There is a specific — though not special, per se — burden on childless women when the labor is reallocated and the boundary between work and home is erased.
I have had to be THEE most aggressive about demands on my time during the last year when people slid into casual boundary transgressions because “what else could she be doing??”
The worlds worst therapist told me to “get hobbies” at the height of the pandemic and it dawned on me that we had absolutely no language applicable to what was happening. I said, “what hobbies do you suggest?” “*%#!?” was implied. She got quiet and I hung up.
(She really was the worst. About once a week I think about her and daydream of blowing her up on the internet. Make that revenge fantasy, Hollywood.)
(I am also impossible to therapize. I admit that. But also she sucked.)
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I haven't been extreme by any definition. I have been back to restaurants for months, within reason. I live alone and that really reduces my exponent. But I still don't like face-to-face airflow or recycled air.
And I haven't had a sinus infection in over two years now. I've had six a year since I was born. This is HUGE for me. Huge. Incalculable, really.
My pilates studio was a bit too ebullient in their marketing email about masks restrictions being lifted. Now i am side-eying all of them, which to be fair I should have already been doing because pilates.
You know those missionary types sent to recruit you in airports or whatever? They always peg me as weak and as soon as they say their spiel and I respond with a quick, "I'm sorry, come again?" they leave me alone. 🤷🏿♀️
There are only three people in the world who can photograph me. Two of them is my little sister, the budding influencer. And the other is Tausha. Everyone else secretly hates me.
I am literally not equipped to be a modern wife. It’s basically leveled up to “thin baby-making carpenter with film editing experience” and honestly it’s easier to get a PhD.