My daily online reading consists primarily of Remodelista and Jacobin. This pretty much sums up my frame of mind throughout the day, wherein I vacillate between wishful aesthete and helpless socialist. I find that the more I focus on "beautifying" my immediate surroundings, the busier I get, the more content I feel, and the more I blog. And then just as my mind starts to feel numb, I turn to more serious reading, and I feel ridiculous and agitated and guilty. To which I have to respond by diving right back into care work lest I lose my mind. And so forth. Writing this blog always makes me feel simultaneously relieved and uncomfortable. It serves mainly as a record of my days (fleeting, repetitive), and as therapy (antidote to the mundane), and also performance ("I may be a housewife, but I have IMPORTANT THOUGHTS"). I wish I weren't always so conflicted about the way I present my reality. It must be nice to flaunt (OR FAKE) one's privilege without having any qualms about it.

Or not.

I think I would rather be painfully conflicted than have no class consciousness at all.


Here is something worth reading.

I follow Bernie Sanders on Instagram, and sometimes, just to punish myself, I read through the comments to his posts, and would come across people who say, "Why do you hate rich people so much?" like that was the problem and not greedy capitalists making billions in profits off the backs of starving workers.

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