I have an interesting relationship with my opinions. The combination of “changing my mind all the time” and “the speed and access of the internet” usually means that before I’ve even had time to formulate a response to something, my hands are gliding across the keyboard like a demented piano player. Opinions are like arseholes, right? Every one has one, right? The problem with opinions is that I’ll usually read over what I wrote the night before and cringe, my finger hovering over the delete button. Recently I’ve been constantly second-guessing myself and worse – apologising! “Yeah, I guess I feel this way, but I’m probably wrong… I mean, I’m sorry if I offended anyone.” Occasionally I am scared of the internet. But an opinion is like an STD or a misdirected text message; once you have one you just have to deal with it.
These are opinions that I sometimes feel bad/guilty/embarrassed about, but I am glad I have them. No shame.
I Don’t Care If You Don’t Think I’m Fat
I’m a size 12, but added with beer and internalised body issues, of course I fucking think I’m fat. Whenever I gain weight I am seized by a paralyzing, overwhelming fear that I am pregnant, and if you were in the shower with me at those times you might insist I get myself checked out.
I don’t mind thinking I’m fat because this means I am slowly taking steps towards not having that third doughnut. I’m not dreaming of the unobtainable; I remember the feeling of being thin and how better, powerful and self-appreciating I felt.
I try not to complain too much about my weight outside of my home, but when I do mention that I’m feeling bloated everyone scoffs and tells me I’m being ridiculous. People can look a lot different without clothes on, y’know, and it’s fairly obvious I don’t own anything that is bodycon. Everyone has their own comfort level and personal opinion on what is acceptable and this isn’t it for me.
I Don’t Care If I Turn Into A Crazy Cat Lady
I’m already there, man! I am one of those people who legitimately feel like her cats are different to other cats; that they are more intelligent, or we have a better bond, or they actually understand me. My kitten sits on the end of the bath when I shower and he keeps me company by laying on my neck like a scarf when I’m in bed doing my unemployed thing. Most of my photos on my phone are from my cats rather than mad nights out. I talk about my cats in almost every drunken conversation I have, usually about something insanely cute they have done. I invite people over to my home solely to meet my cats. If you don’t think cats are great, I don’t understand you.
I Don’t Care About My Stupid Promiscuous Past
After one horrible emotionally-scarring unwanted encounter and a disastrous relationship with a boy who threatened to slit my throat, I had a lot to prove at university. And you know what happens when you have something to prove at university. For two years I didn’t really care if I lived or died, and anything I could go to feel alive was a nice distraction from my other issues. University was weird, like there was this strange badge of pride that came with kissing a large number of people. It makes me feel uneasy now, which I guess means I’m cured or something.
When I’ve started seeing someone and there was no chemistry or it was boring, I broke it off. Sorry, from the age of eighteen I wasn’t in a five year relationship where everything was sensible and we lived together and planned for the future and shit. I didn’t do it that way but I don’t mind, because my walk of shames, terrible arguments and various crap experiences have made me feel absolutely incredible about being in a great relationship. I feel like I can appreciate it better because I have a library full of comparison. It’s really nice to be in a relationship where I no longed have to present a slightly different, low-key version of myself. It’s nice to be accepted and appreciated. Shame is pretty powerful and men can be really judgmental about a girl who has… gasp, been with other people. Neanderthals.
I Don’t Care That Some Of My Friends Think I Am “The Internet Girl”
The internet is hip now, rejoice! It didn’t used to be like that though and some of my classmates thought I was proper weird for having a Livejournal or that I learnt HTML to make my own website. Even now friends will ask me questions about computers, thinking I must know a lot of things simply because I tweet a lot. Really though, I don’t know anything. It used to annoy me, because who wants to be Internet Girl when you can be Intelligent Girl, Beautiful Girl or I-Threw-Myself-Out-Of-A-Plane Actively-Loving-Nature Girl? I’d rather climb a tree but I have no upper body strength so instead I talk to people on the internet about how terrible my tree climbing abilities are. I’ve known some people from the internet for ten years, and I’ve met some die-hard Have I Got News For You fans at a Livejournal Meetup. I am cool, yo, and I don’t care.
I Don’t Care That Family Is More Important To Me That A Career
I am a feminist, and part of feminism is allowing women to decide for themselves how they want to live their lives. A family… I never used to feel like this. Sometimes I feel bad, like I should be wearing a business suit, doing it for the sisterhood. The other day I realised that as a teenager I assumed I would be financially-but-not-emotionally ready for something like a baby, but ironically it’s the other way round. I can think of a few events in my life that could account for this spectacular 180, but I never believed that you could actually feel broody, that you could feel yourself ache, that it affected you on a deep level. Great.
When I talk to people about my priorities though, the general opinion is like “urgh, why?” Babies mean you can’t get hammered any more, but I’ve had plenty of that already. “What about your career?” What bloody about it? Maybe it’s the hardened In Possession of an Empty Bank Balance attitude about me, but I’m starting to understand why my teenage cousins skipped the job and went straight to newborn heaven. In this economy, it’s hard to keep track of what you’re aiming for.
I also don’t care if you want to smoke, if you want an abortion or an assisted suicide. I don’t care if you think I’m strange for hating avocados or wooden spoons. I don’t care if you don’t like me, because it gives me something to talk about. I don’t care if I bake something and it turns out badly because I made it with love. I don’t care if you can’t believe I’ve never played Risk, just buy a board and I’ll play it with you.
I guess I don’t care about a lot of things. Huh.
