Complete bitch telling me that all my friends are always complaining about how there’s always something wrong with me. Thought she was talking out her ass until she said some stuff I’ve only said to certain people, who I trusted.
This is probably going to be my last post on tumblr for a long while. This was an outlet, but I don’t feel comfortable using it anymore.
A girl in my Sociology class turns around during a class activity on goals to start a conversation with me. Her opening line is: ‘I want to get married.’ I nod and smile. She does not ask me my goals, just continues telling me the sort of guy she’d like to be with and how many kids she’d like. Thoughtfully, she adds, ‘My mom told me to meet someone and marry them. You don’t wanna date around because you wanna be fresh for the guy and not a….you know what.’
My cousin’s Facebook ‘About Me’ lists things she would like in a man. There is nothing about her or the things she does, only qualities she finds attractive. ‘Looking for someone who can play the guitar and cook a great dinner,’ she wrote. I can hear her bubbly, singsong voice while reading it. She is thirteen years old and has told me that girls ‘oughta only kiss their husbands and that’s it.’ When I ask her what she wants to be when she’s older she says, ‘Married.’
My male friend tells me that he has no problem with what girls do, but that he would not date a girl who’s ‘been around’ because she’d be ‘dirty.’ I wonder if each time someone touches you, a part of you is soiled. If there are piles of dirt in the spaces where others’ fingers once rested. In the shower, I try to scrub the smell of dirt from myself, but come out, still polluted, with red scratch marks all over me.
Being a ‘you know what’ taught me some things: that I do not want to be touched by somebody who will judge my past. That I am not a tally book, with others’ names burned into me. If you have to label me as something, let it be a human being.
I love watching people micro-blog their lives but if I did it y’all would get a bunch of pictures of my cats, the same thing being crocheted at different stages, whatever I ate and pictures of me stacking things on Dord while he sleeps.
I swear to God I used to have a life.
I really need to do a mass unfollow. I follow so many parenting/pregnancy blogs and that shit is getting to me at the moment. Fuck this, my body is supposed to be MADE for this crap. They’ve even found ways to cut dudes out of the equation altogether; why the fuck is it still so hard for some people to get pregnant?
It rained last night and a tiny snail escaped into the back lobby under the back door. My gigantic almost-two year old cat was so terrified she yowled for an hour even after I put the damn thing back outside. Good job, Pixie.
My two middle-sized cats are both a whole year old now. Kila doesn’t do anything without making pigeon noises and Memphis is slowly morphing into her mother, only less likely to take your hand off for breathing. Missy is a gorgeous cat but dear lord she hates everyone except Erin and Khai.
I haven’t seen Erin in weeks and that makes me a sad panda. It’s really not a fantastic idea for two people with social anxiety to be best friends; we end up ignoring each other for like two weeks because we don’t want to *be annoying*. Whatevs, we’ve been best friends for ten years now, we must be doing something right.
One of my guy friends asked Jord for permission to give me a present he’d made for me the other night. Jord laughed so hard he fell off his chair. I did have a bit of a rant. It’s kinda stuck in my craw that now people think Jord owns me. Some old dude at Woolworths said “you have a beautiful wife.” To him earlier, and Jord said “thanks, but she’s right there, couldn’t you just say that to her?” and he got all indignant and says “YOU DON’T SAY THAT TO ANOTHER MANS WIFE.”
Jord just kinda looked at me confused and asked when I stopped being my own person and just became “the wife”. I do love that kid.
He’s 20 on Thursday. Fuck me, I remember his fourteenth birthday. We’ve known each other for six fucking years and that spins me out.
Harry was the favorite kid and he wasn’t even an official part of the family
Because Molly knows exactly how the Dursleys treat him. There’s no way Ron wouldn’t tell her. And Molly Weasley is a Mother. She gets a capital M because she is goddamn phenomenal at what she does. When she hears Harry Potter is on the train to Hogwarts in Book 1, her reaction isn’t to be starstruck. It’s to say “that poor dear had to come here all on his own.” Molly Weasley loves harder than anyone. She loves like it’s her sole reason for being. And when she hears there’s a poor boy who has never known love his whole life… how could she not?
In Year One Molly Weasley knit Harry a Weasley family sweater and made him homemade chocolate so he would have something to open on Christmas DON’T TOUCH ME
And because I seriously side-eye this Western journalism trend of never crediting and NAMING the actual inventors in the headlines (especially when they’re young POC)
this inventor’s name is Shubham Banerjee, and he is making his glorious design completely open source, publishing it online FREE of charge! Just remember this kid’s name before some crusty old white dude “innovates” his design and takes all the credit.
He did it. He actually managed to describe how it feels to live with depression and suicidal tendencies.
I know tomorrow is going to come because I’ve seen it. Sunrise is going to come, all you have to do is wake up. The future has been at war, but it’s coming home so soon. The future looks like a child in a cape. The future is the map and the treasure. The future looks just like gravity: everyone is slowly drifting toward everyone else. We are all going to be part of each other one day. The future is a blue sky and a full tank of gas. I saw the future, I did, and in it I was alive.