Hey friends it’s time to talk about how punk rock and alt I am. This week we are going to discuss healthy apathy. I care about many things, often way way too much. However, there are many things that I do not care about. Why is not to caring about things important? I consider not caring to be a form of self care. If you care too much about too many things you can start to feel like there are tiny little birds pecking at your brain constantly (anxiety).
So, here is my list of things I don’t care about:
If you think I’m annoying
I am loud and horrible, and all of my friends are too, and it’s terrible. We yell and skip and scream things like “POETRY” super loudly while walking to poetry readings. On multiple occasions I have almost gotten hit by a car while skipping in the street.
When talking to a clerk at the zoo, I got so confused that I said “Stop this process” to the clerk. I once yelled at Lily McBride because I wasn’t listening when she asked me whether I wanted a cup or a cone. I proceeded to yell “What did you just say to me!!!?!” at full volume. Sometimes, I make eye contact with people that aren’t talking to me, and I say really weird things. For example, I once yelled at a friend of mine “PLEASE DO NOT” as they were walking a dog they care for.The thing about being awkward and annoying is that it actually weeds out people who don’t understand you. When I can become friends with people that I have accidentally accosted, I know that those are people that genuinely like me for me. So, I try hard not to care about annoying people because I am who I am and I can’t change that. If you were anything like me as a kid, you cared a lot about people thinking you were annoying. You probably even cried 5ever everyday. My anxiety used to make me constantly worry that I was bothering everyone all the time. Now, I try to accept that I might be annoying, and I try not to care if people are bothered by it.
If my pain makes you uncomfortable
I am a person with privilege. I have the privilege to be able to speak up about my mental illness, my sexual assault, and my self harm. So many people are forced into silence on these issues everyday, whether it is for fear of judgement or the upsetting consequences that can come from being honest. Therefore, it is important for those of us with the privilege to speak to do so. It is important to tell your story as it happened. That’s not to say that your voice should be the only one that matters but, the awkwardness and discomfort you feel from hearing about my pain is nothing in comparison to the pain I feel or felt.
So I will continue to make dark jokes about my past, I will continue to speak up about my life, and I will not care if it makes you uncomfortable.
(That is to say, unless you are triggered due to mental illness because of the things that I’m saying. That’s not cool, but that’s also greater than discomfort.)
Pigeons are terrible and we should stop caring about them except for in the important metaphor in the novel Thirteen Cents by K. Sello Duiker. Pigeons are the rats of the sky. They eat garbage and they poop on your dad at Disneyland. Make. Them. Stop.
Why do they exist? With their beady little eyes they look like they are going to peck out your feet. It’s horrible. Make them go away.
How big your dick is/ What your “body count” is
No one cares about this. It will not make me want to sleep with you. It will not impress me. If anything, it will make me like you less for mentioning it at all.
Furthermore, the term “body count” should be ended forever. There are so many other ways to say how many people you have slept with. Freshmen boys agree. Sam Burke, (a man of much valor) was heard saying about the term body count: “As a Sam I think we shouldn’t say that, because it’s absurd and I can’t believe we are having this conversation.” Clearly, this young, impressionable boy is horrified at the use of such grotesque language, so much so that he cannot believe that such a conversation is taking place. And, because I have one source for this, I can be pretty sure that this applies to every freshman boy. Excusing my butchering of statistics, seriously, don’t say this. “Body count” makes it sound like you are discussing how many people you have killed. Let’s go over some of the other ways you can say how many people you’ve slept with.
“I’ve had sex with x many people”—straightforward, to the point, perfect.
“I have made love with x many people”—a bit old fashioned, but still perfectly acceptable.
“I have fucked/boned/copulated with/bedded/tenderly caressed with my genitals x many people”—just please say anything but “body count”.
My white tears
It is easy in conversations about race to feel upset about being white. It is easy, also, to get uncomfortable. When we are afraid, we get defensive. Progress can scare white people. That doesn’t mean you can let fear control you. I am not suffering, at least not in comparison to people of color or countries who continue to be exploited in the times of Neo-Colonialism.
I used to get upset when conversations of race felt offensive towards me. It is important to kill that fear because it gets in the way of conversations that are important. If you’re going to be calling yourself an advocate or an activist, you have to engage with literature and voices all the time that make you uncomfy. In fact, you should constantly be giving up your ability to speak for someone whose rights you are advocating for. My white tears are not important. I do not care about them.
Empathy is an inherently good thing. It keeps us aware, it keeps us within our environment constantly looking for the beauty in others. However, empathy can stifle us if we use it too often, and we forget that not everything is about how we feel. Sometimes you have to throw your hands in the air and let your feelings wash over you. Keep on not caring about whatever you need to not care about everyone, and stay away from pigeons.