Cool it on the perfection, the inspiration, the aspirations, the hashtag glory. I’ve been trying to keep up for ages and now I’m a bit over it. I’ve come up with a list of suggestions I’d like to see you whack a filter on – let’s call it a ten-day challenge:
- Post argument #selfie with your significant other before making up, when you’re both wondering if you really need this shit
- Close-up of snotty tears face just after crying at Grey’s Anatomy/P.S. I Love You/video of any sort of animal being reunited with its animal friend or family
- Ad-hoc catalogue of pointless, passive-aggressive work emails sent about people’s dishes in the kitchen area
- Daily play count of catchy pop song in style of Bieber’s “Sorry”/Rihanna’s “Bitch Better Have My Money” interpreted into graph, relative to day of the week and blood sugar levels
- Cups of tea, in no particular order, in a 3 x 3 grid
- Short video of just-missed bus as it pulls away
- Pile of never-read books in order of literary street credibility: most impressive at the bottom of the stack
- Bitten-nails manicure on stubby fingered man hands, with a French twist
- Bar graph representations of how many times a person at a desk job hits their Enter key/smacks their forehead to the desk in a day
- Error messages as inspirational quotations
Who do you even think you are. Stop that.
I am completely fucking over this whole fucking systematised misogynistic bullshit pile, for it is a gigantic waste of my excellent brain energy.
Hypothetically, let’s say I see a job I want to apply for that I would be very damned good at.
People react to me sharing my intentions by pre-emptively coaching me through the not getting of the job before I’ve even written a motherfucking cover letter. Breaking it down, you say “yeah, I mean, you may as well give it a shot” – I hear “bless your cotton socks, you think you’re people who get important jobs”. You know what? I don’t need any more suggestion to prepare myself for failure. I’m a young female person in an old male bureaucratic institution. I know full well that I’m staring down the barrel of a lifetime of busy work and spreadsheets unless I pick myself up, trudge through the mud and the gentle suggestions that I aim lower. I know women are meant to be happy little administrators who good-naturedly run the world with little to no acknowledgement, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit quietly waiting for someone to throw me a party.
System, you asshole. You’ve made me internalise some hectic self-doubt, and I’m equal parts heartbroken and furious. I could run this whole entire world, given the right gang and the correct breakfast – yet here I am, paralysed into breaking down selection criteria and listing reasons why the things I’ve done so far are Not Enough.
I think what really grinds my gears is that I know there are people in the world who just assume they will get the Job or the Thing or the Whatever, and then they just… get it, just like they thought they would. I want the Job! I want the Thing! I want the Whatever!
I was sort of hoping this book “Eat Pray Love Made Me Do It” might be a bit like Pinterest Fails, but it isn’t.
It’s actually genuine and inspirational, and for some reason on this overly warm, tired out Wednesday afternoon I find that very disappointing. Here’s some examples of stories that would actually cause me to buy this book:
- I got wistful for ‘The One That Got Away’, then I read Eat Pray Love and I left my husband on a whim but when I found my high school boyfriend, he had gotten ugly and had not developed any further personality or intelligence and then my husband wouldn’t take me back.
- I went to an ashram and everyone had taken the vow of silence so I couldn’t find out where to sleep or eat and eventually I fell into a coma from sleep deprivation and starvation and then I realised just how poor everyone in India is so I couldn’t even really complain about it.
- I decided to write a book about my life and then I realised nothing much had ever happened to me and that made me so depressed I couldn’t get out of bed for 6 weeks and then my annual leave was up and I had to go back to work.
- I sold everything I owned and went to Italy and then I found out I could not eat gluten.
- I went to Bali and I did not meet that hot guy and I was not Julia Roberts and it was the worst.