Things That I’m Over

An abbreviated list:

The idea that selfies are narcissistic, especially for women. Firstly, so what if they are? Like the mental masturbation that you do to feel superior isn’t? Secondly, no they aren’t. Women putting themselves front and center with their own agenda is simply weird because they’ve never been allowed to do it before. Welcome to the future. It has filters.

Purity progressives. Fuck those guys. Guess what? We’re nowhere near a revolution, guys. And policy making equals compromise since the founding fathers. Who were no saints, by the way, but it WAS their lives on line at the time. It’s so great that you can pontificate from metropolitan cities where your wi-fi is fast, your food is slow, and your activism is a giant circle jerk with other pasty white people who try on “bi-curious” for size. How’s the air up there? Some people do real work. You might want to try it some time.

Getting older. I pulled a muscle in my sleep the other night. How the fuck does that happen??

“Devil’s Advocates”. Shut up. Just shut up. The devil is his own best advocate, okay? He gets around making his argument JUST FINE all on his own. It’s called life. You’re not an advocate, you’re a stinky troll. Go back under your rock.

People who don’t understand privilege. Really? C’mon, it’s part of the vernacular now and if you still don’t get it, it’s because you don’t want to get it. Privilege does NOT equal wealth or fame. Privilege DOES equal certain unearned “free passes” from daily struggles not shared by everyone. Privilege does NOT mean you’ve never had it rough. Privilege DOES mean that you could’ve had it rougher. Privilege does not mean you can’t vent, privilege does mean you might not want to vent about Starbucks being out of your favorite flavor to a single working mom drinking yesterday’s Folgers. Use some sense. Then use your privilege to speak up for those who don’t share it.

Women’s clothing industry sizing. SERIOUSLY GET IT TOGETHER GUYS!! MY WAIST HAS A MEASUREMENT AND SO DOES MY INSEAM. YOUR “12” IS BULLSHIT AND SO IS YOUR METHOD FOR SEWING ON BUTTONS.

Commercials. I’ve lived so long without network television that I forget how offensive they can be. And then Pepsi invades my internet news feed.

Divorce. FML, I really, really want to be over this. Hurry up already.

Selling things on Facebook. Nope. People are entitled, pushy assholes. Over it.

Living in “rural America”. Where the church folk are terrorists and anti-intellectualism reigns supreme. Look, hillbillies and rednecks, I’m sorry you are constantly picked on and made fun of by “liberal elites”. MAYBE STOP GIVING THEM SO MUCH MATERIAL TO WORK WITH, MMMMKAY?

Listicles. These things suck, don’t they??

Fuck this.

Jesus fucking christ when is this going to be over. For a year I’ve been waiting for the right time to move on. Trying to do what is best for everyone, trying to hold on to the things that matter.┬áMy marriage has been dead for a long while now, and we’re just now starting the process of burying it. Life, man. It was full of complications. Helpless things I made promises to, plans that look right in any equation.

They are right, you know. Let the child finish school, pick the program that has the likeliest outcome of success, move and file and do all the things according to the right schedule. I checked all the boxes. I made the right decisions.

And now, here I am, in the midst of plans that were made a long time ago, and my body refuses to move forward. I can’t breathe. I weight two tons. There is an ocean of pressure in my ears and every cell struggles through its function. Fuuuuuuck me. It’s not even the loss of the husband. That blew away in ashes months and months ago. It’s all this STUFF. Papers, boxes, printers, dishes – all this stuff has to be packed and organized and sold and I am just. So. Very. Fucking. Tired.

Tomorrow I have to get the oil changed in my car and take a test in anatomy and I want to cry. The idea of maintaining an upright, hominid position makes me want to sob, except that would take energy I just don’t have. My ears are constantly ringing, my chest is constantly tight, my legs feel like articulated lead bricks.

This was supposed to be MY time. Finally, my time for moving forward, for cleansing, for changing and reclaiming. And all I want to do is crawl in a hole until its over. How the hell did I do this when I was in my 20s and chasing better ideas over state lines and jobs and all of that nonsense?? Where is THAT person? I need her to go through my filing cabinet. I need her to google how to start a fire in a burn barrel. I need her to do the dishes. And pack them. And take the dogs for a walk. And cry, because I’m too tired for any of that. I can’t breathe. I literally can’t take those deep, calming breaths everyone is always saying work the best. My lungs are full of cement.

Did that 20 something whine this much? Or is that a “fun” thing about my 40s, too? How early is too early to go to bed?