Today Shanna announced that it is sometimes appropriate to wear all black. That is a milestone sorta moment.

I’m thinking about the overlap of the movie The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio and failure.

What does failure mean? We are all small pieces in the stories of one another’s lives.

I spend a lot of time thinking about the past. It seems to me that other people believe the past should be over and done. In thinking about the past I understand the present. Through perspective I get why I’m doing what I am doing. Why I will do what I will do.

Connect, connect, that’s what we all want. Whether it is through selling something or through buying big old big-ukkkie yuck well. Or something.

What the fuck was that?

I don’t even know.

White men help white men. White women help… I don’t fucking know.

Sometimes I feel like a race traitor. I don’t type that very often. But I think it. Often. Especially when I watch movies like like “The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio” and watch how white men are supported without ever knowing the price of bearing them.

No one ever says life is easy. This is true.

I think about the past because it helps me figure out why I want to do what I want to do.

I want to forget. I want to stop thinking about pain. I want to stop hurting.

I don’t know how.

I’m told, by asshole men, that the path forward is just to forget. To stop thinking about the things that have happened to me. The things that shaped who and what I am.

I am not a dumb grazing animal standing under a tree. I am a complex being. I am not important. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just not stupid.

To be fair I’m sure there are asshole women with the same opinion. They just feel less need to track down my Twitter feed to tell me how stupid I am.

“That’s not enough”

“It never is”

“How is Dad going to fill the freezer when he can’t even buy the milk?”
“I have no idea honey but at least he has a goal.”

(From the above referenced movie.)

I feel sad. I feel disconnected. I feel like my bills are not the point of life. I pay my bills. Oh fucking well.

I feel happy. I feel connected. I feel like I am unusually well connected with friends.

All along the way we toss out some of the most interesting, most enlightened people.

I think a lot about bravery. Why do we try the things we try? Do we have to see someone else do it first?

Just try. Just try. What the fuck does autocorrect do anyway?

Violence, meanness, write it down. There is just a hole lot of mean in the world.

This is literally just what is pouring out my head as my fingers hurt.

Can’t type enough.

My problems are many and varied and are never that I’m not happy enough