What was a feminist? I’d heard folk tales of them hiding in the woods ready to attack men but I was worried I might actually have been thinking about the witch from Hansel and Gretel and not an actual feminist. Couldn’t chance it though, what if feminists were extensions of witches? Did she secretly dislike me? Was I automatically bad because I was a man?
Mike Reynolds, “What I’ve Learned as the Husband of (Gasp!) A Feminist”
A rare moment when the Huffington Post gets it right.
Forest Pool by M.K. Hajdin
There are two kinds of people: those who have spent most of their adult lives partnered, and those who have not.
I’m one of the latter, and I feel like we’re a minority among all the happy (or happy-seeming) couples out there. But I have found a number of other people who have spent their adult lives alone, too, and it helped me to feel less weird about it.
I wonder if there are any reading my blog and if they’d like to share their stories. It doesn’t matter if you are willingly or unwillingly without a partner.
So I was on Twitter laughing at OKCupid users with creepy/evil usernames, when one of my normally silent followers piped up that he would go out with me if he could.
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"Bleeding deeply", my painting that I am not happy with
Warning: confessional. Don’t read if drama bores you.
I told myself I wouldn’t post about this.
First, because the internet is full of people who don’t care. Second, there are a few people who do care, and this would worry them. Third, I pride myself on my self-sufficiency and it’s fucking embarassing to admit that I am in emotional pain.
But I am.
I woke up crying last night and I have been crying all day. I managed to make two half-assed posts (and this will be a third) through a haze of tears, which I spent earlier today feeling sort of proud of, though it seems meaningless at this point.
What happened, you ask?
I was dumped by somebody I really like. That sounds like such an ordinary thing. It’s happened to us all. It happens every day.
It wasn’t even in person. It was over the internet, which nobody should take seriously, because there aren’t real people behind those pixels. Right? It’s not the same as Real Life. Or so everybody says. Maybe I’m more sensitive about such things because of being so isolated in real life. People don’t even speak English here.
But it’s somebody I really, really liked, and whose work I admired, and being sort-of-friends with them meant a lot to me.
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