antidepressants. Also, Descartes is still a jerk.

The chemical structure of venlafaxine (Effexor), an SNRI (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So today I refilled my antidepressants. Several days before they actually run out, natch. Usually when I do this, I will tell my Mom and/or husband that I picked up my "happy pills" or my "anti-crazy pills". However, thanks to several recent blog posts, I've started thinking about why I refer to them that way and whether or not I should.
Apparently, there has been a new entry in the Associated Press Stylebook about how to communicate about and define mental illness. I'm going to go on record as saying this is good. Basically, it says "Hey, maybe don't attribute absolutely everything you don't understand to mental illness, hmmmm?".

FINALLY!

AP Stylebook, 2004 edition (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This has been a long time coming, to say the least. Every time I hear this in the media or from the people around me, I cringe and wonder how long it is until I'm locked up. Even those who should know better, who should have adjusted to this concept as part of their profession, will act awkward or will callously dismiss something they don't understand as "That's CRAZY!".
 I hear it when I talk to insurance people on the phone when I'm getting no insurance. As they ask me what should surely be routine questions by now, there is a condescension in their voice, as if they are talking to a small child or someone who doesn't fully understand their own condition. As if I might flip out at any moment and slit my wrists as we speak. I see it in how the pharmacist won't meet my eyes when I pick up my meds, how they ask me hesitantly if I have any questions about the medication. This isn't my first rodeo, people. I've been taking these for 8 years now. This is just another errand on my long to-do list. Even if this was my first time picking up my meds, if this was all new to me, I don't think your demeanour would be helpful.

The Madhouse (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I used to work at a facility for teenagers with serious emotional problems. Many of my coworkers made disparaging remarks about the youth in our care, even after a ridiculous amount of training meant to teach us how to deal sensitively and considerately with such things. I'd like to say that they didn't say such things in front of the children, but that's not true. A lot of these comments centred around self-harming behaviors, such as cutting. No matter how many sessions we intended that were meant to educate us on better understanding these behaviours and how to approach them, my coworkers would inevitably say "That's just crazy! Anyone who does that must be sick." etc. They didn't know that I was listening, that they made me feel ashamed of my own self-harm, that I was horrified that those who were well-educated in these matters, who were supposed to be helping the kids dealing with these problems, were instead disgusted by them. Worse, they seemed to feel that it was perfectly okay to feel and act this way and that it was, in fact, the only reasonable reaction.

U.S. Library of Congress DIX, DOROTHEA LYNDE. Retouched photograph. date found on item. Location: Biographical File Reproduction Number: LC-USZ62-9797 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But the fact is, I do it too. Maybe not as maliciously, maybe not as obviously, but I do. I call people 'insane'. I call courses of action 'insane'. I call myself 'insane'. I usually do it in a joking manner, but does that really excuse it? I, of all people, should know that mental illness is not a joke. Does making it a joke make it easier for me, a person who truly does question my own sanity at times? Does it make it less scary, less intimidating? Maybe. But it also gives other people permission to not take mental illness seriously. And maybe that's what I want. Maybe admitting to other people that I'm scared is, well, scary. Maybe it's just too much trouble to try to explain myself and the things I struggle with and to correct the many misconceptions people have. Maybe I don't want to see that panicked look of pity on their face...again.
We fear what we don't understand, right? So I guess it's easier to just dismiss anything we don't understand as the result of a broken mind. And many people's minds are broken. But not beyond repair. Like I said, I do it too. Maybe in a smaller way, but I do. When it is late at night and my husband is delirious with sleep, talking in a silly voice, I tell him he's crazy. Why? Because I don't understand what he's saying. And then we giggle and go to bed(maybe). But maybe my doing that makes it easier for other people to do that too, in a bigger way. Like my coworkers who didn't understand why someone would self harm, and therefore assumed that anyone who would do so was a lunatic. Despite much information to the contrary, they wouldn't even think about the possibility that it was a (maladaptive) coping mechanism. It was much easier to generalise, slap a label on it, and put it out of their mind, content in their own superiority because THEY weren't crazy.

English: Jericho House Long stay care for adults with mental illness and /or alcohol dependence (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

By making a joke about mental illness, we also relegate it to the fringes, to the stuff of fiction. It's a plot device, something that happens in movies and television shows, or in distant news stories. It's not something that the person next door, the person across the desk, the runner next to you, or your best friend could possibly be dealing with. It's outside your monkeysphere, so you couldn't possibly be hurting anyone you KNOW with your comments.
But you are. When I started to realise that I might have clinical depression, I was incredibly reluctant to admit it. Why? I didn't want to be labelled. I didn't want to be carted off to an institution. I didn't want anyone cramming pills down my throat. I was afraid to even talk to anyone about it. I was afraid to go to therapy. I was afraid to even try antidepressants, because I thought they would make me a zombie. This was all due to misconceptions spread by the media and by ignorant people running their mouths. I was also afraid of stigma. I was afraid that I would become nothing more than a diagnosis to the people I knew and loved, who I hoped loved me. I was afraid I would be defined by my depression. That I would become a thing, to be hidden away and talked about in hushed voices. At one point, I was afraid that I WAS nothing more than the depression, that there was no more of the real me left, that perhaps the real me had never existed at all. The disease eroded my soul. Antidepressants gave me, as my husband so eloquently says "the freedom to by myself" again.
But that may never have happened if I had allowed the stigma to be an insurmountable obstacle. People who are already hurting don't need further obstacles in the way of getting better. The disease itself is enough of an obstacle already. People with mental illness are not acceptable targets for anyone's jokes or disdain. Their struggles should not be trivialised.
Unfortunately, what we say starts with what is in our heart. Luke 6:45 says ^"The good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks." But I think it's also a cyclical thing. I think that what we hear and what we say can change our hearts and that then saying the right thing will come easier and more naturally. So I want to start by watching what I say. I want to speak words that make others feel accepted, relaxed, and welcome. After all, as Amy Simpson points out in her her.meneutics article (which inspired this post), Proverbs 16:24 tells us "Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body."

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Freitag

The Art of Manliness (Photo credit: Chandra Marsono)

It's been a nice evening at home. We've been far too busy, so it was good to kick back and relax with very little pressure to be anywhere at a certain time or whatever. The kids at my job were squabbling like crazy today, but I did enjoy playing catch with the elder in the front yard and chatting with him one-on-one a bit. I'm definitely going to miss them this summer.
So house-hunting with my husband is hilarious. One of the realtors emailed us a 'buyer survey' so they could better meet our home needs or whatever. I humored them and filled it out. One of the questions was "What do you definitely not want in your house?". Our answers included "a lady living under the sink" and "feral children in the walls". In other news, he has been incredibly patient with me and my anxiety and snappiness this week. He's supposed to be writing me a love letter as part of the 30 Days to a Better Man series from the Art of Manliness website and I have to admit that I'm not giving him a lot of material lately.
My Mom is coming for Mother's day tomorrow and we are going to see a children's rock band (as in a rock band whose members are children, not a rock band whose music is targeted to children) perform the Best of the 80s! It should be fun. I love how my Mom is easygoing and open to new things.

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Like the Ceiling Can't Hold Us

Macklemore (Photo credit: Alpine425)

I made my bed this morning with Macklemore's "Can't Hold Us" going through my head. This may not seem very glamorous to you, but I want to take pleasure in the mundane things, or at least in mundane things that are a means to an end. What is that end, you ask? That end is having my house in order so I can go forth into the world and give 100% where I'm needed. The line

"Looking for a better way to get up out of bed
Instead of getting on the Internet and checking a new hit me"

has especially stuck with me. I plan on consuming less and creating more in the coming days, becoming a woman of action. 

Our run was canceled this weekend due to flash flooding. I'm a little disappointed but I truly think it was a Godsend since we've been crazy busy for the last month. Instead we had a wonderful time hanging out with my Mom and my brother, goofing off in the hotel room, playing silly songs for each other, going to see Iron Man 3, and eating at Panera Bread.
So last week I also found out that the family for which I currently work as a nanny wants me back next year. I am so happy! The boys I care for are amazing kids and I am really going to miss them over the summer. Financial stability is nice, (especially as my husband and I are trying to start a family ourselves) but I am mostly happy that I get to work with these creative kids again!

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Kamikaze

Five Iron Frenzy 2: Electric Boogaloo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It would be easy to be bitter about this. And I have been bitter. I have been cynical and angry and built up walls. I have stopped myself before I even started. About two weeks ago, at the monthly womens' ministry meeting, I stood up and read part of Five Iron Frenzy's song "Kamikaze".

i am so slow to commit 

i have wasted years on fences  

is is really true the shoes don't fit?  

is it only my defenses?  

what if i don't measure up,  

don't listen well, don't smile enough?

I've never entirely understood what made me a target, even as far back as preschool. One of my earliest fuzzy memories is of being slapped by a girl at her birthday party, back when you were obligated to invite everyone in your class. I'm not sure what I did to anger her, though I suspect that it was insisting on being included in an activity from which the majority had decided to exclude me. 

One of my best friends, who lives in another country and was a bully herself back in the day, acknowledges that friendship can be incredibly awkward. The fact that we can discuss that and most anything else is one of the reasons she IS one of my closest friends. 

Perfectionism is my enemy in all areas, including friendship. In some cases, I think female friendship is just as, if not more, idealized as romantic relationships. We expect it to come easy, with a prepackaged group of friends who are all equally close to one another and who will always stay in touch. We expect to experience the defining moments of our lives with them. We expect them to defend us and know us perfectly and give us epiphanies. 

But most of the time, I don't think it's like that. Sure there are exceptions, but they're exactly that: exceptions. When we expect perfection, we give up too easily. We get angry. We stop taking chances. We get cynical and wall ourselves off from the rest of the world. But when we do that, we're wasting our time. To go through life like a zombie, dead and hollow, is pointless.  

We're all scared. Scared to open up and be rejected. And we will be rejected. We will be betrayed. We will be abandoned and dismissed and ignored. I guarantee it. Even animals will eventually die and leave you heartbroken. Which is why we are slow to commit to anything, especially when there are setbacks. It's easier and safer to hang back, constantly weighing our options, not rushing into anything. There is a place and a time for all of these things. But eventually they just become excuses. 

There is also a place and a time for distractions, for jokes and movies and games. But they can become too distracting, they can keep our relationships surface and safe, giving us the illusion of real relationships. 

We are also afraid of not measuring up, of not being what people want us to be, what they expect us to be. It is exhausting to constantly try to figure out what people want and become that. I constantly question whether people genuinely want to be around me or if they are just being nice. I assume that I am little more than an annoyance. The past and the present both wound me. The awkwardness makes my skin crawl and makes me want to run home and hide under the covers sometimes. I often question why I bothered to come to a social event or plan one. 

English: Zombie walk in Pittsburgh (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But I think it's worth it. Because I don't want to be a zombie (except at zombie walk). I've tried that and it was draining. I want to keep taking risks. Even if I'm disappointed, even if I'm hurt. Even if I cry and feel like taking scissors to my arms. Because some days I laugh about scandalous ankles, some days I have friends over for dinner, some days I get surprise birthday presents. And because the very act of loving one another, makes us better, makes us alive. 

I'm going in, like a kamikaze. 3,2,1 I'm going in.

  

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Control

English: Marriage Portrait of a Husband and Wife of the Lossy de Wariné Family, oil on panel painting by Gerard Donck (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I bragged on my husband in church this past Sunday. I was a bit surprised by the reaction, which is not as positive as I might have hoped. As some of you know, I married my college sweetheart a year and five months ago. I feel like it is strange to say this in our culture, but there is honestly nothing I dislike about being married. My husband is truly amazing. If that makes you nauseous, feel free to move on to another blog or perhaps FML.
He is a hard worker who continued to work at a job he disliked in order to provide for us. He insists on carrying the heavier groceries up to our second floor apartment. He is willing to accept disagreement with his decisions, re-evaluate them, and make sure I am at peace with them before we proceed.
His insights often surprise me, such as last night when we were sharing our testimony with some of the church elders. One of them asked my husband to explain the gospel to him as if he was a lost person. When my husband did so, the elder jokingly said, "I'm lost, that sounds crazy!" My husband responded immediately, "It is! It's crazy true!" and I filled with pride.
My husband is up for whatever crazy adventure I concoct. He is patient and selfless and never demanding when it comes to physical affection.

However, as I continue to read more feminist writings, I find an incredibly saddening view of marriage. A few nights ago, a friend I greatly respect linked me to I Want A Wife, an essay by Judy Brady (then Judy Syfers). I found several things about the piece troubling, first of all the assumption that when a couple divorces, the child will, of course, go with the wife. Also, that a man would go looking for another wife so soon, as if she is an appliance to be replaced. The author mentions that she, too, would like a wife.

I warn you that this is my personal perspective and no one else's. Anyway. I thought for a moment. Would I like a wife.

NO.

The truth is, I don't particularly like women. I make exceptions, of course, but they are not the species with which I feel most comfortable and relaxed, so frankly, having to live with one 24/7 does not sound appealing. I can barely live with myself. However, Syfers supplies some pretty specific reasons on why she would want a wife. One of those reasons is that she would like to go back to school. Would I like to go back to school? Not really. I mean, if I get the opportunity to do so, that's awesome. I have given some thought to what I might major in if I should go back to school, and even checked out some places nearby that offer what I want, but it's just not really feasible right now. There are other things in my life that are more important and it's not really essential to my happiness or anything. That said, I've been pretty burned out on formal education for a while now and that may have something to do with that. Still, I don't feel like it's not an option for me. I know that if I really wanted and insisted on it that T and I would find a way to make it happen. In fact, when I was in school, he was one of my biggest encouragers, surpassed only by my own Mom. When I didn't want to go to class or do my homework, he was the one who told me I needed to do so, who reminded me of my goals. I have never felt stifled by him at all.

I Like Adoption

Into Thy Calm: My Almost Atheism (the confession of an orthodox r...

Into Thy Calm: My Almost Atheism (the confession of an orthodox r...: "He is despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. [...] Yet it pleased the Lord to bruise Him; He has p...

A Pruned Life

I have been thinking a lot about priorities lately and how to simplify my life. I need to take better care of my cat. That ties nicely into decluttering my apartment, since having lots of random crap laying around isn't very good for him. There is too much that he could get into. I've been doing better with home maintenance. Most days I at least get the dishes done. However, I want my home to be cozy and welcoming to others. I want it to be a ministry. I remember how at home I felt at the home of my youth pastor and his wife when I was younger and I want to be able to provide that to others now.

English: Pruned Holly A closer view of the pruned tree 1128589 in Vernon Park, Stockport. The burrs produced will make it interesting wood for turning when it reaches the end of its life. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was blessed that a friend made time in her busy schedule to have breakfast with me on Friday. We talked of people who get dogs when they can't take care of the one they already have, about terrible small towns, about her brother going to seminary. We ate pancakes and laughed about our husbands' silliness. I complimented her impeccable fashion sense. Career goals (or lack thereof) were discussed.  She's excited to be graduating in December. I told her about traveling to California when I was seven. We laughed about the games we used to play with our Barbie dolls. Most meaningful to me, was when I told her that we were going to start trying to conceive next month and she responded with a huge smile and genuine excitement. It was refreshing. No competition, no jealousy, no possessiveness. Just love. From unexpected places.

T and I ran another 5k Saturday morning. My Mom came to cheer us on and we also ran into our friend Kmo, who was taking pictures for the event. Despite some technical difficulties with my ipod at the beginning of the race, it went really well overall. The miles definitely went by faster than usual and I'm thoroughly enjoying my new shoes. (My Mom got them for me for my birthday, and this is the first race I've run in them!) They are a smidge more minimalist than my old shoes and I can definitely feel the ground and how my feet are hitting it much better, allowing me to make adjustments to my stride as needed. I think we set a new PR, but it's hard to tell since we STILL haven't received our results yet. I will let you know when we do!

The Weight of Love

Sorry, people. I didn't go on a diet when my now-husband proposed to me. I was living alone at the time, fostering a cat, getting very little sleep, had no social life, and subsisting mostly on Mountain Dew. I didn't need to lose weight because I was pretty slender in the first place and I certainly wasn't gaining. I'm sure you're jealous, but you really shouldn't be. I was nowhere near healthy. I was eating little to no vegetables. We also ate terribly during the honeymoon. To be perfectly honest, it was kind of fun, since a lot of what we ate was things we had eaten during our dorm room days. It was a nice callback to our dating days and kind of a reminder of how hard we had worked to get where we were.

Dream Life

I don't know what the average woman's dream life might entail. A google search was not at all helpful getting some idea of that. Apparently when you type the words "average woman" into Google combined with any or all of the terms "dream, fantasy, or idea" what comes up is mostly related to either sex or weight, which should tell you something.

However, this is about my dream life.

In my dream life I continue to be best friends with the boy I've known since I was five, who has stuck by me through thick and thin, always shown compassion and interest in my life, and never been jealous of me. I am a mother of two amazing children, a boy and a girl who are four years apart. We have plans to adopt a third child from North America. I remain happily married to my husband, T. I have the luxury of staying home with my young children. I have visited England with my husband. I still play fun survival horror games sometimes after the kids have gone to bed. I attending school for my Master's in Clinical Psychology. I have the right shoes to wear for every occasion. I get pedicures once a month and I cook a healthy dinner for my family once a week. I run 10ks with my husband every other month. I live in a three bedroom, two and a half bath house. I have a happy, healthy Kazu cat.

inspiration

English: black cat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Recently, my husband and I had the opportunity to take part in a new ad campaign for our local Humane Society. They are trying to raise money for a mobile spay/neuter clinic to reach lower-income areas of our city. The campaign is called Project STOP and consists of a collection of black-and-white photos of people and animals holding their hands up to the camera in a "STOP" motion with whatever they want to stop written on their hands. Since our baby Kazu is a black cat, T and I chose to write 'fear' and 'superstition' on our hands. People are still weird and superstitious about black cats, sometimes even killing them. This is ridiculous because our 5-year-old kitty boy has brought us nothing but love!

Last month we ran a 5k and my BFF Garrard came to watch us. Now he is running most days and I like to think we  had a part in inspiring him to get back in the game! He used to run a lot so pretty soon he'll be surpassing us no problem. There is a mud run nearby in May and I am hoping that he will do it with us. It would be super fun to do a 5k obstacle course with my husband and my best friend.

English: A chest X-ray demonstrating severe COPD. Note the small size of the heart in comparison to the lungs. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In more sobering news, my Dad was diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease this week, surprising no one. This is the same thing that most likely led to the stroke that killed his dad, my Papa. The doctor also found spot on my Dad's lung. He had a CAT scan on Thursday, and we'll have the results tomorrow. He's convinced now that he needs to stop smoking. I agree, but I don't know why it took so long for him to come to that conclusion. If you're the praying type, please pray for him. 

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calories and quinces

Mountain dew can (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Yesterday, T and I burned 273 calories on our run. That's almost 19 ounces of Mountain Dew! After I discovered that 26 minutes of running does not even burn the amount of calories in a 20 oz. Mountain Dew (290 calories), this is our new favorite way of measuring our exercise. In other news, the addiction has to STOP. It made it really tangible for me to know that all that effort didn't even make up for my daily indulgence. Also, the caffeine could potentially be bad when we start trying to conceive, and I should probably stop the habit now rather than later.

We also went to Five Guys yesterday to visit a friend of mine who recently started working there. She was working prep in the kitchen, so we didn't get to see her, but my grilled cheese with pickles was great, and T thoroughly enjoyed his bacon burger. I really liked the open layout of the place and how you can watch them cook your food right there. Everyone was cheerful and helpful and the place had a really upbeat atmosphere. Later on I texted my friend to let her know how much we enjoyed it and she was really happy to hear it.

That night we had a Quinceañera to attend, and I didn't have any closed-toe shoes that looked right with my dress (I need to go shopping.) , so I did a quick and dirty toenail polish with Essie's Azure Blue. That is also the color I wore on my toes at my wedding. I also wore a nice little black rose clip in my hair. The Quince turned out to be really fun and I even got to do some dancing.

I haven't had a lot of downtime lately, but that's entirely my fault. I really overscheduled us for this month. There are so many things I want to do, but I know that if I try to do too much then I won't do any of them justice. I really need to prioritize.

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Back on Track

Marahon shoes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This past Saturday T and I ran a 5k at the Zoo. We also got to see my brother and crash at his house. It was awesome! My brother G came to cheer us on and I hope we inspired him to get back into running himself. They used little orange tags on our shoes for timing and my husband said he was going to keep it on his shoes for a while to remind him of his goals. We also got super-cute long sleeve shirts.
Running through the zoo was amazing! We saw elephants, meerkats, tigers, a cougar, a lynx, kangaroos, and lots of exotic birds! A trainer gave the elephant a little flag and it waved the flag as we went by. It was so cute! My favorite part was rounding a corner and glancing up to see a cougar standing on a ledge above my head. It was in an enclosure of course, but it was still exciting! My crazy imagination turned it into a dangerous and dramatic moment and I think it gave a boost to my speed.

Cougar conservation depends on preservation of their habitat. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My husbands favorite animals were the kangaroos. They were hopping around like crazy! It was especially nice that the race didn't start until 3pm. Even though it was in another city, we didn't have to leave our own apartment until that morning. As hard as I try, early morning exercise just doesn't come naturally to me! After the race, we goofed around for a little while taking pictures and trying snack samples, including some delicious veggie chips.
We were also super impressed by the people who won awards, including an amazing lady in her 50s who had started the race right next to us! She finished in less than 30 minutes and is my new hero. They actually had a little 3 place podium for the winners to stand on, so that was cute. They also fed us! There was some great pasta with alfredo and/or marinara sauce waiting for us and it was delicious! It was also fun to sit down, relax, and chat a little with the other runners.
Oh, right. Our time. We clocked in at 44:03. Not our best, but a good start to the new year. I also wonder if we might have lost a little time slowing down to look at the animals. (It was worth it.) I'm already excited about our next race on February 16th! We will be aiming to finish that one in 40 minutes or less. First step? Running Week 4, Day 1 of Couch to 5k this afternoon! Allonsy! 

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Women

So everyone keeps talking about this new show "Girls".

It's really getting on my nerves.

To be fair, I haven't watched this show. It's on HBO, and seeing that I don't even have regular television, it would take some effort to acquire it and watch it. Also, none of what I've heard about it so far motivates me to make said effort.

But it seems that everywhere I turn, someone is talking about it and they won't shut up, so I am adding my two cents.

So in the very first episode, main character Hannah is at dinner with her parents, talking about her internship. I have dinner with my parents frequently, and usually quite enjoy it, especially when they are kind enough to pay for my food. Hannah and her parents are discussing her internship. Personally, when I was 24, I had moved past internship and was working full-time, sometimes 40+hours a week. However, internships can be very useful, positive things.

WHSAD Senior Student at Summer Internship (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But then she asks her parents for money. As I mentioned before, when I was that age, I was busting my butt at a full-time job so that I could pay my own rent and afford cat food and the like. I had my own health insurance. If my parents were paying for those things, I would be actively busting my butt looking for a job so I could pay them back. Have I never asked my parents for money? Absolutely not. There are times they've helped me with a lot of things. But I always paid them back and I always tried every other option before asking for their help. And when I did, it was only for essentials. My husband is the same way.

Hannah's friend is bored with her relationship. That's fine, all relationships can get stuck in a rut and such. She tells Hannah that "His touch now feels like a weird uncle". I guess I should be glad that I don't have any weird uncles. At least not weird like that. Ugh. Anyway, continuing, Hannah's friend says "...I can feel him being so nice to me, and it makes me so angry." Um...what? Someone being nice to you makes you angry? You're going to have a horrible life, dear. Being bored in the relationship doesn't necessarily mean that something is wrong with the person you're dating. Sometimes it just means that you need to switch up your routine a bit. I mean, give the poor guy a chance. Have you even considered talking to him about this? Of course not. Communication in a relationship? Madness!

Hannah then replies to her friend with some nasty language that I won't even bother quoting here. Even when I do talk to my friends about sex (which I do) I do NOT talk like that. I know very few people who do and those are not people I want to be around. I also do not talk to my friends while either of us is in the bathtub. Sorry guys, most girls don't do that sort of thing together. 

Hannah's friends eat dinner at 7pm. I have totally done this, seeing that I sometimes don't even get off work until 6:45pm. Now, the more important part of this is the diversity, or lack thereof. I hear that Dunham has already been criticized for this, but I have to admit, given where the show takes place, it's a little odd. I am of the same race and sexual orientation as Dunham, but I live in the American South. It could arguably be called the opposite of New York City. My husband is half-Hispanic, my best friend (though she doesn't live here) is Chinese, and my other best friend is homosexual. Seeing that Lena Dunham is a reasonably intelligent person who should be aware of the demographics of the setting she has chosen and the overwhelming propensity of the media to focus on homogenous people, this could easily have been averted. Perhaps simply with colorblind casting, or not just casting her friends.

So all that said, I just don't see what people love so much about this show, I really resent it being presented as 'the voice of a generation' (especially MY generation), and I am sick to death of hearing about it.

But maybe I'm just weird. Maybe I don't fit very well into my generation. That's okay. I'm cool with that. I'd rather be a grown woman than a girl anyday.

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