Lena Dunham has been accused of inappropriate behavior after she evidently tried to kiss Brad Pitt on the lips during the London premiere of #OnceUponATimeInHollywood: https://t.co/RytAQpeYea pic.twitter.com/VOhFw8YlHj— Complex (@Complex) August 2, 2019
I’d honestly rather fall into one million manholes than have one single dude tell me to watch my step— 💎 Lena Dunham 💎 (@lenadunham) June 8, 2018
What if 30 million women or so filed a class action suit against the president for emotional distress? Just spitballing here.— 💎 Lena Dunham 💎 (@lenadunham) November 4, 2017
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I’ve spent a lot of time in this life feeling like too much. Too hungry. Too anxious. Too loud. Too needy. Too sick. Too dramatic. Too honest. Too sexy (jk lol.) I was always sent the message, in insidious ways, that I took up too much room and demanded too much from life and sometimes gave too much to people who didn’t want any at all. But something has changed, and it started when I realized: I don’t have to be *for* everybody, and that for the right people, my too much is just enough. My too much also means I have room for their too much and we can take turns too muching all over each other. At 32: I weigh the most I ever have. I love the most I ever have. I read and write and laugh the most I ever have. And I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Not the frail, precarious happiness of “things are going perfectly.” The big, generous, jiggly happiness of “I think I’m finally starting to get the hang of this.” Not too much... Just enough.
Today is National Leathercraft Day, National Relaxation Day and National Lemon Merengue Pie Day. It’s also the 9 month anniversary of my hysterectomy. I’ve never celebrated the 9 month anniversary of anything and I realized last night why that number feels so funny- I won’t ever do it the way I planned to. My body is mostly healed and every day I find a new bruise on my heart, but today I offer myself gratitude: from the most pained place, I somehow knew to choose myself. The purest glint of who we are and know we can be is always available to us, calm and true at our center. My friend Paul named my uterus Judy, and when she was being uppity we called her out, hence the tattoo on my ribs, which hurt like fuck even through the pain meds: #RIPJudy. Today I give thanks for Judy, for her graceful exit and for this body, which is stronger than I’ve ever given it credit for. Happy Giving Birth To Myself Day.