I once had to say this on a show many years ago, and I truly believe it: Loneliness is a choice. I like to be alone; I’m more comfortable alone. But I do recognise that I take it too far sometimes and so I try to force myself to keep up with being sociable. I just am a bit of a lone ranger; I always have been. But I don’t believe that necessarily has to translate to being lonely. You can be lonely in a crowd of a thousand people. I can be in a hotel room on my own, and not feel lonely. It all comes down to how comfortable you are with who you are in the silence.
Gillian Anderson (via cyberqueer)
To suggest that one’s belly, body hair or tattoo is ‘distasteful’ and should therefore be covered in the name of etiquette is the very worst sort of body fascism. If your children are traumatised by the sight of a fat person in a bikini, a bit of cellulite or a caesarean scar, then may I tentatively suggest that you aren’t raising them correctly. If seeing someone hairy wearing something skimpy renders you ‘unable to eat your lunch’ then I’m afraid my diagnosis of the problem is with your brain, not their body.

Currently staring at roses hanging upside down on my wall and waiting patiently for them to be fully dry.

I worked close to 60 hours last week at my fake job—and by that, I mean I spent nearly 60 hours in someone else’s home taking care of their children and cooking and cleaning and it was really just the most draining at times.  And it made me really feel like I wasn’t doing anything meaningful with my time or my life. I’d come home at the end of a 12 or 13 hour day of, yes, playing and singing and impersonating monsters, but also of scrubbing and putting away and lifting and straightening up, and walk in to my little apartment full of mess and clutter.  It was kind of maddening. And discouraging. Because it hadn’t mattered that I had literally perfected someone else’s eco system all week—mine was self destructing in the hours I spent outside of it. So I would come home and clean and scrub and put away some more.

On Thursday night I woke up around 3:30 am to S coming home from work.  He held an armful of roses. And he told me, “I realize in retrospect that I should’ve gone with 12 candy bars instead of a dozen flowers”—y’all, he gets it—“but I want you to know that I appreciate every big and little thing you have gone out of your way to do for me this week, even when you didn’t have time. You’re working almost twice as much as usual and it sucks but you’ve still been wonderful to me and I just really appreciate that and you and you need to know that.” And then he handed me each flower, one by one, as a thank you for specific things I had done for him throughout the week. For going to the store on my way home to buy him lunchmeat. For ironing some shirts so he’d be set for work for a few days. For cleaning Layla’s box out. For doing all the dishes. And so on.

I’m not a huge fan of flowers—they’re certainly nice, but they die. But these meant so much. And this time, I’m repurposing.  I found a neat vase and I will keep these flowers as long as they last in their dried state.  Partly for sentimental reasons, but also as a reminder that what S says is something I need to really remember about myself: little things do amount to big things. I’ll keep trying and trekking day by day, and at some point, all my combined efforts will yield to something meant for me. So this all matters now—every bit of it. Sometime in the future these days of feeling futile will wither and die, but they’ll be worth remembering. 


I’ve said this before and I’ll point it out again -

Menstruation is caused by change in hormonal levels to stop the creation of a uterine lining and encourage the body to flush the lining out. The body does this by lowering estrogen levels and raising testosterone.

Or, to put it more plainly “That time of the month” is when female hormones most closely resemble male hormones. So if (cis) women aren’t suited to office at “That time of the month” then (cis) men are NEVER suited to office.

If you are a dude and don’t dig the ladies around you at their time of the month, just think! That is you all of the time.

And, on a final note, post-menopausal (cis) women are the most hormonally stable of all human demographics. They have fewer hormonal fluctuations of anyone, meaning older women like Hilary Clinton and Elizabeth Warren would theoretically be among the least likely candidates to make an irrational decision due to hormonal fluctuations, and if we were basing our leadership decisions on hormone levels, then only women over fifty should ever be allowed to hold office.

timemachineyeah (via ask-pauli-amorous)

I think we can all go home now. This person just shut down the internet.

(via bringmewaterformymind)

Today I rode out to Rittenhouse with my sights set on a guitar store.  It is absolutely unbelievable how calming and refreshing I find walking by myself amidst the hustle and bustle of Center City to be.  Shortly after we moved here, I found it to be one of my favorite things to do. All alone, no accountability, completely encompassed in my own anonymity.  

Anyway, I meandered down Sansom and stopped in my tracks once I hit my destination—I had been there before.  Roughly five years ago, with my great first love, when I had no idea I stood in Rittenhouse, we had sought out the same tiny little guitar store.  I was laughing to myself as I walked in at how wonderfully serendipitous my life is sometimes in the smallest ways.  Of all the grand businesses and hole in the wall shops of this fantastic city, I stumbled upon one visited by my former self with a former love with former hopes and ideals. Today, I found my way back, an evolved self with different love and ideals and hopes. It was once of those moments, you know? When you’re briefly visited by the notion that absolutely every element in your life has changed, and you’re happy still.  Happier, even. More solid and believable and determined. Even closer to what you’re supposed to be doing and who you’re supposed to be doing it with. And yet, the place had remained seemingly unchanged at all.

I went in and introduced myself to the shop owner, explained my cause and need for strings that did not include playing music, and he gave me a full grocery bag full of electric and nylon guitar strings for free. He liked and respected my vision even though it was unexpectedly different from his. And he invited me to regularly stop in for more free strings whenever I needed them (although I think I’m set for about 500 orders now).

As I walked out, I shot a text to J telling him of my random rediscovery from five years ago when our lives were entwined.  His text back was positive encouragements and affirmations and kind words with the promise of even more strings once he had some to give me to add to my now volumous collection.  Again, one of those moments—time and circumstances pull you apart at the seams, but each time you return to where you’ve been, everything is as much the same as you allow it to be.  I’m always so grateful for that.

Life, you guys. Today was splendid.