A list of shits no longer given

If you read this blog, or even worse, have had the misfortune to meet me in the last few weeks, you’ll know that I am not in the best mood.

I have a washing machine of vitriol churning in my head and a blaze of anger what I formerly assumed was a cold, dead heart.

So I have made some resolutions. Here are some things that I have resolved to no longer do/ignore/allocate any of my precious thought time to.

  • Tits and nipples. We (very nearly) all have them. If you can see mine, and choose to sexualise them, that’s your sweet issue. I realised at the grand old age of 40 that I don’t, and have never needed a bra. The reason I wear a bra (I suspect like a lot of women) is to a) make my breasts a more desirable shape as deemed by decades of media imagery or b) to COVER MY NIPPLES. Why, I find myself wondering? Which imaginary deity deemed that visible nipples were somehow an invitation for unwanted sexual contact or the sign of the sexually promiscuous? If I can see a man’s nipples/moobs through his t-shirt my last thoughts are of sex, believe me. So rule one: fuck your views on my perfectly natural human body.

IMG_6281

  • Smiling at strangers on trains. I am a sociable bean, and also from Yorkshire, so my automatic response upon meeting someone’s eye is to smile at them. This is nice and I don’t want to stop doing it. But I was one the tube yesterday and looked up to catch a man letching at my aforementioned rack. I was literally halfway through my automatic smile when rational thought intervened and I realised that I was smiling at this man because I somehow felt like I owed his unwanted sexual attention a friendly response. So rule number two: from now on, stinkeye for letches. Speaking of letches…

 

  • …those guys who slide into your DMs at quarter to twelve on a Friday night. The kids are in bed, the wife has followed and they are sitting alone, deep into their collection of craft ale. The messages begin innocuously enough, perhaps with a tenuous link to a mutual friend or a shared interest. I used to wonder ‘why are you messaging me? I don’t know you’. But being a nice person, or at least a shadow of one, I would reply. I would engage, because that’s what I was brought up to do; be friendly and polite. The only difference here is this is not a civil exchange such as one you might have with the elderly lady or gent at the bus stop. This is a highly gendered phenomenon, because it relies upon two of the great pillars of patriarchy: men’s entitlement to women’s attention, and women’s obligation to grant them this. It took me a good few months of messaging back and forth with randoms before I saw the pattern emerge: the lateness of night, the alcohol, the fact that it was never, ever women getting in touch at 1am ‘just for a chat’. The crunch came for me when one of these Facebook buddies decided in his drunken state to send me a meme that amounted to ‘show us your tits’. I realised then that these guys wanted neither friendship nor sex, what they wanted was a bit of a diversion, some idle flirtation to bolster their sagging self images. I also realised I was gaining nothing from these transactions, and they were taking up a whole load of emotional energy.  So from then on, rule three: I don’t accept ‘chatty’ DMs from men anymore, instead just telling the sender that I’m happy to be Facebook friends but I don’t chat with people who I haven’t met in real life.

manspreading tories

 

  • Taking up space. I refuse to apologise for occupying my 68kg 160cms volume of space. Take a look at the picture above. the four women in the front row clasp their legs together, cramped into a small amount of space, while the seven men have spread, relaxed legs, occupying as much of their own sweet space as they wish. OK, its a picture of a load of Tories who by their very nature are bound to be a bunch of cunts, but the pattern is repeated everywhere. Theatres, trains, airplane seats. Rule four: without needlessly encroaching upon other’s space, I will take up as much as I need. If that leads to a battle of wills with the fella sitting next to me, so be it. I am more than capable of giving passive aggressive kneeing when required.

 

  • Rule five: I will not apologise for myself. My education (hard fought for – I got a first class degree but it took eleven years of interrupted study including dropping out of Cambridge to get there), skills, vocabulary and what my mate calls ‘grit and determination’ can often be perceived as a threat by people in authority. I was brought up to have an enquiring mind, which goes down like a lead balloon when you’re sitting in a psychiatric ward at 2am asking for the NHS policy on voluntary admissions before you sign anything. Frequently this has brought me to blows with medics who view this as a personal attack and as a result, become upset and defensive. Whilst it is absolutely not my wish to hurt or disrespect another human being, I’m resolute in my belief that professionals need to be impartial and open to questioning and, at times, criticism. It’s really not personal.

 

  • Rule six: I’ll try my best to give love, appreciation, support and credit where it’s due. In a world filled increasingly with dangerous bell ends, I will hold close those dear to me, thank them for their care, seek to make connections with other good people and show empathy and support to those people going through their own hell. I’ll use what little I have in the tank (mainly lying like a lump on the sofa writing blogs or going on Facebook) to support new artists and creatives, to challenge cuntiness, and to bring good people together. I will try.

 

  • I will pace myself. So instead of lying on the sofa feeling overwhelmed by the chores, I will do one thing each time I get up. So I go for a wee, and put a wash on. I water the plants while I boil the kettle. I am aiming for three chores a day, anything else is a bonus. The prospect of unpacking my suitcase from the crisis house is a faraway fantasy. Leaving the house alone still a long way off. But rule seven seems do-able at the moment, which is the best I can hope for.

 

If you have any suggestions for rules for living in this difficult world, or thoughts on mine, I’d love to hear them. I moderate all comments and will happily post critical comments but only if they’re constructive and non-abusive.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s