This is the day when you're tired

and wonder in fragments about old patterns, and how they can change

This is the day when you have only two-plus-a-million major things to get done.

I used to have a rule about relationships: no one got to hit me. It was a bad rule.

I'm not for people hitting me--but: what has to happen for things to get that far? People, in this society, don't make that sort of choice out of the blue. Before that, there is a slow eroding of boundaries, a demolition (until he's trying to get you to stay) of all the things that made you want to be with him in the first place. By the time he thinks he might be able to get away with that--before he has a chance to get away with that--you are invested. By the time things have gotten that bad, you care about him--things are complicated--you know he can do better. And he can.

But he doesn't.

You might say that rule at least worked; no one ever did hit me, who I was dating. But, things got worse in different ways. Any time there's a sharp, clear line, people will find a way to work around it.

Now I have more and different rules. No one gets to threaten me with violence--not by saying something about it, not by throwing things or hitting things or knocking things over close to me, and expecting me to stick around. No one gets to try and change who I am--not even if they're trying to change me into something I want to be. That's my job. And, no one gets to treat me like I'm stupid.

I'm not stupid.

I'm angry at the world about a roof.

My house needs a roof. I want a metal roof. It would last three times as long and be completely recyclable, and it costs two thousand dollars more. I don't have it. In order to get a metal roof, I would, basically, have to not spend money on anything for the next several months.

It's the small things, yeah? There's no reason I shouldn't have clothes that fit me and don't have holes in them, and buy fresh groceries, and own shoes that don't hurt to walk in, and have access to a swimming pool so that I can exercise on the days that hurt the most. I discover, this is a startlingly big part of taking care of myself--prioritizing my material needs. I hate that, to take care of myself now, there must be such a waste of resources--that to make it through one summer entails such a throwaway, a cheap and wasteful decision that will last fifteen years.

I'm not giving up, of course--creative and resourceful money management is in my brain and blood. Waste angers me.

I came across an article this:



And then for contrast:



My thoughts:


1) The Lane Bryant model shown still represents the top 2% of the population for gorgeousness. What this comes out to is: including her in our standard of beauty doesn't necessarily make it more attainable--just different.

Still--she is the size, if not the shape, of the average American woman. So that's heartening.


2) Isn't it amazing how much sexier she is than the Victoria's Secret models? Since she has her own curves, she doesn't need all the camera effects and fanfare. Every time I see something like this I'm shocked with how much of a difference that makes; imagine, for instance, a full sized tinker-bell next to a real woman (say, Paris Hilton) wearing the same costume, and it becomes clear which is the more sexualized.

I think perhaps a skeletal standard of sexiness is a patriarchal way of integrating the virgin standard (alienated from one's body and especially one's sexuality) with the whore standard (sexually available).


3) Somebody made an edit to this and put it out on youtube. They replaced "meet Dan for lunch" on her phone with "the new Mcrib is back!" I actually like both versions. . . intentionally or not, this makes the point that a woman who is large can eat, and it's OK. Certainly she's not violating a beauty standard by doing so. Sensual enjoyment either way.

Early third wave was all about independence; do things for yourself as much as you possibly can. I'm a believer in the iron rule--never do for others what they can do for themselves. That's my standard of independence. I also believe in its unspoken corollary; don't hesitate to help people with the things they can't do for themselves. And, don't hesitate to accept help with the things you can't do for yourself. To complicate matters, independence costs more for some people than for others.

Sometimes the trade-offs aren't fair. I can spend a lot of time and money on taking charge of my own safety, but how much freedom do I loose for it? That, perhaps, is the most frustrating gender inequality that I see in my own life. I want to travel. I want to walk alone at night, to feel cool air and quiet and not fear. I want to spend my money on things I need, like repairs to my house, and things I want, like concerts and books and amazing food. I want to be in a relationship where I'm not paranoid about whether this is someone who would keep me physically safe, if I needed it.