What If


There’s a possibility that drifts past me, not quite making contact, not quite settling on me. It causes a slight lightening of the spirit but feels dangerous, like hope.

“What if I’m OK?”

If I could say to myself, “You are.” What a relief that would be. How much extra energy and time I would have. How much unconditional joy I would have.

The thing is, if you were to come to me and say, “What if I’m OK?”

I would say, promptly, “You are.”

But you are. The hang-ups and insecurities you have, I don’t understand. You are beautiful and kind, you are brave and smart. You are a survivor. Every day you make it. You are still standing, smiling, laughing, studying, thinking, loving.

I’m not letting you off the hook. There just is no hook. Don’t be mean, that’s all I expect from other people. If you can stand up in this harsh and difficult world and not be mean, you are more than OK in my book. You are a marvel of humanity.

But from me, oh the expectations. The list is long and growing. The constant lengthening of the list is a promise to myself. “You will never be OK.”

If I was smart, I would ask myself, “Self, when I do all this, what can I have?”
Cornered, my self will be forced to laugh a little slyly, and respond, “Have? Well nothing. There are other pages under that one, silly.”

This isn’t self-loathing or even self-pity. It is just something I don’t know how to release. It’s not like I’m interested in perfection. It’s not like I don’t know how little success with my list means to other people. It just is. It’s my hook. I’m not OK. Or Not OK enough for myself. I should work on that.

I’ll add it to my list.

It’s Time to Cut the Crap

living a lie

We are all living a lie, and I’m not going to be quiet about it any more. This week, I was asked to do something unconscionable, and I wasn’t alone. Everyone in the U.S., except the residents of Arizona, is complicit.

We unquestioningly moved our clocks forward and handed a precious hour of sleep over to some dated convention. Something about crops and light conservation — look, I don’t know, I’m tired, don’t bug me about the facts.

For those of you saying, “Oh, but we’ll get it back in the fall!” Piss off. I don’t want it back in the fall, I want it now. I want that hour and all the other ones I’ve given up over the years.

I am not a morning person. The fact that so much grown-up life stuff happens in the morning is, in my estimation, one of the biggest bummers of adulthood. I work in an office, and we have electricy, folks! I don’t need to be up with the sun. On the list of things that make it sucky for me to be an adult, it easily beats menstruation and the fact that candy is unhealthy. (It ties with the rescinding of summer vacation; holy hell was I unprepared for that.)

“Oh, but mornings are beautiful,” you might say. (Who are you, anyway? Why do you keep interrupting my blog post? Crazy morning person.) Look, I’ll admit the fresh, cool air and the sun’s golden glow sparkling on dewy blades of grass is lovely, but only when experienced rarely, once a year or so…ideally when I’m on my way back to bed.

It already should be illegal for me to operate heavy machinery (like a Scion) without proper caffeination. I should have one of those breathalyzers that won’t let me start my car until I’ve blown at least a 3.0 blood caffeine level (or whatever my safe minimum is determined to be). And now I have to start an hour earlier? This is a safety issue.


If time is arbitrary, as this sadistic convention suggests, why can’t those of us who aren’t morning people set our clocks back a couple of hours and call “morning” that glorious time when the sun is in the dead center of the sky? “Look at that beautiful sunrose,” we might be heard to say, shading our eyes against the glare.

You morning people can make it whatever time you want. It can be like time zones for individuals. We already do it for you lazy Californians who don’t get up until 3 hours after those of us on the East Coast.

I’ll get a petition going first thing in the morning: 9 A.M. Night-Owl Time (Noon Morning-Person Time)

Now, for putting up with my rant, I give you:

Coffee Porn

Source: Imgur





This one has muffins


Consent: Not actually that complicated

Every person needs to read this, because this actually is a problem.

rockstar dinosaur pirate princess

http://kaffysmaffy.tumblr.com/post/780535517 http://kaffysmaffy.tumblr.com/post/780535517

A short one today as my life is currently very complicated and conspiring against my preference to spend all of my days working out what to blog. But do you know what isn’t complicated?


It’s been much discussed recently; what with college campuses bringing in Affirmative Consent rules, and with the film of the book that managed to make lack of consent look sexy raking it in at the box office. You may not know this, but in the UK we more or less have something similar to ‘affirmative consent’ already. It’s how Ched Evans was convicted while his co-defendant was not – and is along the lines of whether the defendant had a reasonable belief that the alleged victim consented. From the court documents it appears that while the jury felt that it was reasonable to believe that the victim had consented to intercourse with the co-defendant, it…

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I should be writing, but…

This is so me, I can’t even handle it. 🙂

The Hedgeblog


I just need to get a snack; the right snack.

My feet are cold. Just getting a hot water bottle.

Facebook; oooh, friend request!

Coffee…forgot the coffee.

Drat! Forgot to charge laptop. Charging…10%…11%….

Sitting down. Charged. Warm. Fed. Coffee.

Drrrrrrrrriiiiiiiing! Doorbell.

Packet received, signed for. Ready…

You Tube. Hey, new Hozier track, cool!

Facebook. Been tagged. Minions…cuuuuuute!

Right! No excuses. Begin!!!

Gone blank.


Dedicated to all writers, everywhere.

The Hedgehog x

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