And now I’m ordering all of these individual things from one catalog, one charge.
It’s so much easier. The prices aren’t much different. It’s improved MY workflow.
And I can rationalize that this choice was made for me, but I’ve still participated in it.
The people who make the money off our choices have no idea who we are.
Most of them don’t care to learn. They don’t care about the communities they destroy.
But still we make their products who we are, how we judge each other.
But I DID know these people, their faces and their names.
And I don’t know how we excuse not judging ourselves for being complicit.
PinksPosies&Pearls:Ugh, How dare you.
How dare you make me contemplate capitalism and my part in it this early in the day??
I am the “even worse”??????no talking required
You know what half of my identity is?
The size of clothing I buy. The logo doesn’t make a difference.
That little number is all that matters, because it determines everything else.
Whether or not I even bother stopping into a shop, the styles I’ll be stuck with.
Whether or not I want a quarter of my wardrobe to consist of shirts with no shoulders.
Because of the size on my tag, the fashion powers that be have determined who I am.
I have to dress a certain way because of my size AND profession. No deviation!
PinksPosies&Pearls:And the same is true on the other end of the spectrum!
My tiny-boned sisters are locked into dressing like teenagers indefinitely.
And I’m stuck dressing like their mother. It’s maddening.
Maybe I should just embrace that I like talking to my plants more than people
What’s the dress code for a bog witch? That’s what I want to be.
But like, a sexy bog witch. That’ll attract the right sort, right?
ChaoticConcertina:Absolutely. I sense sexy bog creatures in your imminent future.
It was a relief. If she were the only one using their friendship as an invisible therapist, she likely would have stopped after the first week or two, messages tapering off until she was back into her routine of drudgery. He matched her early morning vent posts and ruminations at night, balancing the scales of their friendship, giving her something to look forward to each morning – a prize that had been long absent from her life.
And if she occasionally closed her eyes and tried to envision that strong, well-defined hand holding hers, well . . . Sumi decided that washerbusiness.
Then her great-aunt died.
An aunt whose existence had been completely unknown to her, her maternal grandmother’s sister, a family she’d never met. Sumi and a second cousin on the other side of the Unification were contacted as the closest next-of-kin, named beneficiaries to an estate they’d done nothing to earn.
PinksPosies&Pearls:I know it doesn’t make sense to be upset.
