Schmutzie's Top 10 Blog Entries of 2014
One of the hardest things I've had to learn over the last few years is that the most important parts of any life or story do not necessarily lie in the beginnings or the endings but in the middles, because, in truth, there are no beginnings or endings. Our stories are made up of middles, from beginning to end.
The fear of loneliness that had been part of my set of excuses to keep myself glued to pub benches for twenty years was unfounded. It wasn't the loneliness, it was me that I feared, and I wasn't nearly as monstrous as I had presumed.
Our aim here is to make the internet a better place. We only come to you out of our interest in elevating public discourse and its guiding ethics so that you do not continue to jeopardize your reputation, the lives of your children, and good taste as we know it.
It seems like a brave and wild thing to imagine saying I write without fear, but I don't know that I ever want to say that. I want to write with thoughtfulness and compassion… I want a bit of fear to reign in and guide the decisions I make, to act as a natural warning bell when I move into awkward territory.
June: Chillin' Out Maxin' Relaxin' All Cool: There Once Was A Middle Class, Suburban, Capitalist Romance…
At 40, it suddenly occurred to me that I likely knew very little to nothing at all, and I've spent the last year-and-a-half waffling between panicking about how much I don't know and feeling relieved of the weight of having to know everything.
…the stewardess, to whom I will refer as Hot Stewardess*, leaned lightly against me while she poured my diet coke. I noticed the texture of the skin on her arm and how soft her elbow looked, and I swear it was dusted with sun and fresh babies. I imagined that her elbow smelled of pears or freesias or whatever sugary nature sex scent is in right now.
September: Miracles Can Show Up On The Heads Of Little Brothers In Suburban Basements. It's True. It Happened In 1983.
I imagined that he fell down a hole, any old hole, and couldn't get out… I thought that if he got hit by a car just a little bit… he could break his leg and be stuck on the couch in our basement with his limb elevated, poor dear.
September: My Body As A Symbol
I looked at my body and frowned this morning. I do this on a lot of mornings.
It's not what I expect, anymore, although I can't pin down a time in my life when I did expect it.
And then it hit me, as it often does, that this isn't about whether I find my body attractive
In the rush to shame and demonize Lena Dunham for allegedly inappropriate childhood actions, people have forgotten not only simple logic but the basics of female reproductive anatomy. It's a real mess out there…
Shoring up a reserve of occasional visits over bad food is a terrible singular reason to make babies, which is why I didn't do it, but now I get to live with this very real idea that I might die alone. It's a weird thought.
I also have a Best Of page chronicling my best posts back to 2004, if you'd like to do more digging around through my archives.