Tag: rants

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education rants

No really, you should care about education. Even if you don’t have kids.

Well I was going to rant about this on tumblr but my app isn’t uploading the post (too much froth?) so fine, it can just live on my blog.

Okay, childless/childfree people, let’s talk for a minute. I don’t have kids. I doubt I ever will. I still vote for every way to fund education that I can, and I pay close attention to school board elections and other education issues. And it’s not because I have nieces that I love, and it’s not because I am so rich that I’m desperate to give my money away. It’s certainly not because I don’t have other things I’d rather be doing with my time and money.

It’s because I am trying to ensure that kids learn how to think and cooperate and socialize, so that they grow into adults who can think, and cooperate, and socialize.

I’m not a fucking island. I don’t run this country on my own. (If I did, it’d be a much different place.) The decisions that other people make effect me deeply–just look at environmental issues and the battle we’re still fucking having about denial. And the kids of today are going to be running this place when I’ve retired.

Allow me to repeat: The kids of today are going to be running this place when I’ve retired.

There is a reason people with wacky ideologies try to pack school boards–look at creationists and their endless quest to fuck up childhood education. This stuff matters. This stuff controls the future in both short and long term.You think your life would be half as good as it is now if fundamental biology education got torn up by the roots?

Education matters. Even if you don’t have kids, and will never have kids, education should matter to you. You are not paying for someone else’s little annoying monster to learn how to add fractions and not eat paste. You are paying to live in a place where the people around you can maybe understand complex issues that affect everyone.

And yeah, right now that doesn’t seem to be working. I agree it’s not fair to hook things to property ownership. It’s damn unfair to kids in places with low property values, and it’s an obviously bad idea unless you have a (gross) personal interest in perpetuating class-based inequalities. But I’ve also yet to see a funding issue of ANY kind pass by popular vote. (Up until this year I lived in Colorado.) And I agree something needs to change if we actually want to pursue that golden ideal of producing people who can reason and think critically and address the challenges of the modern world. But starving schools of funding ain’t it, and ignoring the issue ain’t it, and saying it isn’t your problem because you don’t even like kids sure as hell ain’t it. Why do we even keep having this argument?

Maybe because we still haven’t figured out that education isn’t a product, it should be a public good. Maybe because we’re still having more arguments over how much money teachers make than how much money people who get their living off capital gains make. Maybe because we’re more concerned with test scores than actual end results. Maybe because fiddling while Rome burns should be our national pastime, not baseball.

And we’re also still having this same damn argument about how you shouldn’t have to pay for education if you’re childless/childfree. Whether they sprang from your loins or not, whether you like it or not, you will be sharing the world with all of these kids and their ability to think or not will affect you and all other living things on this planet in ways you cannot even begin to imagine.

Education matters, and funding it matters. If you want humans to stop repeating the same stupid mistakes over and over, it matters.

/drops mic

Categories
fandom rants writing

Fanfic < "Real" fiction?

Okay, darlings, I’m getting just a little tired of this shit. Since a thing involving fanfiction happened of course we’re up for another round of arguing about the “worth” of fanfic. Because what is the internet for if not being a long distance dick about things other people like? Well, let Evil Auntie Rachael lay down some fucking truth for you.

First off, define “real” fiction. Unless you’re writing pure history or biographical stories, you are literally making shit up. Define real in that context. I dare you.

Okay, so you mean original fiction? When we’re talking written narrative fiction, I should note that original is a pretty loaded word. Everyone likes to laugh about there only being three (or five, or six, or pick a number) plotlines in the entire world, and it’s really all just about giving it a twist or telling it a new way. Are you telling me fanfiction can’t do that? Even the idea of original characters is a loaded one, since we’ve got archetypal characters for a reason, and you can make a compelling argument for nearly every character belonging to an archetype, with the serial numbers cunningly masked by, say, curly hair and an interest in bowling. (And here, we aren’t even touching the entire issue of licensed tie-in fiction.)

So do you really mean fiction for which someone would potentially pay money? First, please explain to me how assigning monetary value to art makes it more legitimate. Because here I was thinking the true value of art was actually a thing without price, namely the act of creation itself and the idea the art communicates. And second, getting paid for fiction is not that easy. TRUST ME.

But Evil Auntie Rachael, original fiction is better quality than fanfiction. Really? Give me five minutes and Google and I will find you ten fanfics that display more sophisticated writing, better plotting, and deeper characterization than Twilight. Give me a full day and some dramamine, and I bet I can find you ten Twilight fanfics that are better quality than the work upon which they’re based.

The only thing original fiction gets to hold over fanfic in regards to quality is that it’s professionally edited. (IF it’s traditionally published or if it’s self published AND the author coughed up the dough to independently hire a content and line editor.) And sometimes, that doesn’t mean a whole lot. Every single one of us has read a book in our lives where we threw it on the floor in disgust and announced that we could totally do better than that.

Fanfiction is an incredibly valuable tool for learning and honing the craft of writing. I wrote fanfiction for years and years. I know other writers who wrote fanfic for years and years (and most of them have published far more than me). Some of us still do. What fanfiction taught me was how to build a plot, and how to plot long, and stay true to character while I was doing it. Writing fanfic isn’t easier or harder than writing original fiction–it’s the same process, the same parts of your brain.

And you know what? Fanfic is fun. You’re not writing it to a deadline, you’re not thinking about how many fucking times it’s going to be forcibly ejected from a slushpile, or which of your darlings the editor is going to expect you to kill. You’re writing it for the sheer joy of writing something because you like it and you can. God, and the feedback! You have an instant fanbase of people who will actually engage with you about your story! I wrote one short little fic after I saw Thor: The Dark World and in the time since I put it online I have literally received more feedback on it than I have in total for every piece of original work I’ve ever published. It’s like pure black tar heroin for the sad little twitching addict that is a writer’s ego.

Two years ago, I sat in on a panel at Worldcon where two editors from large publishing houses said yeah, they know people in publishing who keep track of fanfiction because it’s a way to find amazing writers. Patrick Nielsen Hayden said:

There is no ceiling on how good fanfic can be because it’s all unpublishable. You can find great writers.

So you can shut the fuck up about the supposed inferiority of fanfiction now.

Oh, and if a published writer has the sheer ego necessary to tell you that all fanfic is creatively inferior and doesn’t count, you tell them to go fuck themselves. Tell ’em from me, too. At the end of the day, we’re all just making shit up.

Categories
fandom rants this shit is fucked up you need to do better

Dear Interviewers: Please Refer to Wheaton’s Law, Re: Fanworks

Wheaton’s Law: Don’t be a dick.

So this happened. It’s just part of a long pattern of interviewers basically trying to embarrass both actors and fan writers/artists by bringing them forcibly together. (See also: people showing Tom Hiddleston pornographic fanart during interviews.) These people are dicks. Dicks of phenomenal magnitude. I’d say they should be ashamed of themselves, but the very fact that they’re doing this kind of bullshit pretty much shows that they have no shame.

This is the thing about being a fan writer or artist: your creative space is implicitly under the radar, made by the creators of the original work willingly turning a blind eye to give fans room to play. I wrote fanfiction for years and years (and still do, to be honest, very occasionally) and for the most part you do so on the understanding that the creators of the original work will never see what you’ve done. You’re writing for yourself, and for other fans. That’s what makes it fun and joyful. It keeps fan communities strong, which for the most part is a good thing, since yay loyal fan base. No one gets hurt (outside of shipping wars casualties), no harm, no foul, everyone is happy.

Now, it’s different if a creator (or actor) asks for fanworks to be sent to them (like the amazing Trollando Jones asking for fanfic!) or if, say, you come up with something beautiful and tasteful and want to send it as a tribute*. It’s also different if someone actually goes looking for work on the internet. It’s the internet. Enter at your own risk.

But this pattern of taking fanwork and shoving it in the face of people involved in the original movie (etc) is beyond gross. It’s mean-spiritedly shitting in someone’s sandbox for the sake of being a dick. And I shouldn’t even have to say that it’s gross to force something embarrassing on unsuspecting people in public, and megagross when it’s pornographic.

And it’s gross to search out fanworks just for the purposes of publicly mocking them. I feel like I hit my head and woke up back in high school, when the mean girls were stealing my notebook and staging dramatic readings of my horrible teen angst poetry. Fuck you for trying to make the act of creation feel unsafe. Fuck you for punishing people for loving something. No, really, fuck you guys.

And for good measure, fuck everyone who thinks what is basically cruelty for the sake of being cruel is funny.

(Don’t be ashamed of your fanfic.)

 

*-I shouldn’t even have to say this, BUT: sending pornographic work to someone who hasn’t asked for it is never, ever okay. Kind of like sending other people pictures of your genitalia is never okay. Same principle. Including someone in your sex life non-consensually is never okay.

Categories
me rants

10 Reasons I Fucking Love My Period

  1. The headache. I know, what could be more fun than bleeding out of the crotch for five days? Doing it while one of your eyeballs feels like it’s going to be forcibly ejected from your skull! It helps you prove you’re a REAL WOMAN by enduring constant pain without losing your temper and snapping the goddamn neck of everyone who tells you to smile because it can’t possibly be that bad. GUESS WHAT MOTHERFUCKERS I AM LEAVING A BLOOD TRAIL THAT A DEAF DUMB AND BLIND SHARK COULD FOLLOW IT IS THAT BAD AND I AM STILL UPRIGHT DO NOT EVEN FUCK WITH ME.
  2. Bloating is FUCKING AWESOME. Severe drought could hit us at any fucking time thanks to all those asshole world governments still refusing to goddamn thing one about global climate change. So you have to be prepared. Well guess what. I’m carrying like FIVE EXTRA POUNDS OF WATER with me. Sure my pants no longer fit but when you’re crawling through the blasted wasteland that used to be river country and pleading for a drop of moisture GUESS WHO WILL BE LAUGHING THEN.
  3. Normally if I want my tits to hurt, I have to go kick my own ass with bench press like other mere mortals. NOT THIS WEEK, THOUGH. OH NO. I get all the boobache I could possibly want, no effort needed. MATCH THAT, FUCKERS.
  4. I smell like blood and that’s how you know I AM NOT EVEN FUCKING AROUND. Sure, this time it’s not the blood of your parents, your kids, and your favorite dog. BUT THAT COULD CHANGE AT ANY MOMENT. [Note: Even if I did not love the smell of salty ruin in the morning, you could not fucking pay me enough to squirt shit that smells like flowers down there, I love my ladyjunk WAY TOO MUCH OH AM I MAKING YOU UNCOMFORTABLE? GOOD.]
  5. Normally a cold ass bitch of my caliber would have to watch a kitten being slowly crushed to death by the weight of societal apathy to even feel so much as a pang of sorrow. But not this week. I GET TO CRY AT FUCKING GUM COMMERCIALS. Emotional release, baby. I get it all out in less than a week and then I’m back to the uncaring gaiety of your average Bond villain for the rest of the month.
  6. Tell you what, I fucking love not being able to take a decent shit for nearly a week. Shitting is for pussies and people who lack conviction.
  7. Cramps are nature’s way of letting you know that you have a fucking pain tolerance that won’t quit because you KNOW if science could even PRODUCE something so badass as the genetic love child of Sylvester Stallone, Bruce Willis, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Chuck Fucking Norris, if that lantern-jawed piece of pure badassery had a uterus trying to turn itself inside out and crawl out of his [hypothetical] vagina, he’d be on the floor begging for a merciful death by corkscrew. BUT US? We just keep going like the fucking zombie Energizer Bunny and maybe, just maybe, slap a heating pad on that shit if it’s particularly bad this month because AIN’T NO ONE GOT TIME FOR THAT.
  8. I GRIND MY TEETH IN MY SLEEP BECAUSE I AM PREPARING TO TEAR OUT THE THROATS OF MY ENEMIES.
  9. Anyone who thinks life gets more fun than shoving a wad of cotton into your vagina like it’s the cork for a champagne bottle of gore has obviously never lived.
  10. The insomnia is fucking awesome, and then the headache so you like can’t even fucking THINK because thinking is that shit limp-wristed intellectuals do shut up and work with me here. Sleep is for people who don’t got shit to do, and my shit to do I mean sharks to hunt down and murder with your bare hands. I KNOW YOU FUCKERS ARE HUNTING ME I CAN FEEL IT AND I AM READY YOU DO NOT EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE FUCKING WITH.
Categories
feminism rants sfwa women in science writing

Lady [Insert Job Title Here]

This may come as a shock, but I am not a “Lady Geologist.” I do not examine women visually and use lab tests in order to understand their physical properties, provenance, and environment of deposition. I have never gone up to a female stranger, hammered a chunk off of her, and sent it to the lab so I could determine the abundance of her constituent minerals. That kind of thing would, I assume, land me in jail.

I’m a Sedimentary Geologist. I commit those sorts of friendly acts on sedimentary rocks, which are mineralogically more interesting and also don’t mind if you take a hammer to them. (Okay maybe they do mind, but they have no legal standing under current US law.)

I would likewise think that “Lady Lawyers” don’t limit themselves to female clients. And “Lady Engineers” don’t spend their time designing more durable women in AutoCAD. And “Lady Writers” (this I can speak to personally) don’t just write women or about women. And “Lady Editors” don’t leave trails of women in their wake, panting and covered with marks made in track changes.

Oh, right. The “Lady” is supposed to indicate that we’re a professional of some sort that happens to be a lady. And what’s wrong with that?

It’s simple. By feeling the need to point out that holy shit, that engineer is a woman, you are paying lip service to the idea that it’s only normal for men to be engineers. That women are the exception instead of just a normal part of the professional landscape. When you append or job titles with the unnecessary flag of gender, it effectively removes us from the work ecosystem and marks us as an invasive species, abnormal and not belonging.

Maybe I could have understood that more back when women were just starting to claw our way as a group out of the role of housewife, but our presence in the workforce hasn’t been a surprise in decades or far longer. (At my ripe old age of 32, I literally do not remember a time when women were not doctors, lawyers, and engineers, though admittedly not without struggle.) It isn’t shocking–SHOCKING!–that women write scifi. You have heard about this little book called Frankenstein, right?

And using the word Lady instead of Woman? Just makes it sound more cutesy and condescending because it’s a callback to all that chivalry bullshit. I’m not a lady, guys. I’m a woman. I’ve yet to hear someone referred to as a Lady Anything when her accomplishments or her gender weren’t then subsequently (if subtly) belittled. Wow, look what she did, and she’s a lady! Look what that lady did, unlike all those other women! Pretending to be amazed over and over again that we are here and working and doing just fine effectively erases our presence in the past.

Do you get what I’m saying? Do you get why I (and many of my fellow women, though please don’t think I am in any way claiming to speak for all women) are getting a little tired of that shit? Do you get why, even if it wasn’t meant to be patronizing or paternalistic, it might sound that way?

Good. Now kindly knock it off.

When I’m at work, I’m a goddamn Sedimentary Geologist. I’m a Writer. The presence or absence of tits does not change either of these facts.

Categories
rants sfwa

Dear Barry Malzberg and Mike Resnick: Fuck you. Signed, Rachael Acks

I still haven’t gotten my SFWA Bulletin 201 and 202, I’m guessing because I moved recently. However, thanks to lovely people who have scanned the newest mailbox-delivered turd shat from the pale, sagging rumps of Malzberg and Resnick, I know about that at least, and have read it.

Gentlemen (and I use that in the same condescending asshole way with which you have again and again applied the word “lady”): fuck you.

The fact that you cheerfully used a right wing radio host epithet (“liberal fascists”) to describe those who disagreed with you on the simple fact that women deserve to be spoken of with the same respect shown to men speaks volumes about your character. We didn’t have to equate you with Rush Limbaugh. You just did it yourselves.

And a word about anonymous criticism. When we bitched about your condescending old white guy bullshit on the SFWA forums, that was not anonymous because each and every one of us was logged in. When we bitched about your condescending old white guy bullshit elsewhere on the internet, it was likewise not anonymous. It was on our blogs and our websites, each of which comes with a name or at least an internet handle attached, which you can figure out easily using a single click of your mouse. You know, if you can stir yourself from your fetid kettle of nostalgia (for the days when women weren’t so uppity, I guess) to put out such a Herculean effort.

We are not censoring you, you poor precious babies who have had your fee-fees hurt by the nasty feminists. We are calling you assholes. There is a subtle but important difference between the two, and one you really ought to figure out if you don’t want to come across sounding like grown men who should know better having a temper tantrum.

Whoops, too late.

No, I’m not going to threaten to resign my SFWA membership; I know the organization carries a hell of a lot of water for writers in my chosen genre. But it’s sure making me wonder at the wisdom of whoever the hell thought giving these two moldering assclowns a platform with the organization’s name on it was a good idea. If I hadn’t already had a lot of positive experiences with the older male membership of the organization, I would honestly be really wondering about that as well, since the attitude Malzberg and Resnick display with such pride belongs in an era that thankfully ended before I was born.

But for fuck’s sake, we’ve gone from fool me once to fool me three times territory in the Bulletin. Enough is enough.

Signed,

Rachael Acks <— which is not pronounced “anonymous”

PS: For the record, my original, non-anonymous complaint about Bulletin 200. Jim Hines has an excellent list of likewise non-anonymous complaints. Ball is in your court, gentlemen. Are you going to Rush Limbaugh it again, or are you going to put on your grown-up pants and stop embarrassing yourselves in public?

Categories
rants this shit is fucked up

Sandy Hook "Truthers"

So yeah. This is apparently an actual thing. (ETA: Oh here. Have some more WTF IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE.)

I need a kitty right fucking now okay.

I mean, I know I shouldn’t be surprised, considering the unceasing plague of 9/11 Truthers and Birthers. Though Birthers (you know, the utter crackpots that are convinced President Obama is secretly foreign) seem relatively less disgusting compared to this.

It’s all the usual question begging bullshit, pattern hunting and being bizarrely startled that coincidences and similarities are things that happen despite the fact that they happen constantly every day of our lives. This just makes me extra angry because it’s a bunch of paranoid nuts dancing on the graves of children, mocking the grief of their families because they’ve convinced themselves that it’s all fake and therefore it is all right to be utterly inhumane to other people.

I need a kitten or I’m going to have an aneurysm, I swear to fucking god.

I think what just pisses me off the most about this is that the entire justification for this conspiracy theory is that the government is going to take all our guns away! The way that straw man has been getting shoved down our throats, we’re all going to be shitting chaff for the next three years.

It’s like the making shit up Olympics – creating a sadistically unfeeling conspiracy out of whole cloth to justify something that no one is even proposing. Oh yeah, and being mean to the grieving father of a murdered little girl because that’s totally okay when you don’t live on the same plane of reality as the rest of us. Hey assholes. If you took off your tinfoil hat for five seconds, maybe you could read our brainwaves and get that we don’t want your fucking guns.

Lookit that adorable kitty, helping with the laundry, and his adorable face. Breathe. Breathe.

Perhaps I speak only for myself, but you know what I do want? I want you to grow the fuck up. I want you to develop some empathy. I want you to leave your basement and get some professional help. I want you to have a grownup conversation with the rest of us instead of making like a seagull and shitting everywhere while shrieking at the top of your lungs.

I want you to realize that the world is a scary place, but the way you can truly make it less scary is to grasp reality with one hand, the rest of humanity with the other, and refuse to let go.

Kitten. Kitten kitten kitten.
Categories
feminism rants things that are hard to write

Stop calling me a "real woman"

Because you know what that implies? Are there really femmebots out there, complete with boob guns that make up the category of “not real” women? Are there girls made out of plastic? Is there a test you have to take, or are there government regulations sort of like they have for beef that mean we get tagged as real women, right next to the stamp stating we’re organic, because hey we’re composed of carbon-containing molecules?

It’s a bullshit term. It always struck me wrong when I went to Lane Bryant and was rewarded with “real woman dollars” for shopping. But the wrongness burst into ugly life when I re-watched the episode of Project Runway where one of the designers is a giant toolbag to a plus-size lady. The utter patronizing tone in which its delivered and that it’s obvious he’s using it in place of “fat” because he’s trying to weasel out of being eviscerated for being an asshole is even more insulting.

You’re not fooling anyone. We shouldn’t need some kind of smirking consolation prize for wearing clothing that’s bigger than a 16. We already know we’re real. We exist. It’s a sad disguise for the fact that often plus-size clothing feels like cultural punishment by setting set us in an adversarial position to women who wear “normal” sizes. Perhaps if we’re too busy trying to look down our noses at each other, we’ll miss the evil truth that we’re being compelled to attack people who should be our allies in this struggle, divided falsely along superficial lines.

Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe it’s just a pathetic attempt to make us feel better about ourselves. Hey, you’re large and are apparently considered unworthy to wear anything other than black smocks (it’s slimming, you know) but you’re a real woman. As if realness is determined by mass rather than an authenticity of spirit. 

Being a woman isn’t a contest that some of us have to lose. There is a full spectrum of women to which we all belong, an infinite continuum of what it means to “look like a woman,” and no part of that spectrum should be defined as inherently superior. Doing that (and then gleefully jumping over a cliff with the invention of photoshop) is what got us into this mess in the first place.

I’m tired of the implication that my struggle to accept myself has to come at the detriment of other women.

Real women are fat. Real women are thin. Real women come in all colors and shapes and identities, and sometimes we have curves, and sometimes we don’t but damnit we’re all real women.

And we’re all really beautiful.

Categories
cycling rants

It’s my road too.

Dear person who honked at me:

Look, a car horn isn’t really the best communication medium there is. I guess we could try morse code, or set phrases like the general 10-codes, but outside of that I don’t really know what you’re trying to tell me. Of course, I have some guesses.

Maybe you’re trying to tell me that you think I should be on the sidewalk. Funny thing is, that’s actually illegal in a lot of places. Bicycles are considered vehicles and as such, we’re supposed to be in the street. And moreso, people like me who regularly commute via bicycle tend to cruise along at 20+ mph when we get going. I don’t want to collide with a child or a family pet when going that kind of speed. It wouldn’t end well for anyone.

So nothing personal, but I don’t know you well enough to be willing to break the law for you, grievously injure someone’s kid, or put myself in the hospital.

Maybe you’re trying to share with me that you’re really annoyed there’s a bottleneck where cars can’t go zooming around me, an I’m impeding your progress by up to thirty seconds. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t have much sympathy for that. You can make up time a lot better than I can with just my quads and a couple of wheels to power me along.

Maybe you’re trying to tell me that you saw another cyclist do Terribly Assholish Thing X, and you now hate all cyclists. Look, I’m sorry that someone was a jerk to you, but that doesn’t mean I’m a jerk or deserve to be punished for their mistakes. When I was little, a dog bit me on the face. I still have a scar. But you don’t see me going around and being mean to every dog I meet because I got the crap scared out of me once.

Maybe you’re trying to tell me that you don’t want to share the road with me. Tough shit, it’s my road too.

Maybe you’re trying to share the important information that your car is equipped with a horn. Well, that’s nice to know. Good for you. 

But this is the thing. When you honk at me, I can’t hear any of that nuance. All I get out of it is: Just wanted you to know, I’m an asshole.

Hope that’s what you were trying to convey.

Categories
fitness for fat nerds rants things that are hard to write

Losing weight sucks

I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while, but I’ve been putting it off. It’s tough to write. Anything about weight and self-image and societal bullshit is kind of destined to be.

Over the last two years and three months, I’ve lost about 75 pounds, going from 270 to 195. I’m now back down to what I weighed as a sophomore in high school, before I started training as a powerlifter. The reason I decided to try to lose weight (and keep trying) is because there’s a lot of type II diabetes in my family, and I want to dodge that bullet.

I tell you this not as some kind of brag line, or because I’m looking for congratulations, but because I feel that it lends meaning to the point of this post. I lost 75 pounds. I generally feel healthier as a person. And I would never in a million years get on someone else’s back and tell them they are in some way obligated do what I’ve done.

Losing weight sucks. It sucks a lot. It can be utterly soul-destroying, and it’s self-inflicted.

There’s this narrative that all us fat nerds know. It says that we must be fat because we’re lazy. Because there is something fundamentally wrong with us. Because we’re greedy. Because we’re gross and lack the willpower to resist evil, sinful things like that piece of cake. It’s our fault, and we deserve to be summarily judged by perfect strangers simply because of how we look.

After 75 pounds, I hate that narrative more than ever. I hate that people assume I must be significantly more physically fit now than I was 40 pounds ago. I hate that outside of my immediate circle of friends and family, the news that I weigh less than I used to is greeted with far more enthusiastic congratulations than the fact that I’ve published stories in professional magazines. The latter normally gets a, “Hey, that’s cool.” The former receives the kind of approbation I’d expect if I’d just fucking cured cancer.

I hate that I can’t write about this without crying.

Losing weight sucks.

Anyone who tells you that losing weight is easy is lying to you. They’re trying to sell you something, or they’re trying to make you feel like shit because they’re an asshole.

Between cardio activity and weights, I’ve probably spent 15-20 hours per week on physical activities in the last two years. It’s like a part-time job. I write down everything I eat. Everything. And then I count the calories and wish I could have a beer, but not today.

I know I’m lucky. I have that kind of time I can invest into physical activity. I also know that my 15-20 hours a week is nothing compared to the time invested by people who are professionally good-looking. You know, the people we constantly get told we should look like, as if they are the true norm. There are a lot of people out there who literally do not have that kind of time; they have multiple jobs, they have kids, they have responsibilities that don’t let them go ride around on their bicycle for two hours a night. And there are also people who just would rather spend their time doing something else, and I sure can’t blame them for that. The only reason I’ve managed to keep doing it is because I like biking and kung fu.

I hate writing down everything I eat. I hate counting calories. I can’t blame anyone who doesn’t want to put themselves through that either. I don’t feel like I have a right to demand that my fellow human beings are miserable. I could probably lose weight faster, but I’m human, and there are days where I decide that if I get hit by a bus tomorrow, I don’t want to die regretting the fact that I didn’t try the red velvet cake. If anyone has a problem with that, they’re welcome to fuck themselves.

Losing weight sucks.

This is the part that sucks the most: it doesn’t magically make you love yourself. You still look in the mirror and hate the same things about yourself that you hated 20, 40, 70 pounds ago. Losing weight is a slow motion process of punctuated equilibrium. You don’t even realize anything has changed about your body until you look at old pictures. Maybe then you can feel like there’s been some kind of improvement (however you judge that) but then it’s back to the same you in the same mirror and the million things you wish were just different.

If I just lose some weight then I’ll… is one of the dumbest phrases ever spoken. It’s a lie, and an excuse. If you’re not brave enough to do something now, you won’t be when you weigh less.

Because there’s still all the shit in your head, years upon years of the world teaching you to hate yourself, and that’s harder to lose than every spare pound you have.