Blogs are totally subversive

My profession -- and therefore my world -- is consumed with micro-blogging. Even at its longest, my daily professional writing rarely exceeds 200 words.

Let us never forget July 4th, 2013, when, standing on a rooftop in Noe Valley as the sky crackled around us, I (almost) fiercely defended the legitimacy of social media. I say "almost" because I quickly realized it was a battle not worth having because hah! Access to social media is a really privileged thing.

However, where I used to blog (or -- eek! -- Livejournal) I now write too-long posts on Facebook that Edgerank hides or scattered 140 character spits on Twitter. I have this blog but I don't write it in because guess what? Writing professionally can make you word-constipated. Even when you just write about cats and dogs. Everything has to be profound and polished and strategic.

But then I found myself wrapped up in this Bossy Femme blog and I was like, "Hey! This isn't perfect, but this person is intriguing." And then I went to post on Facebook and then I was like, "Don't do that, silly. Use your blog."

So here I am.

I spent all day sleeping after coming home with sand in my shoes because I am not feeling 100% and I am supposed to go on Vacation(!) next week. Except now I'm awake at one in the morning. #messlife

I have been in a funk because I have been worrying a lot. My primary concern right now is moving and its implications, as well as the effect it's going to have on my finances.

For the past year and a half I have been living with my kid sister and it's proved detrimental. Okay, that's a dramatic word for it when, really, my family is just sort of dysfunctional and it depresses me and it's not their fault, but I can't have anything to do with them. I know! It's crazy! There's this weirdo American idea that "family" is this thing -- this Norman Rockwell illustration of cozy holiday dinners -- but that's not what "family" looks like for me! "Family" looks like me moving out of the house as soon as I turned eighteen. The point is I need my own home. (I'll cover #familydramz and #newradicalfamily ideas in another post.)

There is this apartment that I really want in the Lower Haight. It's a studio and people from anywhere else in the country would balk at the monthly rent. These are the issues my proximity to my dream have elicited:

1. DAT RENT will have a sort of significant impact on my finances.
• Becomes:
1. How dare I complain about not being able to afford spontaneous Britney Spears style trips to Walgreens, "WHY ARE YOU SUCH A PRIVILEGED BRAT, LIZ?!"
1. "You've lived on much less before, Liz, and had a blast. You can do it again."
2. Shouldn't I be spending that money on life-enriching things like travel?
1. But I don't want roommates? 
2. It's my money -- I can spend it however I want?
3. But having a well-decorated home of my own is what I've always dreamed of?
3. This would be easier if I just gave in and found myself a partner to live with.
1. How dare the government punish single people -- I will not give into your heteronormativity. I am a committed eternal bachelorette for many good reasons (among them that extremely intimate relationships are problematic for me).
2. But if I spend all this money on rent and decorating my new place, it will be that much more difficult to leave.
• Becomes:
1. Why am I always thinking of leaving? Why do I live my life around how much it will cost to move it? Why do I live my life wondering how many boxes I could stuff it in?
2. Is it okay to settle down?
3. Where the hell else in the world besides San Francisco could I really live as a pink-haired, face-pierced, hairy, polyamorous, kinky queer who works in social media and still be regarded as not only a professional, but an expert?
4. It's okay to finally "come home" -- I am not destined to become my parents.
5. If I "settle down" I won't have the upheaval of change to distract me from dealing with some of my more constant issues -- AND THEN WHAT?!
3. Why is everything so much easier for everyone else?
1. "Hahah, shut up, Liz, that's not true." 
1. Okay, I know.

Yesss ... I just outlined my anxiety. Which is cool. I feel more in control of it now.

The truth is this is what I want. This is the Pinterest dream come to life. I shouldn't feel ashamed for how I want to spend my money -- it is, after all, my hard-earned money.

Nor should I fret about things "not working out," because, so far, things have. I forget to give myself credit. I came to San Francisco with nothing but a meager savings. Everyone said it would be difficult -- and it was -- but I was resourceful and now I am in a position where I can realistically consider rent in a certain price range. I will still get to travel. I will still get to eat oysters. Things are going to continue to improve because I am far more clever and strategic than I'd like to believe. Not only that, but I am already very lucky to be able to live this life.

And no, committing to a city for longer than five years won't turn me into my parents, especially when I am living in one of the most exciting cities in the world. San Francisco is problematic in many ways, but in a lot of other ways, it's almost perfect. Maybe it's okay to fall in love forever, especially if that city has taught you how to fall more in love with yourself.

Speaking of self-love, it's time to get back to sleep so I can be well for my trip to Los Angeles -- the other almost perfect city in the world.

P.S. I know the hashtags are totally useless. #stylechoice

P.P.S. I need to do this more often -- for realsies.