I desperately miss writing here, and I log in all the time, look around, write down notes for posts, and then go away.
Here’s the thing: I am trying to be good to myself and good about myself, meaning that I am trying to treat myself well and trying to be thoughtful with how I present myself and to only write here when I feel like I have something to say. Full, thought-out ideas. And I haven’t had the energy to think things out because I’m still recovering from the depression I was in over the summer, and because work has been mentally and emotionally draining, and because I’m trying to develop new habits.
I really, really want to be writing. I’ve been writing a lot more, but not the kind of a lot I need to if I want to legitimately call myself a writer. I don’t like that, but because I have other things to take care of, like working enough to pay my bills and trying to stay healthy, I’m not able to make it a priority. I know lots of authors have jobs and kids and lives, and I only really have the first, and yet they make it work, and that’s great for them. Right now, I’m just not able.
But I’m making it a goal. I’ve read, and probably you have, too, that it takes something like two months to develop a habit. Right? Probably Self magazine told me that. At any rate, that doesn’t seem far off. It didn’t take long after I moved to Silicon Valley and started working at an institution that is powered by Google Apps for me to construct my life entirely around my Google Calendar. If you force them, habits happen. But I can’t put “writing” in my calendar on a daily basis yet. Not just yet. Continue reading
Birchbox Travel (Photo credit: donireewalker)
Lately I have been thinking to myself that I should switch from being a book blogger to a fashion and beauty blogger, just to get some
cooler different swag.
(I mostly kid. Please do not stop sending me book swag. I love the books. Forever. I might not have room for them in my apartment anymore, but they can share my bed.)
I would probably not be the best beauty or fashion blogger because, unlike when it comes to literature, I don’t have any specialized or advanced knowledge of this stuff. I recently started consistently wearing mascara. Sometimes I put on my primer and powder, too. For years, I was just an obsessive moisturizer and lip glosser. So this growing up, beauty-wise, is a big deal, friends. Anyway. I am trying to learn more about it (please read other of my blog entries to learn my general philosophy on fashion and beauty culture, the patriarchy, etc), because it’s high time I owned less clothing and beauty stuff but liked it more, looked better in it, and felt more confident in it. So I read magazines and blogs and sign up for things like Birchbox in order to get to that point where I have a general idea of what I’m doing.
Bookish people still have physical embodiments of their bookishness that needs to look presentable, and also, some of us, at least, happen to like the fun that comes with looking presentable, as blogs like Librarian Wardrobe will attest. This is why I have an entire Pinterest page dedicated to bookish, smartgirl, quirky clothing that I would love to have in my wardrobe in lieu of the things I have left over from college and 25 pounds ago. Continue reading
Since I’m still plugging away at Fifty Fifty Me (if all 12 months of the year were like my last three, I might actually be in danger of not fulfilling the reading requirement – that’s not a problem because I have already read a gazillion things this year, but regardless, I still feel like a failure), I watched a documentary on Netflix the other day. It’s called Busting Out, and it’s about boobs, which is one of my favorite topics EVAR. I have tons of thoughts on the topic, based in gender and sex roles, in my self esteem issues as a teenager (it is damaging to weigh about 100 pounds as a teen and hear a dummy Victoria’s Secret employee say that if their bras don’t work for you – since, you know, they’re required to size you incorrectly – you should go to Lane Bryant), and in my general sociological interest of the world. So I was so excited to watch something that purported to be about all these things.
While you can tell very easily that it’s incredibly low budget, the movie’s not horrible. It’s also short – barely an hour – so if you want to view it and consider using it in a classroom or Girl Scout troop or something, it’s probably a great candidate. It’s one of those personal journey documentaries that also deals with some history and interviews, which was a little disappointing, because I was expecting a bit more focus on history/sociology/anthropology/etc. There was a little of everything, under the general umbrella of exploring why Americans think boobs are so fascinating and yet so gross and yet in other parts of the world, they’re not sexualized at all. Continue reading