My (Unhealthy?) Obsession with Making My Bed

I try to make my bed every day. Sometimes it's before I leave for work, other days I don't do it until I get home; but I do it most every day.

This isn't a habit ingrained since childhood. My parents never required that I make my bed every day before school. In fact, they never really required that I clean my room, not that I remember. They, or really my dad, wanted the rooms we all shared to be clean. If we left too much of our stuff, too many dolls or board games or Baby-Sitters Club books cluttering up the den, my dad would angrily gather it all, stack it on the bottom steps of the staircase, and yell for us to take it up to our rooms and put it away. Sometimes, usually after a big fight, we would obey. Other times, our stuff would sit there for days (weeks? does my memory exaggerate?) and then, after a big fight, we would carry it upstairs and drop it in messy piles on the floors of our rooms, a slight hidden rebellion in not putting it away neatly.

But my room was my domain, and if I didn't want to clean it, I didn't. I wasn't a total slob. The mess was usually confined to an unmade bed and piles of clothes, books, and CDs in the two wicker chairs my mother put in my room so that I could sit by my window and read. (I always read in my bed. Since I've moved out on my own, she has continued to try to put chairs in my various bedrooms. "Don't you want a chair in your room? So you can sit and read?" No Mom, I don't. And I've never seen anything in your bedroom chair but a stack of books and clothes, so there.) When it came to the important things, I definitely had organizational (OCD?) tendencies. My bookcase was always neat and, often, alphabetized by author's last name. This was especially important for the times I catalogued my books and ran a small library out of my bedroom. (My sisters' lack of interest in checking out, reading, and returning my books ultimately led to the closing of the library.)

It still amazes me that I grew from the child who hated to clean, to the adult who makes her bed every day, who enjoys a Saturday morning with her boyfriend out of the house so that she can sweep, vacuum, and tidy in peace and with loud pop music playing. How did I become someone who feels more relaxed, who feels happier when her home is clean?

Made it up before work this morning.

I think I have come to see a clean space as a sign of a healthy mind. I'm not saying that it actually means that, just that for me, it has come to represent that.

My dad was the one who encouraged the cleaning at our house. My mother is not a neat person; clutter doesn't bother her like it does my father (and, now, me). Her nightstand is stacked with, I'm not exaggerating, maybe 10-15 books at all times. I have one sister who is similar to me as a child: when it comes to the important things, she is neat, and maybe a little more relaxed about everything else. My other sister is a slob. So when my parents divorced and my dad moved out, the house got messier. And it doesn't take a psychiatrist to figure out that a young teenager might see a lonely mother and start to equate her lack of cleaning with her sadness at the time. Somewhere in there, I started cleaning. I couldn't control dad leaving, I couldn't control mom's confusion or sadness, but by golly, I could clean!

And this has specifically applied to how I feel about the unmade bed. I have a friend who has struggled with depression in the past. When she was feeling down, she would crawl into her bed, under the covers, and sleep. It didn't matter what time of day it was, or what she was supposed to be doing, or how long she stayed there; she would literally crawl into a hole to get away. I would come to visit, see her all wrapped up under the puffy blanket, and know that something was wrong. I would know that nothing I said would get her out of that bed.

This, more than anything, has shaped my obsession. I see an unmade bed as a plan to get back under the covers. I see a long midday nap as depression creeping in. Even now, I take naps on top of my neatly made covers, with one small throw blanket for warmth and an alarm set for no longer than 45 minutes. I always hated my father's fastidious neatness, and yet it seems I've developed my own version of it to feel a sense of control, as if keeping things clean will keep me from some day maybe getting depressed.

I know that I'm not depressed; I don't need carefully timed naps or a clean house to remind me of that. I also know that, however I came to be the way I am, there's nothing wrong with liking a clean house. If organization makes me feel better, then I should keep things organized. But there has to be a balance. There's also nothing wrong with occasionally unmaking the bed for a long, warm, crawl-in-a-hole, afternoon nap.

I'll just re-make the bed when I get up.

Blog Merge

After some thought, I have decided to merge my two blogs. As I said in my first post on this blog, the theme of my other blog made me feel restricted in what I could and couldn't write. I felt I had to write not only about feminism, but about "important" feminist issues. And now that I have the two blogs, I feel like I have to keep my feminism-related posts off of this one.

Some of the topics I 
covered at F:NANW

But there's no reason to separate my writing about feminism and my writing about everything else in my life or my thoughts, because they aren't separate. I think about feminism when I think about current events, such as the attempts to close down Mississippi's only abortion clinic, but I also think about feminism when I think about my obsession with style blogs, or when I argue with myself about whether or not going to the gym and trying to be in shape is anti-feminist. (FYI, my conclusion is that trying to be healthy is never anti-feminist; the trick is sticking to "trying to be healthy" without slipping into the mindset of "trying to be hot," a difficult path to navigate.) Feminism sneaks into my writing without my planning on it, because that's how the human brain works; nothing is completely compartmentalized.

So as of today, I will do all of my writing, be it an overt feminist rant or a recreation of an argument with my sister, on this blog. I'm not taking down Feminism: Not a Naughty Word; I just simply won't be adding to it.

I hope you'll stick with me during this transition. I want to write more and about a range of topics, and I've decided that this blog is the best way to do that.

Why Aging Actually IS Scary for People. And Now for Me.

I never understood why people got so upset about aging, especially young people. I understand that when people reach their 50s and older, they start thinking, "I have fewer years left than I have had already," and I understand how those thoughts are scary. But I never understood why my sister would groan and say, "Ugh! I'm twenty-fucking-three years old!!!! Ahhh!" (To which my mom brilliantly responded, "Kate, I am fifty-fucking-five.") I always thought that most people, especially women, lamented age because of losing the physical look of youth, of feeling less attractive. And I know this is a reason why people hate aging. But I've also recently realized the real reason behind fear of aging, even if it's one less talked about.

Recently, someone I knew from high school lost a parent. And I thought about saying to my mom, "You better not ever die." And I could hear her response in my head as if she were actually saying it to me; I could hear her laugh and say, "Well, I don't think I'm gonna have much of a choice," or something like it. It's not that I've never thought about the fact that my parents will some day die, and I will, hopefully much later, also die. Of course I have (and I hate thinking about it; I'm really not okay with it). But for some reason, it hit me much more clearly this week. This is why everyone hates aging, I thought as I was trying to go to sleep.

Of course we hate the idea of our bodies changing shape for the worse, or the idea of no longer being found physically attractive to random strangers. But we really hate what this means. We hate the physical evidence of our bodies slowing down, decaying, shutting down. We hate that every year gets us closer to the end.

This probably isn't news to anyone but me. I always sort of rolled my eyes at friends complaining about aging. They don't get it, I thought. They are so afraid of aging they don't even realize all the great things that come later in life. I never really understood that feeling of "It all goes by so fast." But I do get it now. I do feel like it has gone by so fast. How have I lived 25 years already? A quarter of a century?! I am terrified to think of how life will change as parents and siblings age and die. I am terrified of dying myself.

I don't want to change the way I live my life. I'm not going to groan and lament my birthdays. I'm going to be 25 on my next birthday and I'm excited about it. I am old enough to be a senator (which really makes me think that someone should revisit that criteria; I definitely don't feel old enough, mature enough or knowledgeable enough to be making laws for people). I am old enough to rent a car (that's still 25, right?). And I am excited to see what life is like at 30 and 40. I understand the fears and have embraced them, and I'm going to try to keep living life the way that I want.

But I promise to no longer roll my eyes when you tell me how much aging bothers you...I promise to try.

Stop Telling Me to Write!!!

Setting an alarm to make myself write at the same time every night was the worst decision ever.

My boyfriend did it first. (When in doubt, blame the boyfriend, right?) He wanted to focus on writing more. He wanted to discipline himself, to write even when he didn't feel like it, even when he didn't have any ideas he was excited about. So he set an 8:00 pm alarm and enlisted my help. "Make sure I don't ignore it." "Tell me to shut up and go write." So I did, and for a few days, he would write at 8:00. Maybe not for very long, but he would write.

So when I decided I wanted to write more, I set my own alarm. I even set it for 8:00, thinking that if our alarms went off at the same time we might help each other be disciplined. "You go write in there, I'll write in here. Look at us, we're writing!!"

This is a simulation of the alarm, obviously,
as it's not at 8:00 pm.
I even made it look mean and uninviting. Terrible.
And yes, my cell phone screen is my half-
brother in his Halloween costume carrying 2
buckets of candy. What?

This was the worst idea ever, for two main reasons. One, by the time I decided to set my writing alarm, I'm pretty sure my boyfriend had already started ignoring his, or had even turned it off all together. And two, alarms are TERRIBLE!!!!

Seriously. I hate regular alarm sounds so much that when I hear them on TV, in commercials or movies, I cringe and tense up and wait impatiently for it to pass, screaming in my head Turn it off! Turn it off! I use musical tones or make my own ringtones from songs in my iTunes library for my alarms, but I have to change them out every couple of months because I inevitably come to hate the songs that wake me up. I also set my morning alarm thirty minutes early, with a second alarm set fifteen minutes early, specifically so that I can press snooze for 30 minutes. Because alarms don't inspire me to take immediate action.

Why, then, did I think an alarm was the way to for writing? I don't know. I guess it felt productive, and made me feel like I was taking steps toward becoming a better writer. Or at least a more prolific writer. But all it did was make me dread 8:00 each night, and the feeling that I had to write or I'm failing. Plus I'm starting to hate David Bowie's "Sound and Vision," thanks to my brilliant idea that a song with the word vision in it might somehow be inspirational.

So, here's to the failed experiment of the writing alarm. It was an honest mistake, but I really should've known better. 8 at night or 10 in the morning, I'll write when I'm good and ready.

Though the alarm did inspire me to write this post and another one on my old blog....hmmmm.....

Feeling Thrifty

Today, on a mission to go the record store, my boyfriend and I ended up at Goodwill. How? Well, last weekend we both cleared out a bunch of clothes and an old set of small wine glasses, and put them in my car to take to Goodwill. And then we had a ton of ice and rain in Oxford, and I never felt like going anywhere but work and home (I didn't even feel like going to work, but you know, I had to). So today, when we got in the car to go the record store (The End of All Music, check it out if you are in Oxford!), I decided it was time to take our stuff to Goodwill. And of course, once we dropped off our donations, we had to go inside and look around for cheap treasures.

I was never really one for thrift store shopping, mainly because I've never been one for shopping. I hate shopping trips, I hate waiting on other people, I hate trying on clothes and them not fitting, and having to go back out and find more things to try on, I just hate the whole process and I'm always grumpy by the time it's over. But at Goodwill (and I would imagine, other good thrift stores as well), the pressure is off. I'm not guaranteed to find anything specific, and I never go there trying to find anything specific (except for once on Halloween and it was a disaster), so it doesn't matter if I leave with nothing. And when you don't care about leaving with anything, you just may find one or two little treasures among all the junk.

The last time I went to Goodwill, I came out with a cropped blazer and an orange purse, each for $6.

 

 

The purse may look a little weird in that picture, but it was weighed down with all my stuff. So anyway, these were both great finds, and made me hate shopping a little less. At least, thrift shopping.

 

So today, I went to Goodwill wearing my cropped blazer and carrying my orange purse. I mainly went in because my boyfriend wanted to, so of course I ended up finding treasures of my own. I've been coveting mint purses online that I want but can't afford, and lo and behold, I found one in Goodwill!

 

 

It's perfect! I couldn't believe it. I can't tell why it was given up. The back has a slight bend that makes it sit a little funny, but I think with my stuff weighing down the purse, the bend will straighten itself out. And even if it doesn't, it was a six dollar purse that looks really good; I'm not complaining.

 

Goodwill was pretty busy today; I guess Saturday is a popular thrifty day. There were lots of people and of course, some of those people had kids. Actually, a lot of them had kids. Kids were everywhere. I like kids fine when I know them and they aren't being jerks. But I did not know the children in Goodwill and some of them were definitely being obnoxious jerks. So I had to laugh when someone came over the intercom and said, "Attention shoppers: Please keep your children with you at all times. This is for the safety of your children. Please keep your children with you at all times. This is for the safety of your children and other shoppers." Yeah right lady, I thought. They are annoying the shit out of you and you want it to stop, and I love you for it!

 

Once the children calmed down a little (or the parents got stricter out of embarrassment), I also found a gray stretchy belt, and a young adult fiction book that Amazon recommended to me (note to self: stop buying books from Amazon) but I never felt like spending $8 on. So when I saw it for $2 today, I thought why not?

 

 

 

So, for $12.81, I left Goodwill with a new purse, a new belt, literature, and I was still in a good mood. Perfect Saturday shopping trip. I may not stop shopping online for closet staples, but I think I can handle a little in-person shopping at thrift stores every now and then. Treasure hunting is fun.

 

 

P. S. Can I do a post-script on a blog post? I'm doing it. I also got these boots yesterday. They were not a thrift store purchase but they were half-price from a store on the Oxford Square. The only time I can buy things on the Square is when there are huge sales, so I was very excited. I got them at Lulu's, and I already have my eye on a mint necklace there that I hope will still be around after February payday.

 

 

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Less is More: Setting Limits in a Limitless Society

This is going to be a short post was going to be a short post, until I got going. Sorry.

For one thing, I'm nearing the end of George R. R. Martins A Dance with Dragons and I really want to finish it. For another, I bought a new book (because why wouldn't I buy a new book when I'm not finished with the last one, and haven't started the one I was given for Christmas?) that I'm also anxious to read. So I don't feel like doing a ton of writing. But I wanted to get some thoughts down, and I'll probably come back to this later.

Movie Poster for Surviving Progress;
a fitting image, don't you think?

Today my boyfriend was finishing up a documentary, Surviving Progress, on Netflix. Now that I've seen the last 15 minutes or so, I really want to go back and watch it from the beginning. It was an interesting documentary on the ways that our culture, our society, and our technology are affecting the environment, and our reactions to that. Basically, our reaction is overwhelmingly one of indifference.

I've noticed this in my own life, since I recently (two years ago, really, but it still feels recent) became a vegetarian. As I constantly have to explain to people, I'm a vegetarian not because I hate the thought of killing animals (maybe I should? but I don't, not really) but because our planet cannot sustain the amount of meat that's produced and consumed. And when I explain this to people, they tend to laugh it off with something like, "Oh I just love steak too much," or some variation of that. Or they tell me that the meat is being produced anyway; why does it matter that I alone am not consuming it?

I'm not saying that I'm the world's best environmentalist. I wouldn't even call myself an environmentalist. And I'm not saying that I'm superior to all the meat-eaters out there. I'm not. I just noticed, as I made this change, the way so many people choose to ignore what's happening to the world around us. I do this too. It's so easy to talk about all the changes that need to be made, but it's difficult to actually make those changes in your own life. I use tampons with plastic applicators. I'm only a half-hearted recyclist. (Did I just make up a word?) I drive a car. I like multiple lamps on in a room (though I have bought those energy-efficient light bulbs, and they really make a difference in the electric bill!). I love my iPad and my iPhone. I love buying real books, which use lots of paper. I use too much heat in the winter.

But what amazes me is the way that people can shut down conversation about these things so easily. Global warming? We'd rather not think about it. Eat less meat? I love steak! We can't kill the meat industry!  You can't do anything by yourself, so why bother?

I can't do anything by myself, that's true (at least, not anything on the scale of reversing or repairing climate change). But we all can. As "we are the world" as it sounds, it would benefit everyone if we set some limits for ourselves. I'm not talking about deprivation. When people go on diets and decide they will not eat any of the foods they love because they have too many calories, they end up miserable. We don't have to diet or deprive; we just need portion control.  Maybe we eat a little less meat. Maybe we use a little less electricity. Maybe we drive the car a little less. If everyone were willing to talk about these things, and to set a few limits for their own lives, we could go a long way towards solving some problems.

I'm going to do some more research on this. The new book I bought today is one that was mentioned in the documentary; it's called No Impact Man: The Adventures of a Guilty Liberal Who Attempts to Save the Planet, and the Discoveries He Makes About Himself and Our Way of Life in the Process. I am sure that reading this book will make me feel guilty about all the ways in which I am still ignoring the realities of the world around me. So before I even start, I'm setting some more limits for myself. I want to use less electricity in my home. I want to drive my car less, and be more efficient when I do drive (run all my errands at once, hit places in order across town so I don't go back and forth, etc.). I'm letting my magazine subscriptions expire, and if I renew any, I'll get digital subscriptions only. A particularly difficult one for me, I'll try to shop online less (since it uses gas to travel and plastic for packaging). I'm going to do my best to set some limits on my consumption, and we'll see how it goes.

The title of this post is really a lie. Less is not more. Less is less. But that's the point. We don't need more. We'll be just fine with less.

**Update: A friend of mine passed along information on the fact that more people are hunting their own food instead of relying on meat from big industries being shipped across the country. Interesting idea that seems helpful to every one.

My Obsession with Style Blogs

I am not sure when or how it happened, but in the past six months or so, I have become obsessed with style and style blogs. I don't want to say fashion, because I'm not looking at anything about runways or designers. My obsession is more about looking put together, nice and chic-ish (can I say chic-ish? I just did.) for everyday life.

It all started with my discovery of Putting Me Together, a blog started by Audrey Tom in California. As far as I can tell, it just started with her personal decision to update her wardrobe and put a little more effort into her style. Here are a couple of screen shots from her site.

 

As you can tell from these pictures, a big thing for her is the "remixable wardrobe," a wardrobe full of pieces that can be worn in several different ways, dressed up or down, with dresses, skirts, jeans or trousers, etc. As she says, "One of my hopes with this blog was that I'd be able to build a mix-and-match wardrobe that I could get more mileage out of and ultimately cut down the felt need to buy more.  I wanted to bring depth to my closet instead of continuing to go for breadth." 

I've been wondering lately what it was that drew me to her blog. Why did I, someone who never cared that much about clothes, suddenly find myself shopping online more and trying to put together outfits that felt casual but still stylish? Why did I want to be stylish?

I think it came from wanting to feel a little more adult and/or professional. I'm not a student anymore, but I was going to work wearing all the same clothes I wore throughout college. I work in a pretty casual office, so unless we are meeting with a client, our work attire isn't an issue; there's certainly no dress code. I bought a couple of very professional-looking outfits when I started my job, and quickly realized that I almost never needed an outfit that nice (and then I lost weight and the outfit was suddenly too big and I couldn't wear it even on the occasions that I needed to look like an actual businessperson). So once I realized I didn't need the business clothes, I went back to wearing jeans, T-shirts and cardigans to work most every day. 

But once I discovered Audrey's blog, I realized I could look nice for work without feeling overdressed. I could feel put together and well-dressed without wondering if people were looking at me strangely for overdoing it. And I realized that I could do it without spending a ton of money. 

So for the past six months, I've been slowly rebuilding my wardrobe, taking out pieces that I never wore, or could only wear one way, and replacing them with pieces that can be worn over and over in different ways. I've discovered things I never wore before, like blazers (my new favorite) and dresses (I rarely wore dresses for anything but special occasions). 

Somehow, I started really wanting to start my own style blog. I don't know why I would need to, since I basically do just about everything Audrey does, and there's no reason to copy her blog. But yes, I went as far as taking some pictures of myself and starting a Tumblr that was to be my style blog (I've since deleted it). Also, it's hard to take good pictures of yourself, and after an awkward photo shoot when I asked my boyfriend to take pictures of me (the red dress pictures below), I decided I couldn't make it work.

This picture at least had another purpose: to prove to my sister
that I was wearing the scarf she gave me for Christmas.

                  

 

I think part of my desire to start a style blog is simply that I'm really (pathetically) proud of myself for putting more effort into my appearance. However, I'm also constantly fighting with myself, slightly embarrassed by my new hobby and reminding myself "It shouldn't matter what I look like, my clothes shouldn't matter." The feminist in my head says, "Stop putting so much effort into your appearance! Don't spend money on clothes! Buy more books!" Then the other feminist in my head says, "You aren't doing this for other people, you're doing it for you; you aren't wearing clothes that are uncomfortable because they look good, you are wearing clothes that are both comfortable for a full day at work and make you feel better about the image you present to people you work with. Don't worry so much." Then the frugal woman in my head says, "Stop spending money on cardigans!" (There are lots of people in my head.)

So I guess I'm just going to take advice from all of them. I do need to keep spending in check, but I don't have to worry so much about what my hobbies "say" about me. I'm not a bad feminist or a bad woman for enjoying clothes and style and putting together outfits. As long as I'm wearing outfits that make me comfortable and help me to feel confident, who the hell cares if I look at style blogs to get inspiration?

In case you are interested, here are some of the other blogs I've found. Putting Me Together is always my first stop, but all of these blogs have provided some inspiration (though not always shopping tips, since some of them feature more expensive clothing). 
Blue Paper Lanterns: her blog is based specifically around a budget, which is great!
Wendy's Lookbook: she tends to feature clothing that's expensive, but her looks are great for inspiration. Plus she a fabulous YouTube video on 25 ways to tie a scarf.
Mix and Match Fashion: this is a new discovery, so I don't have much to say about it yet, but so far so good. Seems to feature more affordable stuff.
Kacie's Kloset: another new discovery that I'm still getting to know, but I've seen a few things here that I really wanted (specifically this blazer).

Hating Throw Pillows, or, How I Started Crafting

Who knew I could be crafty (or enjoy doing it)? I definitely didn't.

Let me explain something about myself: I don't decorate. It's not that I don't like decorations; I've just never felt the need to put time and effort into choosing decorations, finding a place for them, getting out the hammer and nails and hanging them up and making sure they're straight and blah blah blah. That's a whole lot of work to do when I could be on the couch reading.

My sister and I once got into an argument, an actual argument with a little bit of anger on both sides, over throw pillows.

Let me just say that again in case you didn't get it. We got angry at each other. Over throw pillows.

We were exercising together, walking down the side of the street, when somehow the idea of pillows came up. I think she was redecorating her bedroom, and I had just purchased a new black and white comforter, and she was telling me that she had extra white pillows that wouldn't look right with her new color scheme but that would go well with my new comforter. I innocently said no thanks, I didn't want any throw pillows. This is where the trouble began. She said, "Don't you want to add a little flair to your room? The pillows would look so good." I said, "That's great, but I don't use throw pillows. I just have to throw them all on the floor to get them out of the way to go to sleep, and then I have to pick them all up again when I make my bed. And if I want to sit on my bed and read or do homework or watch TV," at the time I lived in a one-bedroom apartment and did almost everything on my bed, "I'd have to move them out of the way. It's just a waste of energy."

Conversation over, right? She's thrown out her pillow offer, I've explained why I don't want them, end of story.

Oh no. This conversation argument went on for several more minutes. We moved away from throw pillows and into a more general discussion of my not wanting to decorate, my not feeling the need to spice up my room, and her not understanding why I didn't just want a little extra flair to make my room/apartment look nice. To this day, I still don't quite understand why either of us got so impassioned over this, but my sister was definitely offended by the time we walked back to our apartments.

So how does this throw-pillow-hating, decorating-avoiding person end up being crafty on a January Thursday night? Answer: a new haircut, Facebook, Pinterest and free supplies.

With a short new haircut since October, I've been wearing larger and more colorful earrings, and my pathetic jewelry box that I've had since I was twelve just wasn't really cutting it anymore. It couldn't hold all my earrings, and it was hard for me to see them and see what my options were.

Enter Facebook: A friend of mine recently posted a picture of a jewelry holder that she made out of an old mirror and some lace.

Enter Pinterest: Inspired, I search for jewelry holders and found several Do It Yourself options.

Enter free supplies: Recently, my office has moved, and I acquired a couple of picture frames that we had never used at the office and saw no reason to move them around with us. So as I scrolled through the Pinterest options, I saw that some used picture frames, and I already had a few at home.

After a quick trip to Wal-Mart for wire and thumbtacks, I was ready to go. I used this tutorial, skipped the painting steps since my frame was already the color I wanted, and got started. Almost immediately, I was ready to give up when I realized I couldn't push the thumbtack into the frame the way I thought I should be able to, but brilliantly my boyfriend reminded that we had, and could use, a hammer. And a few minutes later, I had this:

It was so easy! And now that I've made one, I could easily and quickly make others (plenty of thumbtacks and wire left) so that my earrings could be more spread out, and I would have room for new pairs as I get them.

I know it looks weird with the light switches;
I can't help that they were badly placed!

Once I'd done this, I was bitten by the decorative bug. I finally hung up the picture my sister gave me at least two Christmases ago (another decorative item I had argued that I would never use or need). 

Next, I picked up this weird thing that's been in my closet since the last tenant moved out and left it behind (the last tenant being my younger sister). I don't know what you call this thing, but whatever, I put pictures in it.

At this point, I was exhausted from being crafty. So I didn't hang this on the wall. I also have a 4-piece painting that my throw-pillow-loving sister did for me over Christmas break that I haven't gotten around to hanging up yet. But still, I was actually crafty and decorative. And I didn't stop to sit on the couch and read once! 






Of course, don't think that this means I want throw pillows. I don't want throw pillows on my bed. Ever.

New Year, New Blog, New Writing

The title of this post implies that my renewed commitment to writing is a New Year's resolution, but it's not. I'm not a fan of New Year's resolutions, because they seem designed for failure. I'm determined to do this new thing that I've never been able to do, but now I have to, because it's January 1 again. And then by March, the resolution has waned, or been forgotten, and we feel bad about ourselves for a few days, and then go back to life as usual. (Plus, I'm usually too lazy to come up with a resolution to tell people at New Year's Eve parties.)

So this new blog is not a new year's resolution, though I am resolved to keep it up. I started a blog a little more than a year ago when I discovered feminism, and based that blog all around my newfound love. While my passion for feminism has not waned in the least, finding new things to write about got harder and harder. I don't have cable TV, I don't watch the news regularly, and I don't scroll through news websites and blogs during the day. As a result, by the time I heard of a new event that related to feminism, it had been covered over and over by blogs and news sites everywhere. Why should I write about something when Feministing and Jezebel already have, and probably did it better? I began to get discouraged, and keeping up the blog felt like a chore. I also found myself wanting to write about things that didn't relate to feminism, whether they were other news events, or things that happened to me personally, but I felt I couldn't stray from my blog's theme. So I ended up not writing about those things at all.

I work for a publishing company. My goal, which is very tentative since I only graduated from college two years ago (a year and a half, really) and I have very little experience, is to work for a magazine. I want to be an editor. My boss, the founder and publisher of the company I work for, once said to me, jokingly, "Are you sure you want to be a writer?"

No, I thought. Didn't you listen? I want to be a magazine editor. But what I've learned from obsessively reading magazines, as well as blogs, news sites and all the other sources of information our technological world provides, is that there is a very thin line between editor and writer, if one exists at all. Editors of magazines write editor's letters; "contributing editors" write stories and conduct interviews. And many of the magazines that I would love to work for have small staffs, with people most likely dabbling in several different areas (editing, writing, marketing, bookkeeping) in order to get the job done and the work to press. Even at my current job, as "managing editor" (a title that implies far more experience than I have, but there are four of us in the office, so I am technically third-in-command) I proofread, market, stuff envelopes, ship books, answer phones, make spreadsheets and even occasionally (and terribly) deal with finances. And I write.

So when my boss assumed that I wanted to be a writer, he clearly knew more than I did about my chosen professional field. And his comment, though he said it months ago, was stuck in my head all day today. Why haven't I been writing? Why don't I practice? Why don't I work on this?

 And so, to keep myself from being restricted by a theme, or a certain topic, or feeling like I have to write about "important" events, I am starting this new blog. And it is simply my writing blog. I will write. That's the whole point. I won't write every day. Maybe I'll get on some sort of schedule; most likely I won't. But I will write because even though I may never make a living from it, even though I have been denying it since I was fifteen and realized I probably couldn't make a living from it, my boss was right. I want to be a writer.