This meme popped up on social media yesterday, in a comment thread on a post about the ‘controversial’ virginity of one of the women on the new Bachelor. Two things. Yes, this show is still on the air. And yes, the women are called ‘contestants’, though I refuse to name them as such. Because apparently, the dude is actually the winner…especially if he picks the virgin. Right? *shudder* So much wrong here. A woman’s sexuality has *never* belonged to the woman. Does this bother anyone else as much as it bothers me?
Yes. It bothers Caitlin Stasey. A lot.
There are cookies in the pantry…and the voices begin.
“Ooo, I so want this. This will taste so good. This—THIS!—this will make me feel better.”
“Do you know how bad that is for you? You’ll get fat. You get grumpy. You’ll just shove more in your face in a minute. Goddammit. You constantly do things that are bad for you. You make bad choices. Let’s be clear. YOU.CANNOT.HAVE.THAT.”
“Oh-ho-ho, really? Watch me.” *om nom nom*
Puttering is my dominant activity of late. Not in the curious, playful way your dad used to putter in the garage on Saturdays. I putter with purpose. That purpose is avoidance.
When I updated my Facebook profile with ‘work’ [aw, that’s cute, love], it was absolutely no accident that I identified myself as Writer/Procrastinator.
Confession? I am incapable of chit chat. It starts all ‘la la la, how’s school going’, then, *sploosh*, we’ve stepped off the shallow shoreline right over the continental shelf.
Kindergarten crafts-chat turns toward the conspiracy of public school privatization or poverty and the achievement gap. Because, you know, if poor kids had access to craft supplies at home, and mom wasn’t working two jobs, she could have been able to help him cut out Valentines for the class party. And we really need to organize—hey…?
I’ve been procrastinating on this one. Partly planned—I wanted to give myself a full week of post Whole30 observation—and partly plain ol’ chickenshit.
Full disclosure? Two sentences in, and I just spent 30 minutes dawdling on Facebook. Eyes forward! I’m back.
A few people have asked me, did I go soaring off the wagon last Thursday, face first, into a pool of jellybeans and hot chocolate? I understand this. Part curiosity, part concern.
Short answer? No.
This one hits wincingly, uncomfortably close. Allie Brosh at Hyperbole and a Half has some truth telling about depression. As a writer, I can appreciate the honesty and bravery in her narrative alone.
But the drawings add a gentle, palatable angle that my raw wordie shit usually lacks. Lest I bore you with another text-heavy take on depression, check out this perfect illustration.
Expect to squirm. But you’ll laugh, too.