Yesterday my coworkers were talking about how they google everyone in the office and I was like Did you google me and they were like Of course and I was like Oh, whoops.
Here I was thinking I could go in in drag, you know, Office Performance Sarah, maybe they’re reading this now, Hi guys. I think you’re great. I was enjoying the ruse of pretending to be a person without opinions who is only vacantly pleasant and makes the coffee but I have been found out. I am forever being found out, it is my lot in life. On Wednesday or Monday or I don’t even remember what day I read that essay about Henry James and wrote a blog post about it on my lunch break, and I guess a lot of people read it—it’s always the things I spend the least amount of time on that the most people read, you would think I would have this figured out after six years of the internet—and someone told me yesterday they [he] always loved a good vitriolic takedown and I wanted to say do you not understand the difference between vitriol and boredom, I have no vitriol left in me other than for rush hour on the Q, I’m just very bored with being told I do not exist, very bored and also very tired. Tired all the way down to my motherfucking bones. Tired like the time I was talking about speculative fiction with someone I respected who makes a lot more money than I do—like a lot more—writing [about men], who told me he never teaches Octavia Butler because she is too polemic and in my whole heart I was done and either you understand why or you don’t, and if you don’t I am thirty-five years old and too motherfucking tired to explain it to you, I have fourteen jobs to work and books of my own to write and I am fine with the time-saving device of On My Side and Not On My Side because back in the day when I was like Everyone Has A Side I spent a lot of time with men who were assholes and these days my dance card is full. Do you understand? Some of you do. I reserve the right to peace the fuck out of a conversation, let’s talk about the weather instead so this party doesn’t get awkward. When you’re like Yeah cool you know it’s just at some point in my life I got really exhausted by narratives in which I was not present, in which my humanity was not even, like, an option, so I don’t read them anymore unless they also involve spaceships or monsters, and you can see it in their faces. She would be almost clever if she weren’t so naive. [She could be fuckable if.] She talks too much but not about the right things. Where did she go to college? Oh. She doesn’t talk at all but you can see contempt writ large across her features. God she's angry, isn't she. Maybe if she wore a dress. She doesn’t register. She is unwilling to see both sides, in particular the side in which she is not actually a person. She is insistent on politicizing the conversation. She is never happy. Was she really wearing that? Where did she even get that? Did you see her hair. Maybe if she did something with that face. If she was. If she wasn’t.
I like Henry James fine, for the record.