hey. it’s me. and not me. popping in.

I started writing this stuff because I had to, in this blog.  It was a voice in my head that didn’t let go, ringing in my ears, nagging me, language singing the same refrains over and over.  So I did something about it.

It’s okay to find your own project unsettling.  Even unpleasant.  It’s okay that the truth or an aspect of the truth can be ugly as much as freeing.

I don’t know what the final destination of this particular project will be and that’s fine too.  At the very least it needed a break.  I changed careers altogether and entered a brand new field, moved the studio and the bedroom, threw out and replaced furniture, purged and sold endless amounts of random crap, finished a degree, sustained an abrupt end to a longtime relationship, began another one by way of a completely chance encounter.  In under one year – about 9 months.  It’s all still a work in progress actually. So yeah, I’ve been busy.  And I miss writing.

As ambivalent as I’ve felt before about putting this particular language out into the world, I think it matters.  The unfiltered stuff that gets closeted for the sake of polite company and keeping the peace, then by being in the closet creates new kinds of dysfunction.  I came here to give the stuff air time because I know I’m not the only one thinking these things.

But it is also an alternate version of me.  It’s a perspective.  And to a certain extent there is always a persona, because this is writing.

Some who know me in real life might approach this blog rather reductively and take offense.  Or just be surprised.  But it’s important to do it anyway.  You must charge on. You must go with whatever the inspiration is sometimes, questionable or not.  Sometimes, but not always (for don’t we know by now that the unsound internet needs limits in order to properly corral its current adolescent iteration).  If the goal is in service to the imagination of a less unenlightened, less mentally and emotionally lazy, less ignorant or judgmental or violent or complacent social climate, then yeah.  Even if people say oh well who the hell do you think you are, you’re such a hypocrite anyway yourself, well yes, I concede that that would be correct so I agree.  And I do.

Maybe I’m a hypocrite because I write all this stuff and yet I wear makeup when I want to and sometimes that’s enjoyable and I buy expensive shoes. I live in an expensive apartment in an expensive ass area. I do not make a whole lot of money. What money I do make, I spend on unnecessary things just as much as the next person. In many ways I feel I have to. And upon occasion this pisses me off. Yet, how extreme do I really need to be? At what point does being extreme stop making sense?

I am saying that I grew up here and this is my home and despite my deeper values and my objections to certain ideologies and marketing, I too spend money on things that are not financially necessary, yet are still somehow culturally necessary. No matter how short-term the rewards may be, or how questionable the future there is a certain standard of appearances.  This is especially problematic if you want to write or make art because that is time and time is money and if you’re not just making money all the time then that’s a sacrifice, especially here.  To prioritize art, time and money are very precious resources. But they are also very precious for the person who prioritizes living life over the grind and the rat race, life over a type of glorified servitude where you work like a dog just to cover basic costs and student loans, on property necessarily owned by somebody else since you’re quite possibly, essentially, locked out of the housing market even on a middle class income. 

I do not want to have to leave this place just because it incidentally blew up into a cash cow; a veritable alternative stock market in and of itself that hardly makes sense to try to survive in without a six to seven figure income.  Just because this clueless yet intuitive kid who incidentally lived here turned out to favor literature and arts over property ownership of any kind, and somehow became this adult who didn’t give up on this devotion to craft.  I am not ready to leave because if I do then it’s unlikely I can afford to come back, and this is my home.  Despite a prolonged period of full-on travel in my twenties, maybe I have become provincial, fearful, and unimaginative in this sense.  And I am probably certainly superficial in my own way, especially to whatever extent that it might increase my chances for survival in this place.  

So, I am rooted here more, apparently by choice.  I, too, pay to play.  I, too, need certain comforts and the other people around me do too, apparently.  Whatever sense of adventure I once relished is thus somewhat developmentally delayed.  I am influenced by culture as much as anyone and feel I should be more “enhanced” at times, or some shit.  That doesn’t mean that it’s time to give up, accept, stab your face full of hundreds or thousands of dollars worth of retirement funds without even thinking about it.  It doesn’t mean things don’t need to change one way or another.  It doesn’t mean lines don’t need to be drawn, it doesn’t mean all the garbage we encounter doesn’t need to be questioned, challenged, resisted, comprehensively rejected, whatever.

Things do need to change.  Things like, minds.  Minds need to fucking change about this outrageous crap we have to deal with.  Sold like you’ll be more free and have more opportunity if you just follow along, but actually you’re less free.

So say so.  That’s all I’ve got.  Not that it’s a small thing.  That’s why my name is still private on this shit – it’s a nickname.  Because it’s kinda scary, this shit.  It’s not nice.  But at least, to write truthfully means one can never be too trapped.  Nor too controlled by bullshit.  A friend of mine says, whatever you do, just don’t get stuck.

Another friend says, if you’re worried about what other people think then don’t forget that one day you’ll be dead.  And then nothing will matter anyway.  Nobody can say anything to you. And what they do say about you, won’t be worth a damn to you either.  You’ll be dead so who cares.

Comforting, innit.  It kinda works.

You’ll be dead, so who cares.

 

 

 

why didn’t i edit better

I couldve too the time and effort to quote th e article directly , make links and be professional but I can’t be bothered, oh well, I’m just tired not up for it and can’t deal

Well… oajaky I DID get myself together enough for a couple quotes

and the only reason this got written just now, is because I accepted that the best i could do tonight was a bit half-ass. and it’s real

and cause the voice inside said speak up speak up right away, however way it comes or it’ll just never get said,

and cause sometimes I just want to SUCK at my job / life / whatever and not care !!!! well kinda, maybe not really, hm. i kinda want to be a “hot mess” though and make it okay – cause it… IS???

SURE IS. But I’m starting to hate that phrase though. “hot mess,” ew so overplayed

omg gues why I’m tired, I was up all night writing and then I got up so early and worked all day. And I didn’t cook dinner cause it was too much more work , i paid for someone else to make it for me, yay.

This morning I almost wore makeup but I thought nah, too much work. I wore an attractive, classic outfit though and that was fuckin-a good enough for me. I looked nice.

I almost considered going on a dating site cause i almost felt a bit lonely and one of the men at work today was flirting with me and i almost could’ve entertained the thought of a man but i was so tired and I thought nahhhh, too much work.

And I almost hit up may actual lover or whatever status it is, whatever but I thought naaaaaahhhhhh, too much work cauyase then i might have to

worry about how i look and fuck it

Then when I got home from work I wanted to go to the cafe to write and I almost changed into another outfit but that would’ve required too much thought and I took my hair down and it’s super long since I made up my mind I can’t cut it till my $2500 credit card is paid off

and when i took it down it was all kinda wack, didn’t look that great to me

and i almost wanted to do something to make myself look more cute

but it was too much work so i said fuck it, and i left the house

just like that, fiuck it

Dear Girsl. Do your best to be lazy.

 

I’m exhausted and I so feel like an old ass broad. I can barely sit sup, barely type. Did I just say “sup”? Yeah. Oops. Up.

Too much work to back space.

Today I saw some lady online who has a blog and she’s got like at least 1000 words bitching about all these many many young women sporting “I can’t adult today” tees and posters and whatever.

I didn’t have the energy to post a comment… well I alsmot did but then half way through the tome she’s quoting and buch of patronizing crap from the bible and she lost me there. back button.

Spelling, yay.

Anyway her whole entire argument can be summed up as “girls need to get off their asses and get back to work, not lounge areound drinking wine on the couch all day. Dear girsl: BE AWESOME!! “

Suddenly I don’t regret neglecting to comment. There’s no point in arguing with somebody who is quoting scripture. They’ve already made up their mind so there is no debate.

“Wow be your awesome selves, look what you can do, girls, you can be/do ANYTHING !!!! “

Give me a break.

Women have been working their asses off for CENTURIES. Are you really this pissed that your daughter might consider taking… a personal day???

After all, she does specify “today,” doesn’t it? Does she say, every day? No. Can’t adult today. didn’t think about that, did ya?

Here’s what I think “Can’t adult Today” really means. Because we’re not in the dark ages any more. We’re just not. And when you lament

“And I hear [I can’t adult today] loudest…

from women.” (direct quote)

maybe there’s a really great reason for that.

Maybe these lazy ass insensible carefree wine-swilling women are telling us “you know what, how about somebody else do this shit. I don’t want to. I’m tired. You know what, I want to sit on the couch. Like my boyfriend, dad, brothers, etc. do without question. I want to relax and not think about… taking care of everything and everyone. How’s that? Hm. I’m tired of being responsible for all the troubles and cares. I’m tired of doing all this labor. The emotional labor too. What if I don’t want labor running my damn life.

And why should I overachieve endlessly while nobody else complains when some guy, maybe my brother or whoever gets to… I don’t know… maybe play video games, hang out on the computer, smoke and do whatever he wants unchecked? You’re not writing articles about him. Girls are going to college more than ever, earning top grades, etc, and we still rarely get the best jobs. Why don’t you tell HIM what to do and what to be on a public platform, why don’t you tell him what you think he’s doing wrong???? I”m tired.

We’ve had enough of not being good enough for your standards. The whole world is demanding too many things from us, too much too much. What do you want from us now???

Make no mistake. The blog post is something we’re quite familiar with: it’s a good old-fashioned GUILT TRIP. The author says we don’t need to be perfect, but it’s not believable. Cause she somehow misses the point that “I Can’t Adult Today” actually supports the freedom to be imperfect. Instead, the mom interprets it this way:

“I want to grow up to Not be able to ADULT. or “My Life Goal is to lay around and drink wine all day…Im a HOT MESS.” with a cautionary “The hot mess you claim is the hot mess you become. It’s a fact.” (direct quote)

Right. So basically she just lept straight from taking a personal day to…. a hot mess? life goals over? Yeah ,exactly. This is exactly the stuff that needs to go away. One false move, girls, and suddenly your a fuckin g failure. One flaw. Who knows, maybe one personal day is all it takes! you could be on the couch with wine for the rest of your life !!! one day and you’re out of the game, everybody will forget you, you’ll be left behind, your life will be over, and everyone will blame you for everything.

And you’ll never get a man. And your parents will reject you. And you won’t be … good. You won’t be a good girl. You’ll be a fuckin loser. And you’ll disappoint my expectations.

Right. If you don’t like “I can’t adult today”, well how about this. How about DON’T PUT THAT SHIT ON ME !!!!

Stop telling me to be the best everywhere I turn. I HATE having to be the best at everything !!! I’m not the best and that’s okay!!!

Just because we’ve been screwed over in history or whatever. It’s not my job to make up for that. NOT MY JOB

 

 

 

 

It’s official I only trust the love of cats

We were on the couch watching tv, I think it was some kind of entertainment awards show.

I wasn’t paying too much attention, I think I was drawing. Until somebody said something that sounded like a cigarette on skin.

One of the men, I think it was one of the actors — wealthy, famous, older, with a golden permanent tan, a bit weathered — typical – was asked a question about his life challenges or something. He joked,

“Try keeping a marriage together when 22 is still on the table.”

I looked up and saw his bright white grin flash as the audience laughed. My lover snickered too. It’s so easy to turn a deaf ear to statements like these on the market value of women.

Months later, I’ve forgotten the program and the people on it. But their laughter sticks with me, and my lover’s chuckle, and that man’s totally oblivious, carefree smile.

 

 

Don’t stay quietly

This morning I went to a get-together where it turned out that the ratio of men to women was about 12:1. Not a big deal normally, except I felt a bit of a bad vibe with this particular group. My creep radar went off. Super casual and I wasn’t anything special in jeans and tee, but some of the men were staring a bit much. I moved away, positioning myself more towards the women.

We’d only just arrived. I was engaged in a conversation with a fairly large group of people I didn’t know. One of the men in the group said he went for a hike with his friend the other day, and that he was experiencing envy.

Because, he said emphatically, “My friend has….

A REALLY YOUNG WIFE.”

Oh great, here it comes, I’m thinking. Same old shit.

He said that his friend was this many years younger than him, and his friend’s wife is THIS many years younger than his friend, and she is THIS!! many years younger than him …

I wasn’t following all of it as I darted through options in my mind about what to do next, but I think the number 10 came up, and definitely the number 20 did. I registered how impressed he was with the age difference in the tone of his voice.

And then, he actually said the following words to all of us,

“…And I was thinking, man, I WISH I could wake up next to someone WHO LOOKS LIKE THAT!”

After a brief pause, an awkward chuckle from the group perforated his next couple of sentences about his struggle to overcome envy. Hm. Surely it must be painful.

And then the next noise was me, not by my words as it wouldn’t have been worth it, but by movement.  Swiftly, bruskly scooping up my bags, coffee, and sweater from the floor by my feet as fast as I could and racing the fuck out of there on the spot, right past them all.   There’s no need to continue standing for this, for the sake of politeness and silently excusing such idiotic crap.  I didn’t say a word and didn’t need to, as they all stopped to watch with question marks hanging out of their mouths. I could kinda feel some of them half open as if to speak, but I didn’t give it a chance.  

Just outside the front door, I was already in the car before anyone could react. Off to do something better with my day, hopefully in more enlightened company.