It is so tiresome to read the excuses of shoddy bloggers, isn’t it?  Nevermind all that.  I’m 32 years old as of yesterday!  I’ve been a little bit grumpy, actually.  I suppose it would be about once a week that I decide to fully drop out: facebook, interwebs, media, blah blah.  I’ve always been a little bit porous to all that’s going on.  But I think my luddite/anarchistic tendencies really come to the fore when dealing with either the fear of success or the fear of failure…Well now.  There’s a conundrum.   Sometimes, in small ways, I am a self-sabotage expert.  Onward!

I went to the mall today, with Treva and Felix.  Lee and Horus had driven to our church (yes, we have a church!  It’s a long, ridiculous story.  Horus was born there though, and that’s quite romantic, isn’t it?!  The church is a real, live, former-united church, built in the late 1800s.  It is located upriver, on the same river we live on now–the mighty Saint John.  Anyway.).  Treva really needed a new car seat, so for the first time, instead of acquiring an old one from someone else, I went to the mall.  It was a very disturbing experience.

Part of my melancholy lately, has to do with the fact that women are constantly being objectified and abused, and no one is safe, and Lena Dunham’s fat hideousness is a major topic of conversation, and television “matters”, and porn is “mainstream”.  The cherry of my week was arriving at the mall to find myself surrounded by giant-sized posters of nearly-naked teenagers in provocative poses absolutely *everywhere* we turned.  What does one say to one’s two year old daughter when she asks the following:  “Mum, why is that girl’s YONI sticking out?” .  Yeah.  One of the billboards featured a very young woman in scanty underwear, thrusting her pelvis towards our innocent gaze. In another image, two young girls cavort, again, in their underwear.  “Mum” says Treva, “Why aren’t those girls wearing any clothes?  Mum, what would you say to those girls who aren’t wearing any clothes?”

“Well sweetheart, if I saw those girls on the street dressed like that, I would ask them if they needed help.”

This is what I said to my daughter, but unfortunately, this probably isn’t true.  Which in itself, is shameful.

And here is the kicker:  I remember very clearly, my own mother going on about “feminism” (this is how I read her smart and heartbreaking analyses at the time–just “feminism”:  Boring!!!).  And I remember thinking that she was just completely out of touch, a dork, a freak, and that the only reason she could possibly be so pathetic as to be complaining about “feminism” when I had the world to explore, and drugs to do, and booze to drink, and, of course, boys to do, is because she was old and her life was essentially over.  I guess at this point, Mum would have been about 42…  My younger self disgusts me.  And I am ashamed of the world my daughter is inheriting.  I have done nothing of import.

All I have to show for myself is this crappy blog.

No!  Wait!  I know I know I know.  This is just my birthday freakout.

Anyway.  Here is my list.

17.  Stop reading before bed as though it is verboten.  You’re allowed to read, Yo.  You’re a grown-up.

18. You lie in the bed, you make it.  Make the beds every morning.  Grow up.

19. Write a poem every day.  Seriously.

20. Call a weekly family meeting.  Stay accountable.

21. Be neighbourly.  Visit a neighbour a week!

22. Brush teeth MORE.  Three times a day.

23.  Try a little bit not to drink so much coffee.  Maybe just a little bit.

24. Resist checking email 37 times a day.  Very pathetic.

25. Give both Horus and Treva an hour of one-on-one time each day.  If this is hard, you (Yolande) have you priorities messed up.  Go back to the schedule.  Work it out.

26. Try to wash more laundry by hand instead of taking it to the laundromat.   There is pretty much no way this resolution is going to happen right now.

27. Try not to be a total bitch on your birthday.  (I kind of achieved this a little bit.  But I think I was kind of a bitch the day before).

28. Let it go.  Just let it go.

29.  Be of service.  I’ve been thinking about this one a lot.  I want my work to be a form of service, and I think it is.  But I also *need* to create some space in my life to serve those who are having a hard time, who haven’t enjoyed the privileges that I have, who are in some sense alone.  Because I’ve had a lot of crazy experiences in my life, and I think I understand what it’s like to be really messed up, and trapped in a bit of a scream.  I have been thinking about working towards starting a little piano teaching project for women in a homeless shelter, which I think I could make happen next January, 2014.  It will take some planning.  I hope this doesn’t sound too polyanna-ish…I don’t have the personal resources to do this right now, but I do need to do something.  I was originally thinking of volunteering at a women’s prison.  Ouch.  This world just breaks my heart.

PS:  I did go out and find a few episodes of “Girls”.  For the record,  I adore Lena Dunham, and I think she is shatteringly gorgeous, massively sexy, and supersmart.  I can’t even go into the problems I have with the media she (and her oh-so-problematic BODY) have received.  Also, the character of Adam eerily resembles an ex of mine, although to be fair, my ex was perhaps cuter, though less diligent.  Anyway.

PPS:  Sorry about the unrelated photo of Lee, above.  I suppose it is a very very good sign, that my adoration for Lee increases with my disgust for the rest of the world.  I don’t really understand why or how I still love my husband, to be honest.  Aren’t we supposed to be totally sick of each other after 7 years?  Actually I think he might be a bit sick of me.  Goodness knows I am.

PPPS:  I promise not to be so navel-gazingly narcissistic in my next blog post, what is this anyway.  I don’t know.

I really need to stop typing now, this is getting utterly ridiculous.  Just stop.  Try not to post this.  ugh.