CW50: what's my age again?

I’m having a weird day. I feel anxious, scared, doubtful. Nothing new for me, truly, but I am upset that it happened so suddenly. I was feeling fine until about 7 pm last night, and then right before going to bed it all culminated in a full blow anxiety attack that stayed with me all night, and that only sort of ended a couple hours after being awake.

I am saying this because I don’t have the same energy as I usually do when writing this newsletter, which has been the only enrichment in the enclosure lately. I debated this morning whether my mood was good enough for me to write, and decided to just because once my therapist said “do everything your anxiety is telling you not to do”. So here we are!

It’s been about a month since I started this project in self-reflection, and I am very thankful to each person that has spent even a minute reading me.

ps. I just had about 20 cookies and Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.

Day 1: I <3 this sweater, it’s huge and cozy :).It was a working from home day and I was stuck on the same boring task I have been doing for the past two weeks, so I killed time reading Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver. I finished the book in the evening and cried for about 20 minutes.

If I can recommend one book this year, it will be that. It’s raw, real, witty, and so beautifully written. You will fall in love with Demon and think about him for days after you have closed the book.

Day 2: giving wicked witch of the west ;)It was such a boring working week: for the second day in a row there I was, focused on that competitor report I had been doing for way too long. But I put on my silly little songs and time went by faster.

I cannot remember one single thought I had that day in the office, other than I was listening to one of your girls by Troye Sivan and thinking of a potential Steddie (Steve Harrington + Eddie Munson) fanfiction I could write inspired by that song. You know, Steve and Eddie are now in college, Steve has sooo many girls going after him and him and Eddie start a fwb situation, but of course Eddie has it bad for Steve. In this scenario, there would be a happy ending and Eddie would not just be one of the girls, he’ll be THE boy.

[were you expecting a Steddie fanfiction in your inbox today???? life is full of surprises]

Day 3: Wednesday I woke up severely bummed out. The day before I tried recording and editing a podcast to go along with this newsletter. To put it mildly, the episode sucked. I got annoyed at myself for trying to be creative, for refusing to accept that I have no talent etc.. etc..

Ah but then I put on my dance pop playlist and saw that the world is truly a magical place and I just have to be patient.

(Here is the playlist, if you want to boogie at 6 am with me)

While I was shaking it in the bathroom, putting on my eyeliner, I thought of how cruel make-up is: once you start with it, it’s so hard to stop. For about a year I had gotten used to my bare face, and it was not a problem going to work looking like I actually do. Once I started my new job, I wanted to look good the first few days and I went back to my make-up routine. Now, it seems impossible to show up in the office without a bit of concealer, because people have gotten used to my face being “““better””” (< note: I don’t think faces are better with make-up, I’m just insecure about my eye bags).

Day 4: (this outfit slayed - the brown and pink are so good, it’s undeniable)

Dear reader, on Thursday I decided that I would bring you on a vulnerable journey with me. Warning: we are going to engage in potty talk, discuss toilet habits etc. If you are grossed out please skip to day 5.

Everyday, at 9 a.m. my digestive system decides that it’s time for my breakfast to escape. Fine, no problem, if it wasn’t for the fact that at that point I have already been at the office for an hour, and exactly at that time - everyday - the cleaning staff goes to work on the ladies toilet. This is so mortifying, so embarrassing, but everyday I must choose whether to go through the worst ordeal of my life (sh*tting while someone else is cleaning the stall beside me) or start sweating and hoping an accident doesn’t occur. Each day I choose option 1.

When you are a girlie with a weak stomach you learn to release your inhibitions, but I do feel bad for the staff who sees me walk in there at the same time, day in day out.

Day 5: another day working from home, finished all my tasks at 11:42.

The day before, other than shitting at 9 a.m., I had another driving lesson with the racist instructure. It made me so pissed, so disheartened, so disgusted I decided to write a little piece about racism in Italy, in italian. That’s the gen z version of doing something, I believe.

Of course, it didn’t achieve anything, but it was still important for me to write it and publish it, because I have become less brave as I have grown older, and it’s time for me to speak out again. Unfortunately, there is no purpose in fighting with fascist wankers, no use in trying to convince him of something he so proudly rejects. But I can speak to others who are in the middle, find people who think like me. On Saturday (which is not technically a day I would discuss in the newsletter), I decided to sign up to the left party in my town, to actively participate in local politics, because I am not a child, I am a grown woman who can actually do something.

Thought of the week: not really a thought, but a poem I wrote two years ago

struggles
 

Did you know

women need to have a creative outlet?

And red lipstick is the key to equality, actually.

I’m 23, empoweringly late to lunch.

See, I had to make sure my brown winged liner

and subtle concealer made me look confident and cool.

I needed to feel good about myself, can you blame me?

I just lost a size, which was really feminist of me

because I did it through balanced eating and weight lifting

which is like so powerful for women and it showed that

I am sexy, divine, feminine but I’m strong and I take no shit.

The patriarchy can’t get to me: I only shave when I want to,

which means regularly - sure - but it’s for myself! And yeah,

often I can’t be bothered and I’d rather not but

we all need a little pick me up to feel more attractive sometimes.

Beauty is pain and beauty is progressive, did you know?

I don’t have internalized misogyny, that’s why my eyebrows

are always perfectly plucked and professionally improved.

And so what if I can’t recognise my face without blush!

So what if I feel more at ease when I don’t look like myself!

are you suggesting that it would be better if I didn’t wear any make-up?

Sorry, but I’m a feminist and isn’t this what a feminst looks like?