Imagine being a steak. Can you do this? Is it easier if you were surrounded by men fit for the Misogynist Age? That’s right, I just renamed myself an Age.
One man in particular, that thou shalt not name for legal purposes, turned me into a steak.
Steaks can’t write, I hear you think. I know the direction that your thoughts are going in. You’re right, as a woman who has been transformed into nothing but a steak by a sexual predator I really did struggle to write.
A steak, as we know, has probably had the living daylights twatted out of it and it’s not different to the sexually harassed woman. She’s just been twatted with a sexual harassment rolling pin. Leaving you in a further state of lifelessness to that which the harasser pictured you in before.
Like the psycho, as we are taught, you should humanise yourself. Remind the psycho that you’re a real human being with a family, friends, and feelings. Unfortunately, the harasser and the psycho are, rather surprisingly, different people and no matter how much you talk of your family and your loved ones to remind them to fuck the off away they still see a tasty ass piece of rump roaming the office floor.
I would walk into work and his beady eyes followed me from my desk in front of his to the printer to the kitchen and back and then he asked when I was going to wear a dress to work so that he could see my legs.
Now, imagine my surprise when one should hear such a thing from a species of supposed human in the form of a man. Especially, and rather unfortunately for him, given my feisty feminist disposition!
For months and months and months and months I have attempted a story, a poem, a blog, a newspaper article, and many other concoctions of writing. Nothing ever seemed on point enough to quite accentuate the torment mentally and physically that this subhuman caused.
Fortunately for me, and for you, my dear reader, I read a life changing book.
Elizabeth Gilbert is the author of Eat, Pray, Love. That isn’t what I read. I read her latest book, Big Magic. Now, unless you’re housing an overtly creative brain you probably won’t enjoy this book. However, for those of us who choose to spend our freedom writing for pleasure this book was a godsend.
I realised that I was having a blockage. This blockage was like my idea tube was in need of an ideatubescopy, which is what this book gave me. It pushed all of the shit out and invited my ideas back into the room.
Gilbert offered tips on how to acknowledge yourself as a creative person and how it is that creative people grab hold of their ideas and turn it into something. I acknowledged there and then, although I already had a slight inkling because my friends often told me, that I was a creative, questionably weird, soul.
So I grabbed hold of the idea that had caused my writing to seize and I wrote about it. And what is above is what came out and now I feel like I can write for days.
Should you have a misogynistic disposition, one get off my blog, and two remember that steak is a steak and women are women. Stop looking at women like they’re a steak.