- Me: Tell me who you hate on [redacted website] so I can hate them too.
- L: The list of people I do not hate is less time consuming.
"Man, I can’t sleep" —> "I mean, I have to and I’m going to" —> "It’s just that I might need a forkful of pork fried rice first…"
Anyway, I couldn’t really enjoy camp because along with the spiders that hung out in our cabin and the TERRIBLE showers that offered campers zero privacy, I was sick with anxiety about leaving Alice. I knew, instinctively, that I would never see her again and I didn’t know how to reconcile that within my nine-year-old self. On our last day together, she gave me her phone number and home address and told me to write to her. I did the same and of course I never heard from her and I don’t think I ever wrote to her or called either. The point is that I was dreading that goodbye before it ever happened, which is somewhat of a default setting for me. I love this person, this thing, this entity in my life so much I worry myself sick about losing them. I anticipate the worst and often times will just straight up forget to be present, losing the significant texture of things in the process.When I was a kid my mother had my cousins and aunts and uncles over just about every weekend. I come from a large family. My grandmother had six kids and great-grandmother had SIXTEEN. Vast majority of my childhood memories are of my aunts, whom I looked up to, sitting around my Mom or grandma’s kitchen table drinking mudslides my grandfather had prepared. They usually only drank mudslides during the holidays, for other occasions it was simply beer or wine, and snacks mom would pop in the oven a mere half hour before everyone arrived.
As I age, I realize again and again that I come from a good family. A good, broken family who didn’t come out of any of it unscathed. But this idea and example that as long as a large group of my loved ones are under the same roof, things are okay. Should anything happen to us on this night, we will be together. I can’t think of a single better, more meaningful gift my family ever gave me. I’m rambling now. Happy holidays and all that good shit.
— Sarah Noelle (via shakeimaboston)
There are times when, as a woman, bearing witness to casual commentary about other women’s bodies angers me in a way that I am not comfortable with. I belong to various different online forums where users regularly upload NSFW images of women. Naked women, women engaged in sexual acts, barely naked women engaged in non sexual acts, etc. Which, fine, I get it. It’s normal and human nature to admire appealing things and boobs and ass fall under the category of “appealing things”. I guess my disdain and contempt for all this stems from having to see comments like “nice tits on this one”, or “she looks like a dead hooker” because it serves as a fucked up reminder that women are judged first on appearance while everything else is, unfortunately, secondary.
Who is tougher than me?
The answer is always the same, and even when I know there is absolutely no way on this earth it is true, I say it anyway: No one.