Books and Breasts

An Abandoned Career Goal

I write poorly. I write opinions well, I think, and factual information provided I understand it, and even essays when I care about the subject material. As far as fiction goes, though, I just don't have the talent. Some of this is because I haven't written anything fictional for a good, long while. I've always been better at, and better enjoyed, writing short poetic snippets (not to be confused with actual poetry) -- I still wouldn't call them good, but they're alright. I suck at coming up with, and following through, plots. I can't write realistic dialogue to save anyone's life. It would be a disservice to publish my (largely nonexistent) work: the book world needs more thoroughly engaging stories, more diversity, more varying perspectives, more good books -- not more bullshitted monstrosities that glorify the concept of "sad for the sake of being sad" or just feel forced and awkward to read.

It's a bit of a shame because fiction books are one of my favorite things in the entire world and it's been a dream of mine for a long, long while to write something that would inspire the same feelings in other people as the ones I feel when I read something terrific. Yet I'm not broken up over this because I have come to face that I simply don't enjoy writing plots and characters. I'm proud of the end product, not because it's good, but because I finished. It's not tragedy that I'll probably never be a published author, though, because I doubt I would enjoy the work required to get to the point of publishing a book. I don't have that real passion and need to write something down in order to validate it. Within the last year I decided that I would only ever try to publish a book if I wrote something that I needed to write and something that I needed to share with other people. I don't want to try to become an author for the sake of becoming an author. I'll leave that up to the really talented writer folks and make up the difference in my own life by doing something I'm good at and something I enjoy and spend loads of my free time reading and discussing books and other written works. That sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

In Defense of Breasts

Dear World,

Where I live, summers are hot. Summers are humid. Stepping outside for a few minutes will lull you into the persistent desire to drop down where you're standing and lapse into a nap/coma until the sun burns you into little strips of human bacon. Walking somewhere, or doing any other form of physical activity, is certainly possible, but uncomfortable when wearing lots of clothing. I for one do not enjoy the feeling of sweat sticking my shirt to my back or slowly coming to feel like a cotton tank top has somehow transformed itself into a bearskin coat. I would also like to point out that the bras I typically wear under my shirt are usually less revealing than the majority of bikinis people now wear, which consist largely of the hopes and dreams of horny teenage boys. Also, my male counterparts can remove their shirts in many (though not all) situations pretty guilt-free, and to be honest, a select few of them have larger breasts than I do -- and they don't even have to wear bras! So if I want to take off my shirt while walking down the street because I'm about to die of heat and sweat, please don't act like I'm a) a slut, b) doing it for attention, c) more liable to get raped and thus put stress on the city budget by asking for a rape kit, or d) have no right to 'expose the pure, innocent children to such a horrific site.' The first three options are, well, not options because they mean that you're a sexist asshole. The last option is a moot point because these knockers have evolved for the sole purpose of feeding any future children I may have, so if they're too risque for your kids to see, what were you thinking, exposing your infants to such sexual objects every time they were hungry?! For shame, breast-feeding parent! For shame!

So I address this in particular to my county:

You live in the same place that I do. Perhaps through some lucky genetic mutation, you need 105 degree weather to even begin perspiring. I, however, do not have such a superpower. Please allow me to whip off my shirt in the middle of the summer without looking at me like I'm a skank. Also don't arrest me for public indecency, because I don't know anything about lawsuits or how the police system works, but if I had money, I would sue your ass.

Love, Vita.

P.s. I haven't actually walked around in public with my shirt off before. But I have wanted to. A lot. I'm too much of a coward to do it by myself in the present climate, but I think if I ever get extraordinarily overheated and have someone else to do it with, I would. Fuck all the haters, if I don't care if my bra is showing, you shouldn't either.