Randy makes me listen to new music all the time.
All. The. Time.
I always drag my feet. I want to listen to my usual music. He knows what I like. He either takes the bold approach and makes a play list of all new stuff and risks listening to me bitch about him never picking music I like or he sneaks some new tracks in between songs I like (or songs he thinks I like…he’s not always right).
As much as I bitch about listening to new music, it’s the reason why I love The Handsome Family and Ray Wylie Hubbard and The Jet Blackberries. These acts have long since gone from new music to music he knows I love and should just be on the play list to begin with.
Please note: The music doesn’t have to be new music to be new to me music.
Randy recently turned me on to Courtney Barnett and I am currently in love with her song Avant Gardener.
I was completely fascinated with the line ‘I’m not that good at breathing in’.
Perfect. I suck at breathing in.
I’m great at holding my breath and scrunching my shoulders up around my ears and keeping my elbows pressed into my rib cage. I am the queen of never taking a deep breath.
When I think about the bills I have to pay.
When I think about being one major car away from not being to pay those bills.
Let’s not even think about what we he have planned for retirement. Our current plan is to worry about it later.
When I think about still having years and years and years in a cubicle ahead of me.
Those are the times when I’m not that good at breathing in.
I had one of those moments this morning when Randy and I were on our way to the grocery. It occurred to me how very horrifying it would be if the contents of the photo gallery on my phone were made public.
It’s not dick pics. I have never photographed a penis before and if I did, it was on polaroids and no way anyone could ever prove that anyway.
It’s not filled with photographs of top secret documents that prove I am not really a computer programmer, but an international spy.
It’s filled with something so much worse. I don’t even want to say.
I have a few series of selfies on my phone…where I tried over and over to get an image that didn’t make me cringe so my phone is filled with pictures of me that do make me cringe.
I swear I only did it twice.
Maybe 3 times.
The fact that I’m not that good at breathing in when I think of the pictures on my phone means that I’m still in the infancy of accepting myself. I’m working so hard on this. I’m catching that negative self talk all the time. I even put myself in a situation recently where I might have to deal with rejection.
This is how I tried responding to myself:
It’s my goddamn phone. I can take as many pictures of myself and store them on my phone if I want to. Who gives a fuck if anyone sees them. They already know what I look like.
On the other hand, some of those pictures are fucking horrible, y’all.
Oh, and for those of you who asked about the link to the blog where I have a guest post, here it is. Thanks so much to Carla Birnberg for featuring me on her blog.