More? More.

Let’s go back to my moment of strength that I described yesterday. My truth telling.

Here is what I was really thinking: First of all, I’m sick to fucking death of proving myself to people who are supposed to be my friends. I will no longer explain that I am not judging. I will no longer rationalize my reactions or justify them. Second of all, the notion that somehow I don’t get it because I’m not feeling depressed is insulting and it’s bullshit. Sure, it occurs to me that it’s Valentine’s Day. No, I don’t really give a shit. As I explained earlier, I’m not really in a solid spot where it would be healthy for me to be in a relationship. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have moments where I think it might be nice to have someone. That doesn’t mean that I don’t crave connection or romance. That doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in relationships or love.

Being sad about something does not make you uniquely and singularly qualified to think about it or feel something. Every human is entitled to have a feeling. In fact, some of the loneliest and most tragic figures I know when it comes to love are currently in relationships. People who felt overwhelmed with one child and have been pressured into having a second, people who spin themselves in circles to keep their partner even-keeled, people who have a ton of external shit to contend with outside of their relationships and their relationships are feeling the strain of all of it, and people who are “happy” but are cheating or are being cheated on. All the mess. The outside? Flowers and rainbows and unicorns. The inside? Dark, dense festering holes. And that’s okay. That doesn’t mean they are irreparably broken or we should judge. It just means that they are unfailingly human.

Which takes me back to my idea I’ve already laid out for you. I’m waiting for us to celebrate our humanity. I’m waiting for us to lift each other up, not ignoring the mess, but in spite of it. With acknowledgement of it. Let’s just be human. When are we going to allow that to happen? We’ve created these paradigms that are fucking impossible to live up to.

Not just for women either, though certainly we get a special kind of it (be a GOOD HOUSEKEEPER?!). Men get a whole bunch of shit lobbed their way too. Be handsomer, prettier, stronger, smarter, faster, more thoughtful, more creative, and more successful. Buy a bigger house, DIY everything, and decorate like you are a professional. Have more than one child (how the fuck do only children ever survive in this world?! Cue wry face and eye roll emoji), have no children, adopt children, make perfect children, make more perfect your children’s imperfections. Share funny memes about parenting but don’t admit that you struggle. Struggle but make it the same struggles as everyone else. PR your struggles until they are enviable. Post-worthy. Make your hair shinier, but don’t wash it too much. Workout but not too much but also, not too little. Drink celery juice and avoid coffee. If you are going to drink coffee, make it organic and try and avoid sugar. If you are going to use creamer, make it organic or all-natural or make sure it comes from fabric or an animal that is not a cow. Be vegan but also, keto.

Did you just hear that millennials or maybe Gen Z or some labeled generation of folks have determined that we shouldn’t part our hair on the side or wear skinny jeans? Apparently it’s time to move in a different direction with our denim and our parts. That is the perfect example of everything that I’m taking about.

Valentine’s Day? A culmination of all the shit I’m talking about. Be perfect. Wear red. Wear pink. Buy gifts. Receive presents. Bake treats for your children and encourage them to make homemade Valentines. Buy treats from a well-deserving big business and then promote them like an advertiser on social media. Be wholesome, but also sexy. Wear high necked sweaters with embroidered hearts but also garter belts and crotchless panties. Take all the photos and make all the videos. Show the world that you are better because you are connected. Those connections make you worthy and whole. That day, this day, a day, makes you worthy. Look. Instagram and Facebook have created a slew of frames and GIFs and stickers so you can adorn all your shit with all their shit.

Oh, and if you are unhappy, don’t worry. In a day that day will be over and then you can go back to what you were. Unacceptable but suddenly, more acceptable.

What in the actual fuck? Are we going to really keep doing this forever? I don’t want to. Do you? Why can’t we own who we are and shine FOR it. Not in spite of it. FOR IT.

I’m going to close this thing out with who I am. Not all of it, but enough so you get it. So, you might get it.

I’m 40 and I’m single. I have a side part in my wild crazy curly hair because well, that’s just the way my hair falls. I don’t do anything to my eyebrows and eyelashes save a little useless serum. I don’t think it does shit but both the caterpillars above my eyes and the spikes adorning my eyes are long as fuck and the goop helps keep them in check. I have acne from time to time and I use whatever products I’ve picked up in CVS. A drugstore. I also have wrinkles that I treat in a way that makes me happy. Not in a way that renders me incapable of reacting emotionally to the world. Just in a way where I don’t look perpetually sullen or frowny. I don’t apologize for it. I make lots of good food and sometimes it looks beautiful and sometimes it looks like shit but tastes good. Sometimes it doesn’t taste good but I eat it anyway because I have an aversion to wasting food. My gifts for my loved ones are picked out with all the love in my heart, but rarely look Pinterest worthy because I fucking hate wrapping gifts. I don’t even bother buying transparent tape, and I always regret that decision. I am creative but only when I feel moved to be and not when I’m commanded to be. Sometimes I drink black coffee and it’s delicious and other times, I like it light and sweet. Not with organic hemp milk. With sugary creamer or [heaven forbid] cow’s milk. Cheese boards are pretty but I only eat certain cheese so they often make me sweat as I have to wonder which of them I will tolerate. I like the idea of hot chocolate bombs but I like the idea more of Swiss Miss packets. SWISS MISS. Much more. I like jeans that fit me. Skinny, wide-leg, ripped, intact. Just jeans that fit. I’m unconcerned with what style has been approved by folks 20 years younger than me. Or 10 years. Or anyone, really.

More on this tomorrow. Live your best skinny jean, side parted life in the meantime.

L.