President Racist, Sexist, Greedy, Insecure, Whiny Farce-of-a-Man-Baby

Okay. Look. If you are still claiming Donald Trump is not a racist motherfucker, you are either a. delusional, or more likely, b. pretty damn racist yourself. If you are part of the 34% of this country’s population who still approves of this clown, what the fuck are you thinking? No, seriously. What the fuck are you thinking?

If you are not publicly and loudly condemning this shithead, why not? Are you that selfish, that self-centered? Or are you just a racist, misogynist piece of shit?

A woman is dead because she had the guts to stand up to a bunch of neo-Nazi fuckers who think some of the people I care about most in this world aren’t even human. Fuck that.

Violence on both sides? Fuck that. You do not get to stand up and denigrate other human beings for the color of their skin and then be pissed when people stand up to your bullshit. You can say whatever the hell you want to in this country, but no one has an obligation to listen to you or let you bully them.

The “president” hasn’t even called Heather Heyer’s family. Why? The answer should be pretty obvious by now: He’s a racist, sexist, greedy, insecure, whiny farce of a man baby.

If someone waved a knife or a gun at you, you’d probably feel pretty okay doing anything in your power to defend yourself. When an angry mob—because let’s be real, permit or no, that’s what this was—marches through town waving fucking swastikas and automatic weapons and your skin happens to be brown or black? Same thing. Bigger scale.

The other “side” (i.e. the absolutely, no question about it, wrong side) 100 percent lost their right to play the victim when they decided to take their rhetoric off the virtual pages of the internet and into the streets they share with their fellow citizens.

History won’t be silent on what happened this weekend in Charlottesville. Will you?

 

 

Tell your sister that she’s gotta rise up

On Saturday, I wore a tiger striped hot pink pussy hat, held a sign that said, “This Pussy Grabs Back,” and marched.

It’s a long story that I’ll save for another time, but I didn’t make it to DC, and instead marched in Pittsburgh. I am sad and disappointed I couldn’t make it to DC, but marching in Pittsburgh was also important. It was inspiring and empowering to march alongside 25,000 kindred spirits.

Five million women, men and children marched on Saturday—in most major US cities, and on every continent.

“This is not a moment, it’s the movement.”

Women's March Pittsburgh

The work doesn’t stop here. We will keep fighting (here’s something you can do today). We will keep marching. You can try to silence us, but as we proved this weekend, we are legion. We are everywhere. And we are pissed the fuck off.

I am all for peaceful protest, but if the worst comes to pass I am not afraid to take up arms, to fight with my fists and my feet and my nails.

This pussy grabs back.

Procrastination, guilt, and dread

Procrastination is weird. The more you put something off, the guiltier you feel and the more you dread it. It turns an ant hill into a mountain, every time.

And yet I still do procrastinate. Not always on purpose—sometimes I’m tired or my head hurts and my brain is fuzzy.

But that dread builds up just the same, no matter the reason something (usually writing) gets put off.

In almost every case, the dread and anxiety are worse than the thing itself. And the anxiety-induced migraine is much, much worse. The feeling of relief that comes from writing a chapter in my novel after not writing a word for a week is immense.

Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Image from Wikimedia Commons.

But the whole cycle of dread-anxiety-relief is avoidable if only I could just do it. And I often wonder, “Why can’t I just do it? Why put myself through this, over and over again?”

Of course, part of the problem are the incredibly high expectations I set for myself, which basically amount to: DO ALL THE THINGS ALL THE TIME. Intellectually I recognize this is not possible, and I’m getting better at not equating the quantity of things I do with the quality of things I do.

Comparing myself to what others are doing is another culprit of my procrastination. I can’t possibly live up to what Person A did, so why even bother? Sometimes it absolutely is a competition, but most of the time, it’s really not, so comparing myself to others just causes unnecessary anxiety.

When I procrastinate, I often do “productive” things like search for freelance jobs or look on Craigslist for cheap garden stuff (you don’t even know how many free bricks I need to build my new patio!) or scroll endlessly through social media to find tweets by authors I love that I can respond to (networking, am I right?). Sometimes I even clean my house!

All these things are great and even necessary, but when I start doing them too much (read: all the time), I know it’s a sign I need to close Tumblr, put away the mop, and Do The Work.

Most of the time, The Work is writing. Sometimes it’s a freelance assignment or book review, sometimes it’s homework (or will be in a few weeks). It might even be making a doctor’s appointment—I am the worst at this (seriously, I’ve lived in Pittsburgh for over a decade and only this summer did I find a primary care doctor).

I try to pay attention when I start doing any of these activities, like when I get to the fourth page of “free” stuff on Craigslist, I ask myself, “Okay, what am I avoiding right now?” The answer is almost always readily apparent.

The solution, of course, is stop looking for free bricks, take a deep breath, and start The Work.