I probably make a post about my dad every year at this time; it’s a really hard week to deal with and even though it’s been four years now, it still aches.
It is impossible to imagine anything apart from the body since it’s only through the body that we experience the world. It might not tell us the facts, but the body is the only thing we know. (A list, of sorts.)
It’d be impossible to explain why exactly I love the world most when it’s hazy out, but I want to.
I got new glasses, which were two years overdue. Like so often when one gets a new prescription for their eyes, it’s hard to know how badly your sight was until you put on the new pair and can count individual leaves again.
Yesterday was my birthday, so I could argue that I just started the new year and kind of get away with it.
Carrie Bradshaw moment: do we condemn women who get plastic surgery for upholding societal expectations for what women’s bodies should be, or do we go straight to the source for making those expectations in the first place? Do we condemn the surgeons, who sometimes do life-saving or life-changing work when sometimes that work crosses our own moralist standards? Do I choose Lee denim over Levis?
This is not actually a post about any of that.
But I can’t figure out how to verbalize what I need to say.
The only things apparently incapable of making me relive past traumas right now are, I guess, hockey and the Food Network. I can say, well I just won’t go on social media, or watch certain television shows for until as long as I stop spacing out, returning to these moments, but then I go to the bathroom on my campus and there is a flyer on the door telling me statistics of rape in colleges during August through October. The flyer says, on the left column, “Remember! Get consent every time!” like this is not a given–because apparently it is not.