Bill Cunningham riding off into the sunset at NYFW in 2011. Photo/Me.

So it’s 11:27pm on Monday night and I spent the last hour and a bit writing a post about the phrase ‘skinny-shaming’ and how people think it’s equal to ‘fat-shaming’ when in my opinion it isn’t really, and then while I was writing it Ben was looking over my shoulder picking it apart (Ben has been ‘skinny-shamed’ his whole life) and then we got in this argument and then I started crying because I was so frustrated so now I have started a whole new blog post because I feel like now maybe I can’t post the other one, but now I’m not sure what I’m going to write about.

I mean, it’s rare these days that I would feel like posting about anything, so it seems like a good opportunity to I don’t know, just talk shit for a bit.

I’m moving house this weekend. It’s kind of a big move. Ben and I are moving in together, properly, and he has a part-time son. I mean, he has a son all the time, but he cares for him part-time. I have actually a bunch of opinions and thoughts on this but at the same time they don’t seem like the kind of thing that I can post on this blog without getting in trouble. It’s weird though, like, what happens with these makeshift family situations? How much responsibility of his kid is mine? What level of involvement is there emotionally? Financially? I don’t know. I guess there is no ‘normal’ in this type of situation.

The three of us are moving in with a friend. We’re going to have one bathroom. It’s going to sound bratty and privileged but I don’t think I’ve ever lived in a house with just one bathroom. It’s going to be interesting to be living in such close quarters. We don’t have a couch (yet) or a coffee table, or a proper dining table even. These all feel like things that one should have acquired by my age. When I look on Facebook it’s like everyone from my high school years is married, engaged, has kids, lives overseas, is a homeowner, has a high-powered career. I feel like I’m lagging behind, like I’m living the life of a 21 year old – avoiding as much responsibility and commitment as possible, living pay cheque to pay cheque.

Growing old. Growing old is weird. It’s like the older you get, the more you realise that you don’t know shit about shit. You think you’re going to get older and everything is going to sort itself out, that it just does. That you’re just going to know what to do with your life. And then it dawns on you that wait – you are older and nothing has sorted itself out, you still don’t know what you’re doing and then you realise that there’s no indication that you will ever know. It’s kind of terrifying. It’s kind of like that feeling you get when you realise your parents are just normal as people. I don’t know if you’ve had that feeling before, when you get old enough to realise that they’re just doing what they can to get by, that they’re just winging it too. It’s kind of a lonely feeling.

Venting/wading through my thoughts on here is something I used to do a lot more than I do now. I kind of stopped. I don’t know why, because I would much rather talk about myself (lol) than about what shoes you should buy for summer or why x model looks so good in x lookbook. Probably because it’s the other way around for most readers.

I don’t even know if anyone out there still even reads this. I talked about it before, about how no one reads blogs anymore. I get it – there’s instagram, there’s snapchat – both of which are platforms for much more easily digestible forms of content. Reading requires effort. Either way, as much as I complain about this blog and kind of hate that it exists, I don’t feel ready to let it go. It’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had, me and this little URL. Almost 7 years. So much has changed. I’ve changed.

And on that note, I think it’s time to stop the stream of consciousness writing.

’til next time, over and out.