how is third trimester simultaneously so emotionally volatile and also so fucking boring
I hate needing to sleep more than seven hours, I hate feeling physically limited, I hate being oversensitive and sore and tired, I hate having hormones, turn me into a computer, embodiment is a stupid fucking op
all I want is to be happy and energetic and feel reliably comfortable engaging with my kids and have total control over whether or not I'm being touched or having to listen to incredibly loud noises at any given moment
I do not want help I want to not need help
there was a decent (but ofc imperfect) book I was reading that had some good advice and I briefly implemented some of the tips to great success but then upon rereading in a less enthusiastic state I encountered excerpts that were so aesthetically repulsive and stupid that now I'm worried using this book's advice will make me even more stupid than I am in my current condition
it was "the empowered wife" and I think about 30% of it was actually novel advice that would be good for me but I don't think I can risk even a 2% chance that listening to her advice will make me find something like this anything less than contemptuous 😅
I'm fine I'm just like
sitting outside in the sun and purging all of the cranky toxic hyperbole somewhere relatively harmless
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when I was seventeen a friend gave me a copy of the anarchist's cookbook and I was chatting w/my parents about it and my dad warned me that a lot of recipes in it were wrong and my mom was like "didn't you burn off your eyebrows playing around with that book"
one reason I didn't mess around with a lot of teenage rebellion stuff as a kid was that my parents did it first and I knew if I got caught they would make so much fun of me
imagine trying to be cool and edgy as a teenager and flying right under the bar your parents set in 1985
...that on one side you will have people who mostly know about tragedies involving state overreach, wrongful removal of children, false and punitive reports, etc...
...and on the other, you will have people who mostly know about cases of CPS refusing to investigate obvious abuse, repeated reunification with parents who should have lost their rights years ago, just some of the most heinous shit you can imagine
thinking about when my dad was teaching me to drive and had me do my route to school (12 miles away) three times: once at the speed limit, once at the speed limit, once 5-10 miles below, and once at 5-10 miles above
had me pay attention to how each drive felt and timed each one
he pointed out how often I had to slow down for other traffic while I was speeding, how focusing on speed, excessive caution, or perfect adherence to the speed limit changed my relationship to the flow of traffic, how much the time to my destination varied (not much), etc
he wanted me to internalize a couple of things:
- speeding to school wouldn't necessarily make me meaningfully less late if I was already late
I never attended CFAR but I internalized some of the practices after reading breakdowns of them and maybe this was a failure to transmit the lesson over text, but some of them really got into my psyche in a bad way
ex: murphyjitsu
Murphyjitsu is where you have a goal and you imagine precisely how you might fail at that goal until your plans are so fortified that failure would shock you
but it turns out that this kind of negative orientation towards goals is not effective at all for me
it's basically just envisioning failure over and over and over which the manifestation girlies will tell you is precisely how you summon failure
I wonder if some of the anxiety around AI art is that "art" at a certain level of...quality? it isn't the right word but let's run with it for a bit
art of a certain quality is functionally infinite for a massive % population now
and that changes art for us
when I was sixteen I worked for a furniture store
we had all these gorgeous paintings for sale
being somewhat familiar at this point with art auctions and pricing, I was shocked that they were only a few hundred dollars a piece
my boss proudly explained that every piece was in fact painted, not printed, and there was a company they ordered from, they had a set list of paintings in their catalogue and people in a shop in Asia would replicate them by hand
we were trying our best to participate in a novel set of (temporary!) norms, provisionally trusting that someone was trying to think clearly about what might be helpful, and missing out on a great deal
and then instead of just announcing that it was probably actually pretty safe to meet up outside, the very human thing that everyone had been aching to do was permitted if and only if you were willing to participate in a political purity test for one side of the aisle