Stream of Consciousness


Hi. That’s me. I’ve decided that I don’t show the world what I look like often enough. So that’s me, in the car, on the way to the river after we saw Star Trek on Sunday.

I had a thought during that car ride-people tell me that I have weird pale eyes and Benedict Cumberbatch has weird pale eyes and omg is that what my eyes look like?!

I’m obsessed with cold brew coffee right now. I make in my french press and it hangs out in my fridge. I may have taken to making simple syrup with unrefined cane sugar, because unrefined baking supplies are slowly saving my life. Maybe not saving it, but maybe my doc was onto something when she told me to treat my PMDD with ‘food that isn’t white’.

My wanderings looking for ‘food that isn’t white’ has taken me to Target, home of the cheap unbleached flour and the co-op, home of the not cheap unbleached flour, bulk bins with the unrefined sugar, and the awesomesauce organic coffee that lives in my french press. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear the sound of me starting to go crunchy.

Or that’s the sound of my joints since i’m belly dancing again, if you can call what I do belly dance. If I can ever jump my dysmorphia hurdle maybe I’ll take formal lessons. Until them I’m rolling around in the glory that is the Militant Baker (warning: both very fat-friendly feminist and not entirely safe for work). Or maybe not since that turn of phrase seems invasive to me. Either way, that blog is pretty much what I needed to read last night-and seriously, her f-off response to the Abercrombie and Fitch debacle is glorious.

That second strange sound is my 20 year old self squeeing that she isn’t quite dead yet and I haven’t forgotten everything my tenure as herstorian of the SUNY Oswego Women’s Center taught me.


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