My Saddest Bastard Award.

So this is a pretty far cry from my earlier post expanding upon the joys of learning girlposes to a techno beat, but I named this blog with the intent to write about feminism and my political concerns as well as to ogle underage succubi. I swear eventually I'll write about them together, because I have all sorts of horrible thoughts about white privilege, exoticizing women of other races, disinfranchising images and how I'm enjoying all three.

This isn't really about that though, although it'd be cool if I could figure out how incorporate J-pop into a post about my early adult angst and my rage against the machine. If I think of a way I'll try to get it in here.

I've rewritten this paragraph five times now, because I don't know how to just get to the point or exactly what I'm trying to say: I got into an argument with my Dad (who I live with) tonight about our political differences and what I feel is an escalating amount of psychological and verbal violence in public discourse. It was my fault we argued (I instigated) and I've already apologized and gone to bed. This really wouldn't be so bad or different if not for the fact that I've spent an unhealthy amount of time lately thinking about my own personal responsibility in our relationship and what I might feel when he is no longer in my life.

You can walk away from a fight. You can leave the room when things get rough. You don't have to cry or fuss, you can just keep your opinion to yourself.

And yet, I wonder how many of these truisms are ingrained in my psyche as a result of being a woman in an incredibly patriarchal household.

As I've gotten older and especially in the last six months I feel like I've really started to show some control over my emotions. Prior to these efforts I never even realized that I had a problem, nor did I ever make any effort to censor anything I was feeling, thinking, or saying. It's definitely been a positive, most notably professionally, that I've made these leeways in improving my "outlook".

But sometimes it's horrible and maybe this is just the human condition.

in the doorway of my demise I stand, encased in the whisper you've taught me

I used to get really all strung up about this Bikini Kill lyric when I was 15, and the fact I've now italicized it in my blog is enough reason for you to stop reading here if you want to. Story is that I wrote it down over and over a lot in notebooks and on my messenger bag or whatever the fuck I was doing back then and it made me feel pretty goddamn prolific to think about. Back then I was pretty angry about everything, which was stupid, but I also dedicated alot of time to writing about my thoughts and advocating what I believed in, which wasn't. I feel a bit washed up telling co-workers about my old endeavors, like working for Feminist Majority Foundation or hosting a website for discussion about gender when I was 16. Simply put, I was involved.

Part of growing up is being a littler fish in a bigger pond.

Part of learning to control your emotions is learning to be happy with what you have.

Don't worry about the little things.

It's true that I'm a happier person now that I'm in the process of learning to pick my battles, to overlook some discrepancies. I also wonder what I've lost though. Ultimately it's worth not fighting with my father; when he leaves my life I will also be completely alone here. By here I mean, in existence.

Here's another one:

Guilt is a powerful motivator.