OMG does this make me a post-post-feminist?
I grabbed Bitch off my shelf of books I have had forfreakingever but haven’t read. I’m like 3 pages into the introduction and I’m seriously annoyed that every single example Elizsabeth Wurtzel has given of bad-girl-ness involves women engaged in sexy badness, being the bad girl of men’s wet dreams. Tell me it gets better, because I really do connect right now- really, really, really- with what I think she’s trying to say.
But this frontispeice quote is fucking amazing:
Down with a world in which the guarantee that we will not die of starvation has been purchased with the guarantee that we will die of boredom.
-Situationist graffiti from 1968 Paris
Why did I unleash a huge freakout on my husband this week?
Seriously, that is exactly the conundrum of the current zeitgeist, excepting those who are still starving. Who are a lot, I’m not ignoring. I mean, I take responsibility fully for the fact that I’m bored into depression. I keep on the screens that eat my life, don’t I? But it feels like an uphill battle to stay mentally and physically healthy in this time and place. We’ve eradicated the need for the working class in America (in a generalized sense) to do physical work, and now we find ourselves somewhat suddenly to be the only species on Earth that has to create exercise as a separate, intentional activity. We then created a culturally sanctioned diet of foods so processed and infused with so many additives that it is virtually indistinguishable from the actual food it once was, and made eating a real diet of whole foods untainted by dangerous chemicals to be a quirky, progressive, fringy thing.
I want to run away to a commune.
I’m exhausted with feeling like every tiny choice I want to make is wither cost-prohibitive or too time intensive because I’m in my little triple or quarduple hamster wheel trying to earn a paycheck, keep a house from dissolving in chaos and keep a child healthy and safe and the tiny little extra energy I have left is poured into trying to actually raise her lovingly and squeeze in real time with her. The energy I don’t have left after that I’m trying to put into a business that treads water only barely and overwhelms and daunts but is the tiny thread out of this labyrinthine trap of the mundane. I cannot find the time to find a direction and go there and solve the problem of how to create a life instead of carving out an adequate but ultimately disappointing existence.
My me-ness is dying inside dirty dishes and all night baby interaction and the weight of debt and utility cut off notices. It’s Maslow: you cannot worry about the right clay body for this sculpture or the right shade of red for that painting when you are worried the water will get cut off before the baby’s bath tonight and then worrying about going in late to work after paying the bill because your husband- who you have seen for like 45 minutes all fucking week- is out of town working his ass off too.
Where are all the other poor and smart mommy bloggers?
That was bugging me yesterday, then I realized if you aren’t using graphic & web design to eek out a bit of an income, you turn off your ISP when you are as broke as this. Which is a shame, because this here is the sum total of my creative life and thank Goddess there is at least this.