For all of those claiming “it’s not a big deal” that Hobby Lobby doesn’t cover Plan B, please consider every situation before sounding off about things you possibly do not know.
Almost a year ago, I was raped by someone close to me. And after seeking prompt medical attention, I was given Plan-B to prevent pregnancy. While many may not see pregnancy as a physical illness, it would have absolutely been a form of mental illness for me personally.
To me, Plan-B offered a tiny bit of consolation in a time of complete upheaval and grief.
To me, Plan-B was relief.
To you, it might be a self-indulgent way that women protect themselves against their own sexual escapades. Or simply an “evil that must be stopped.”
But it was essential for me, and will most likely be essential to someone working for a company that does not provide coverage for it.
Just a poem about a girl falling in love with another girl. Ah, freshman year.
trending thoughts: #sweetteasavesall #proudsoutherner #lifeoutofthefastlane #iliketrucksandbeer
Growing up right in the buckle of the bible belt as a liberal (even at a young age) has no doubt had its challenges. I used to think growing up with trucks, cowgirl boots, hats, and beer made me “southern.” To me, that meant I voted for the next republican up for election, I raised hell on the weekends, but always made sure to be in the choir loft Sunday mornings, and respected everyone older than me, no matter if they deserved it.
College taught me that I could still love trucks and drinking beer around a bonfire, singing Willie Nelson tunes while still staying true to my inner raging liberal. You see, being raised by southerners who are always nice, tried to do right by all the people who walked into their lives, and who were generally only mean spirited due to ignorance (not malicious intent) has given me a very unique, well rounded perpective on the world around me. Not only do I see the value in taking my time while doing things and the unparalleled feeling of sitting in a rocking chair doing absolutely nothing except listening to crickets, but I understand the sentiments of this particular demographic. I know how they learn, I know how to change their minds, and I know how to stay on their good side.
So, as I embark on this journey into the corporate, suit wearing, southern business world, I take comfort in my education and strong values and I have confidence that my raging, harsh, liberal perspective on life has been softened by the deep appreciation Southern folk have for life in the slow lane. And don’t you know my mother taught me how to be polite to even the nastiest of people. ;)
Thank you, South Carolina, for teaching me that I will get more bees with honey than with vinegar. And thank you for challenging all of my beliefs as it has only made them stronger. I look foward to my next political debate over a Bud and some barbeque. Cheers to porch sitting, honky tonk, and the working class free spirit!
You are so enough.
It is unbelievable
how enough you are.
Haikus always speak to me, give me simplicity where I’ve tried to muddle things up. Sometimes the thoughts that help others (and me) to see the truth and be better are so simplistic, so elementary, so childlike.
trending thoughts: #iknowwhatideserve #dreams #9to5 #loveoneday
There’s something gratifying about friends pulling away from you. No, it’s not pleasant or easy but at the end of the pull, when the rope finally grows slack, you realize that in this end there is a new beginning. Here are the options presented before me:
1. Pick the rope up and follow it, no matter how long and tiring the journey, to whoever pulled so far away. And if they have kept close enough to the rope to find, offer them the other end of the rope again, a woven olive branch of peace.
2. Pick the rope up and reel it in, keep it for someone new.
3. Take your end of the rope wherever you choose to go, in hopes that one day you’ll feel the tautness of sweet frienship flooding back into your body.
4. Abandon it so that neither of you have any hope of finding the other again, except by pure chance.
We’ve come to a pivot on the dance floor, forcing us to charge in opposite ways. He’s leaping towards downstage center, glistening in the light from sweaty nights of hard work and a refusal to give up. I’m grapevining, exiting upstage left, tripping over other dancers, dry and cool from all of my lazy days.
I miss him. We had magical nights of pure fantasy, made-up scenarios, and way too much food, bellies sore from laughter. He made the cow jump over the moon for me. It was so nice to be accepted. I remember laying my head in his lap, almost too comfortably, basking in just the essence of friendship. We spoke with side eyes, a breath, a simple, barely audible sound. He’s always strong when I need him to be. But he never softens up. He has two modes: hard and harder.
I lament my failure to keep up with his ventures, his wit, his life. But ever since our first encounter, I’ve had the nagging and most times unwelcome feeling that our friendship was temporary, that we’d leave each others’ lives almost as quickly as we got started.
Whatever ends up happening, I will have peace knowing that we changed eath other for the better, and no matter how little communication there is between us, I will always be there for him.