain, but this one, this one, is indubitable. Like Luther, "Here I stand, God help me, I cannot do otherwise." Except I'm not really standing; it's more of a crouch, really, because fuckkkk, it hurts down there.
No comments:
Post a Comment