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The fight to save Planned Parenthood and protect reproductive rights isn’t over (x)
follow @this-is-life-actually
In response to all those articles about talking to women with headphones…
Someone always says it, whenever it comes up:
“I guess I’m just not allowed to talk to anyone any more!”Well.
Yes.
It is my duty to inform you that we took a vote
all us women
and determined that you are not allowed to talk to anyone
ever again.This vote is legally binding.
Yes, of course, all women know each other,
the way you always suspected.
(Incidentally, so do Canadians. I’m just throwing that out there.)
We went into the women’s room at the Applebee’s at the corner of 54
and all the others streamed in through the doors
into that endless liminal space,
a chain of humans stretching backward
heavy skulled Neanderthal women laughing with New York socialites,
Lucille Ball hand in hand with the Taung child.
We sat around in the couches in the women’s room
(I know you’ve always been suspicious of those couches)
and chatted with each other in the secret female language
that you always knew existed.
Somebody set up a Playstation–
the Empress Wu is ruthless at Mario Kart
and Cleopatra never learned to lose
and a woman who ruled an empire that fell
when the Sea People came
and left no trace
can use the blue shell like a surgical instrument.Eventually we took the vote.
You had three defenders:
your grandmother and your first-grade teacher
and an Albanian nun who believes the best of everybody.
Your mom abstained.
It was duly recorded in the secret notebooks
that have been kept under the couch in the Applebee’s
since the beginning of recorded time.
And then we went back to playing Mario Kart
and Hoelun took off her bra
and we didn’t think about you again
except that I had to carry this message.So anyway
good luck with that
it’s just as you always said it was.
Hush now,
no talkinghush.
Check out the color of this lake! The color is from finely ground sediment called glacial flour suspended in the water.
Glacial flour makes really shitty bread
Yeah, however much yeast you use it’s really slow to rise.
Just occasionally I feel slightly settled. I still have to catch myself and remind myself that I live here. This is home now.
Coming back to our apartment does feel like home, kinda. It’s not decorated the way we would decorate (I know Americans, at least in the PNW seem to love brown, I still don’t). It’s not our style of building. But it’s got our stuff laid out in a cozy way.
So that feels much better.
But now even outside, the americanness of it doesn’t make me feel weird, the post mail boxes on sticks outside everyone’s houses, the low-lying buildings, mainly single story… it’s becoming background to where I live.
I still flash back to random things, the railway station in Windsor, the streets of terraced brick, and have a ‘wow, I really don’t live in the UK any more’ moment. And they’re still pretty frequent.
But as I lay on our sofa I think, hey, I’m home. With my love. And that’s good.
???? ??????? ?? ??? ?? ????? ????? ??????? ??????? ?? ???? ?????? ???.
You have the right to worry, my friend. if you live in a society where idiots are famous and no one cares about the intellectuals.
(Faisal Al aamir ???? ??????)

this has me so weak
- Hide in the (empty) tub
- wait for overly dramatic mother to come in
- burst out of curtains singing “Hello, Ma Baby”
- ??????
Awful family drama for years, probably. PROFIT.
I appear to have traded a job where my availability was horrendous because my hours were all over the place, and where I was exhausted from switching from days to nights all the time to one where I am exhausted from working an improbable number of hours in each week. At least for me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited by the new job, and it’s fun teaching. But I’m knackered already and it’s only day two…

Retrofuturism ftw. on Flickr.
Retrofuturism ftw.