It Continues

My dad insisted I call the plumber right away when he decided he didn’t like how my bathtub was draining. I tried to refuse, because it just drains slow, always has, but then my washing machine line sprung a leak.

Because, I’m sure, the house was finally rejecting this shitty ass washing machine. But anyway, I called the plumber on Friday.

Because he’s awesome, he sent a kid out today. Right now.

And I have, apparently, messed up the whole morning by having the plumber come at an inconvenient time.

Insert eye-roll here.

The hardest part about it is that all the shittiness I feel manifests itself in me feeling like I’m gross. Like my body is so disgusting and that me being out in public is some kind of freak show spectacle. Like I am grossing people out by being where they can see me.

So, it’s like, I have to steel myself to run this emotional marathon with my people and do so while my mind tells me that I am imposing on the world by being a part of it, so maybe I should just find a way to be all kinds of smaller and less present and easier to stand.

It really makes me mad how my brain, when I need it to be the strongest and most on my side, is like “yep, we suck. Suck, suck, suck.”


4 thoughts on “It Continues

  1. a. Your parents! Agh! I can’t even with them. Maybe time for that Xanax?

    b. Yes I know this feeling. It sucks. One weird thing that’s happened as I get older is that I kind of find conventional attractiveness boring. As in, there are some very nice young women I know who are kind of hard to tell apart, visually speaking. They have the same hair, clothes, general body shape, mannerisms. They have been “successful” at Being a Woman in a way I never was, and good for them, truly, but that mold is pretty bland and restrictive, and of course, you always have to worry that you will stop succeeding, don’t you? If you win, you still don’t win, because you’re gonna get old, or maybe gain weight, or in some other way not fit anymore. They are haunted by it and even the prettiest woman never really gets to relax and enjoy her success.

    c. The rest of the time, I remind myself of the Bullshit Beauty Pageant Paradigm, i.e., the idea that all female-bodied people, from birth, must compete at all times in the Bullshit Beauty Pageant, that every single other person who sees us (especially men) is for some reason a designated Judge whose opinion on our appearance we MUST care about, until we die, the end. That is what we are raised to believe, constantly, and it is complete and utter bullshit, and every time we call out that bullshit, we get stronger. Every time I tell myself I don’t have to care what every rando dude in a visual radius thinks of my sexiness, because WHY SHOULD I, I chip away at this shitty paradigm.

    Anyway, thanks for your awesome posts all year, even though I have zero interest in weaving or spinning or fiber crafts of any kind; you are doing good work with your writing and you deserve to take up space in this world. I hope 2019 is awesome for you.

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