A passionate vegan-feminist-earthling-biophiliac-drug free-sex positive-bicycle warrior-writer with increasingly anarchist views.
My life these past three weeks:
Moving. Cleaning. Painting. Kaleidoscope house. Embarrassing yoga classes. Losing best friends. Coffee. No internet. Dreaming. Writing. Breathing in and out and watch my breath, she says, concentrate on it am I alive right now?. Conversations with women about G-d in the same time zones. Texas summers (I am sticky hot). Bad skin. Stray kittens. New tattoos. Work, that is, taking orders and fake attitudes. Are coworkers really friends?. Men with blue eyes and brown eyes and men I loved that left me. Short stories. Folk music. Early afternoon thunderstorms. Am I ugly? Does that even matter? My mother my mother. Big breakfasts. Walks home from the police. The house smells like weed. Wheatgrass shots and shopping at the health food store so much they know me by my first name. Growing hair. Booooooooooks. Loneliness. “Hey girl, you lookin’?” “No, I’m living.” Exhaustion. Bob Dylan on the sidewalks staring at the 3/4 moon. No one here is crazy enough to be interesting.
I am insane enough to be sober, frantic enough to walk by myself at 3 am and the noise from the men echoes through a three-car street while I hold the eyes of those who walk next to me, thinking Don’t look at my body Don’t look at my body. I am not scared of anything.
Melissa McEwan, of course, on the terrible bargain. My life as a woman, as a queer person, as a fat person, is not your thought experiment. (via sanitywatchers)
Exactly. Your “playful” argumentation is in fact a series of personal attacks. You don’t get to attack us and then say we’re too emotional.
Yes. It might be an interesting intellectual exercise for you, but this is my life and my reality we’re talking about.
I know some people who need to read this
Sometimes I need other people to remember this, and sometimes I need to remind myself.
I have this problem with my uncle. He thinks he’s engaging in playful debate. He’s not. He’s taking problems that have very real consequences in people’s lives, including mine, and treating them like they’re merely hypothetical, just interesting fodder for debate. And then he wonders why I just give up and walk away. To him, it’s a signal he’s won the argument, that he’s right. Really, it’s just because I don’t have the spoons to put up with his bullshit for hours on end.
Reblogged for Cindy.
Can something go well for once?