So the other night, PhMom and I had a real heart to heart about the things that have been bothering her, especially since our daughter was born. A lot of it was complaints about her mom, which I kind of liked because it counterbalances all of the drama between her and my mom, but that's another story.

And then there was a lot about me.

Cliff's Notes (or I guess SparkNotes or Shmoop.com. Who even uses Cliff anymore?) version: I'm too withdrawn, too passive. I spend too much time plugged into my smartphone and don't pay enough attention/do enough around the house and with the kids and all. I have to own up: these are all valid accusations, and I really am trying to not. Then she hit me with this: maybe my anxiety is self-inflicted, since I have this habit of reading stuff on Jezebel and getting all worked up about it. And she's right. My anxiety is real, and I can't fully control it myself, but I can avoid obvious stressors. I thought I could go back, but then I pulled it up on the computer and read about this.

Do people need to know about this? Absolutely. Should they be outraged? No doubt. Does it improve my life to read it?

Probably not.

I'm not saying I'm going to put on blinders and ignore every bad thing posted, but let's face it: I already hate the world we live in and think it's full of evil and ugliness. Reading one more story about it, when I can't do a whole lot to alleviate this particularly symptom of the world's degenerative disease, is doing me bad, not good.

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Am I chickenshit for making this decision? Arggh, I don't know. Can't I just post a .gif of a cat being weird?

Yes. That's the solution to all of my problems. Or it would be if Kinja would let me. Grrr.