Dictionary.com lists the number one definition of liberated as, "to set free, as from oppression, confinement, or foreign control." Too right. In that case, I shall use today's entry to announce to all and sundry that I have managed to liberate myself from the ties that have bound me my entire adult life.

Now at first read, you could well be thinking I've decided to burn my bra and take up feminism properly. Or that I've made the choice to discard my fetish for being tied up with expensive silk scarves. Wrong on both counts, happily. First, I definitely need to reign in The Girls in order to achieve the right 'voluptuous' look in my sweaters. And while I may look almost 10 years younger than I am, I fear I would walk around with the look of a mortified geezer if they were allowed to make their own way in the world. Letting my tushy out for a jiggle when wearing my thong is one thing; bouncing boobies make a definite statement, one I'm not interested in conveying. Besides, I would miss the cute cleavage I get with my push up bras. Yes, my cleavage is cute. It's not Anna Nicole Smith, it's not Debra Messing, it manages to sit comfortably in between the two extremes.

As for the bondage thing, well, you'll either have to look away or applaud this girl's quasi-erotic tastes. I'm well aware that I sit at the vanilla end of the S&M spectrum, by the way. Well, maybe vanilla with a caramel swirl.
And nuts.

My point? Oh yes, I had one, didn't I? Two outstanding friends have gone to great lengths lately pointing out to me in the most gentle way possible that I've been involved in a relationship that will only end in tears. My tears. This relationship began 16 years ago and, with the exception of three years of furious radio silence, continues to live on. It was one of those friendships screenwriters love to hang plots on, or so it seemed to me. In reality, it's been a parade of dysfunction from Day One.

As with all my friendships, I feel compelled to go out of my way to ensure an excellent quality of life for those near and dear to me. I never viewed this as a negative personality trait until now. Now I see how I've been feeding out lengths and lengths of rope that will eventually strangle the life from me. The nickname "Mah-tha", one I always hear when I'm gearing up for a large social function is not misplaced. I want to please, to accommodate, to satisfy. I strive to meet the unnaturally high expectations I set for myself so everyone's conversations in their cars on the way home would be filled with glowing reports of the evening. I did't even need to hear the reports; simply being content that they were occurring was enough. That's the nature of this beast.

Unfortunately, an overwhelming need to please can have its dark side. Over the years, I've apparently put on blinders toward those who seek to do me harm, doing so in such a charming way that I will gladly throw myself at their feet while they use me then discard me, all at their discretion. I just kept coming back for more, like those big Weeble-thingys I used to punch the living daylights out of when I was young. Just like me, those things always kept their goofy smiles on their faces, too. Well, no more.

Today, I take up the battle cry of the wronged. Except I'm fighting against myself, so I'm not sure if this encounter will end well at all. I want to flay myself for my ignorance, my inability to see what I was allowing to happen and most of all for harbouring such a small sense of my personal value in the first place.

This feeling of sudden empowerment is interesting. I feel the need to strut, to preen, to project a new found sense of pride, all very new territory to me. This is going to take some getting used to.

Posted at 10:43 a.m.