I’ve been away for a while now. Not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because one night in October this sick dude who was pissed that I refused his ill advised attempts at wooing me into bed (I’m just looking for something casual…fooling around is fun…not into a relationship right now….you flirted with me once…I haven’t been laid in a really long time…) decided to pour beer on my laptop before he left. He promptly followed that up with a text message that said “So are handjobs and blowjobs out of the question too?” Ugh.
I’m pretty sure I’ve lost a good 97% of any audience I may have once had because of these long absences between posts. I mean really, less than one post per month is not nearly enough to maintain a readership. I know this. (And to those of you who inexplicably keep me on your RSS feeds or come back and check in once in a while to see if I’ve got anything new, a hearty and flattered thank you).
All I can say for myself is that day to day challenges have overwhelmed my ability to form any kind of cohesive argument about the sexist shit I see and hear. There’s a place in between merely surviving and having the luxury of spending hours perfecting a blog post about misogyny. That’s where I’ve been, that middle place. I’m hoping to emerge now.
So, to explain: I’m a 34 year old self-absorbed therapy-loving beer-drinking foul-mouthed smoker with unruly hair and a penchant for reality competition shows on Bravo. When I’m not at work I’m usually at home alone in my pajamas farting and picking my nose. On some weekends, the only time I leave my house is to get cigarettes and a box of macaroni and cheese at 7-11. I’m terrible at keeping in touch with old friends and rarely, if ever, answer my phone when it rings. I often let my kitchen get to the repulsive odor point before I relent and do the dishes. My primary companion over the last 10 years has been an elderly, morbidly obese cat. I am easily annoyed by small children and parents of small children. I do not think I’m a life-giving goddess with some special vagina power and I have absolutely no intention of being a mother.
But. A few months ago I adopted a 14 year old girl who was on a dangerous path and who badly needed a mother-type to take care of her and a safe comfortable home to live in. Of course there’s a whole big story there and I’m not gonna to get into it, but let’s just say my world got all crazy. All the sudden my life wasn’t all about me all the freaking time. All those super secret single behaviors weren’t gonna fly anymore. It was time to start thinking about someone before myself. Yikes.
I found myself with neither the energy nor the time to devote to anything other than the practical and emotional demands of a sexually active, mildly apathetic teenage girl who smokes too much pot and refuses to go to school. Navigating my way around this relationship, constantly worrying about where she is and who she’s with, trying to figure out what to say, being consumed with what I’m doing and not doing and should be doing, cleaning up after her, being stressed about money all the time, cooking real food and doing dishes almost everyday, for chrissake! It’s exhausting and makes me cry kind of a lot.
That’s not to say it’s a bad situation. It’s hard, yes, and I am pushed to previously unknown limits on a daily basis, but it definitely has its odd and unexpected rewards. I love her more than anything. I don’t regret my decision for a second, not one. I know that all is exactly how it should be for reasons I won’t know for a while.
Now we’re in something resembling a routine and are comfortable in our new home. Everything is unpacked and put away. We understand each other better. And now I can breathe a little easier. I think I finally have time to do things for myself again.
So I’m making a commitment to myself to write a post everyday for the next week in order to get back in the practice of of writing and thinking about these things again. It’s not gonna be a series of 4-scroll feminist diatribes, that’s for sure, but I can write something everyday, even if it’s short and weak and doesn’t make that much sense. I can do that. Okay then.
Seems appropriate that on this, the unofficial last day of summer, I present my summer project. Welcome to my feet.
FYI – Filmed in Oregon, with a few exceptions.