I feel the need to apologise for the fact that the world still fails on many levels, and I am doing very little to change it.
I’m sorry that I am going to write novels under a male pseudonym rather than my real, female name. That you can’t get a commercially available birthday card of dinosaurs for girls. That I sat in front of the computer for hours tonight with my credit card out, agonizing over what, which and how many romance novels to buy. That tumblr is full of advice about how to avoid rapists because this information is actually still slightly relevant if a bit hysterical.
I am sorry that I am stuck undervaluing myself in a non-technical casual job with no security and no prospects despite clear things I have done to take initiative, not just demonstrate it – and that my good friend now is in the same position (it is too hard to believe in ourselves, so we seek refuge in demeaning jobs that reaffirm to ourselves our low relative value both in our own eyes and in the eyes of society and our employers).
I am sorry I still eat entire packets of mint slice biscuits even when I know I should know better and my clothes don’t fit any more and I know exactly where those extra calories that run to fat come from and I could stop it if I wanted.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being sorry when it’s not even my fault. I’m just fucking sorry for all of us and everything.