CW6: raindrops on Sunday
"I want to live my life so that I'll be able to read an in-depth biography of myself in later years and not puke." — Paris Geller
09.02.2025
I dreamt I couldn’t get out of bed because of a severe case of the Monday blues. Maybe that is why I have been feeling the way I have been feeling: anxious, irritable, sad.
How many Sundays should a person go through before having to accept the realities of life?
Actually, I need to rephrase the question: how many periods should a person go through before accepting that my hormones will always translate every life experience into a catastrophe?
So far, it seems I’m still far from the acceptance goal.
THE OUTFITS
Sometimes I worry that any future child raised by me and my partner will be a pessimistic hateful anarchist, brought up with talks of unhappy degrowth and the inevitable collapse we are soon going to face.
For instance, I was attempting to enjoy an uncharacteristic sunny and warm day in February but I couldn't stop thinking about what it meant, that it was 15 degrees in the dead of winter. It feels impossible that we could ever recover from this thing we’re fostering, this permanent decay we are bringing onto ourselves.
Someone at work genuinely hates me, cannot stand me, refuses to say hello. It has never happened to me before and (honestly) it’s an invigorating experience. What could it be about meek and quiet and always polite me that could uncover such a strong negative response? I love knowing that I might louder than I think, loud enough to be disliked.
I forced myself to go to a volunteer meetup, grumpy, tired, powerless. It turned out (as I should have expected) to be very enriching. I don’t like to sound cliche, but these are lonely times, and meeting up in a cold basement with 11 people who want a change is good, so much better than engaging with social media activism. To know that some people still crave community and believe that their mere presence can do something made me feel part of something bigger than myself.
Thinking about the world ending is not enough, these are times of action.
I am my own worst enemy and the only person I trust to make good decisions for me. Isn’t that an impossible way to live?
I have started pole dancing a couple of months ago and I am less agile, less graceful than I would like to be, I compare myself to the other girls and most importantly I AM SCARED. I don’t want to fall, I don’t want to look ugly, I don’t want to make a fool of myself.
I spent 20 minutes convincing myself that my emotions are too fragile for me to be able to learn this new, difficult, craft. I was not like other people and fear was just always going to get the best of me.
Then suddenly the class was almost over and I did not want to go home hating myself. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and asked myself what kind of person do I want to be: respectful of my boundaries or respectful of my dreams?
You think my win from the previous day would have taught me something: I hung myself horizontally on a pole and spun around, surely I’d gain some confidence in my skin. But a meeting took place and I wanted to pitch an idea and the disclaimers on how bad and stupid and inefficient the ideas were going to be took more time to go through than the idea itself and I became fed up again!
Maybe this is why I hate people who speak up for themselves. It feels like a personal attack.
Wow pole dancing and community building ?? Brava 👏🏻