Remembering is more
peaceful
than wondering
but no less
painful
for the absence
it embraces.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
warning: serious stuff, my personal post secret
It's coming up on the anniversary of The Moment Changed Everything. Summer, 1991 - a hard time for lots of reasons. Mr. Crab and I had broken up after several years of dating - long distance and lack of faith and I failed his Shibboleth by saying "love" instead of "commitment." My mother, bless her soul, had offered me breast reduction surgery as a graduation present - weird because I'm of average size and weirder still because this came from family discussions about my body, discussions of which I was not a part. Which, of course, had monumental self-esteem ramifications. And, at 21, I found myself somehow dating a 16 year old boy with whom I became pregnant. Just to set the scene.
So I did what any young feminist white girl would do. I "chose" to have an abortion. Seventeen years later those words still sucker punch me right in the gut. I feel like vomiting. The images and feelings of that time are horrible. It's my deepest, darkest secret and something I have yet to forgive myself for or make peace with. Because, no matter what you call that little lump of cells, there was life there - life that I chose to end because my own concerns were more important. No one wants to admit that these decisions are mostly about convenience, and no one wants to talk about what a heart-wrenching thing that is. But whatever rhetoric you use or how political and righteous you get over this issue everyone - everyone - silences the real experience of real people who really went through this. Who did this. Who chose this. The personal may well be political, but there doesn't seem to be room in the politics for the personal. My current political view? Just leave me alone - don't legislate medical decisions or procedures, and make alternatives to abortion as easy and accessible as abortion itself.
But this isn't a political anniversary - it is a personal one. This isn't about anything, so much as my recognizing how much this act ramified. And maybe about my trying to lessen its power over me by posting.
So I did what any young feminist white girl would do. I "chose" to have an abortion. Seventeen years later those words still sucker punch me right in the gut. I feel like vomiting. The images and feelings of that time are horrible. It's my deepest, darkest secret and something I have yet to forgive myself for or make peace with. Because, no matter what you call that little lump of cells, there was life there - life that I chose to end because my own concerns were more important. No one wants to admit that these decisions are mostly about convenience, and no one wants to talk about what a heart-wrenching thing that is. But whatever rhetoric you use or how political and righteous you get over this issue everyone - everyone - silences the real experience of real people who really went through this. Who did this. Who chose this. The personal may well be political, but there doesn't seem to be room in the politics for the personal. My current political view? Just leave me alone - don't legislate medical decisions or procedures, and make alternatives to abortion as easy and accessible as abortion itself.
But this isn't a political anniversary - it is a personal one. This isn't about anything, so much as my recognizing how much this act ramified. And maybe about my trying to lessen its power over me by posting.
lost bunny
Somehow I acquired a bunny at some point during the school year. Instant cool teacher! Even cooler than when I caught the lizard in the classroom that greeted us upon our return from the library and turned it into a class pet.
At any rate, this bunny has gone missing. And, as much as I didn't really love this bunny, I am sad he's gone.
Do bunnies come home like other lost pets?
And now, I suppose, I'll have to buy another one...
At any rate, this bunny has gone missing. And, as much as I didn't really love this bunny, I am sad he's gone.
Do bunnies come home like other lost pets?
And now, I suppose, I'll have to buy another one...
suggestible
Mr. Crab calls me a "personality sponge" because he can tell in an instant who I'm talking to on the phone or who I've been hanging out with. Apparently I pick up on and imitate the vocal quirks and conversational mannerisms of those I'm with.
But it's not just that. My optometrist has changed my life a few times. The first time I saw her she suggested that my family visit her synagogue. We did and have been going there for 7 years, becoming increasingly involved in many different ways. It's become an essential part of our lives. The second time I saw her I had just taken up running. I was 29, and was in the midst of the turning-30-identity crisis. She had a picture of herself at the finish line of a marathon. "Hey," I thought, "if she can do it, so can I." So I did - several times over.
Suggestible? I prefer "open minded."
But I'm waiting for the next association - and where that might lead...
One never knows.
But it's not just that. My optometrist has changed my life a few times. The first time I saw her she suggested that my family visit her synagogue. We did and have been going there for 7 years, becoming increasingly involved in many different ways. It's become an essential part of our lives. The second time I saw her I had just taken up running. I was 29, and was in the midst of the turning-30-identity crisis. She had a picture of herself at the finish line of a marathon. "Hey," I thought, "if she can do it, so can I." So I did - several times over.
Suggestible? I prefer "open minded."
But I'm waiting for the next association - and where that might lead...
One never knows.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
in which her fat ass fits into her skinny jeans
Yes! They're on. Unfortunately they're still at that "just because you can wear them doesn't mean you should" stage. But I'm wearing them, dammit. Just try to stop me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
