Coming Along

The last of the yarn came yesterday and so I expect I’ll finish at least the body of it this week. Two more panels and then I’m going to use the rest of the yarn on the border.

It looks like I’m going back to the Post for a couple of posts, but no one has emailed me back, so I don’t know what I’m going to write about. So, that’s a little fun.

I also emailed the dude from Someone Knows Something because I just wanted to know if my FBI experiences are typical or if there’s something weird going on.

I’m sure a lot of you have already read this piece from The Week. It’s not a new feminist position. Just of the top of my head, I think Simone De Beauvoir was getting at something similar as was Charlotte Perkins Gilman back in “The Yellow Wallpaper”–it’s demanded of us to take unnatural positions and perform them as natural in order to be “good and normal” and our normal condition is considered madness. And those unnatural positions are painful. And our pain is so expected, so normalized, we can barely see the scope of how “well, being a woman is being uncomfortable” permeates our whole lives.

But I think Loofbourow’s article spells it out clearly in ways we’re not used to seeing. And spells out the implications of that clearly in ways I definitely think we’re not used to considering.

Anyway.

That sucks.

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4 thoughts on “Coming Along

  1. After reading the Loofbourow piece a few days ago I’ve been gnawing on its connection to diet culture. When women grow up eating less than they need or want, from the time they’re children, they’re used to living with the low level pain of hunger, always. And that “pain” is seen as necessary to make us desirable, and thus to make us happy. To not be hungry, to not be in pain, is a threat to our happiness, a threat to us, in a way.

    I’m trying to think of a way to communicate this to people who don’t understand fat acceptance. I’m not there yet.

  2. Horrifying to think about.

    In the many recent discourses on consent, there was one that brought back a memory with full force that I had long been trying to leave in the past. A guy who was looked up to by all of his friends, and had been a staunch defender of girls and women from when he was in junior high, came up with this fantasy scenario in which he was going to rape me, and I was going to deliver myself to be raped.

    It was terrifying because there was no way for me to say no that he was willing to hear. You see, he explained to me repeatedly, he and all “the guys” had discussed it, and they had decided that there was something I had said sometime past that meant I was trying to angle for this guy to deflower me. But they all knew a virgin / good girl couldn’t admit to something like that, so the tortured reasoning apparently went, so they all agreed that of course I would protest endlessly, but that wouldn’t matter, because my having said this (completely non-sexual) thing meant some kind of irrevocable contract.

    He actually called me up wanting me to agree to stop stalling and deliver myself over to be raped. Horrified, terrified protests had no impact, because he and “the guys” had all decided that this was just part of the game, and of course you’d expect a good girl / virgin to be scared and to keep saying no with ever-escalating terror, so of course you have to just chuckle and keep telling her that it’s going to happen anyway.

    It’s not just pain, not just starvation, they can shrug off as what we’re supposed to feel — but stark terror as well. My terror didn’t even disturb the lusty certainty of his fantasy.

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