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My fever is back up to 102.


I have a new goal, and it is to be completely unintelligible by graduation.

Edited to add: Nearly 2000 words. That’s not so horrible. Roughly a thousand to go, maybe a little less. This can be done, right?

Was the subject of one of my emails today.

In other news, I’m up early and actually at school, with every intention of going to both classes today. I’m trying to get my SURF application written statement completed by 11:30, so that I can go harrass the graduate student who has now agreed to attach himself to it. Stupid, stupid graduate student.

And then there’s the ten page paper which as of now has no topic, no hypothesis, no… well, you get the picture. The picture is that it doesn’t exist in thought or in form. And my brain is in a sad state of affairs.

But my mother wants to start blogging! How fabulous is that?! Spring break, amidst all the thesifying, will be filled with setting up a place for her to write her wonderful, squishy, snuggly brains out. That’s my mom. Wonderful and squishy and snuggly. I wish she were here to take care of me right now, as I sit on the eighth floor of Davis library, fighting off four waves of feminism nausea and slamming my head into a wall.

Won’t it be fun to read my mom’s blog? I promise you’ll like her. She’s darling, and she dresses just like an elementary school teacher. Down to the apple pins on her long dresses and everything. She’s Adorable!Mom. That’s her action super hero name. I think that should be her blog title as well. ADORABLE!MOM! Faster than a speeding bullet! Grading more quick math than a steaming locomotive!

Enough. Must work.

WordPress is a bitch to get the hang of, if you’ve spent the last seventy years blogging with movable type. I know MT inside and out, and I’m sure, once I have the time, I’ll get to know WP as well. It has some nifty features, but it seems to be for the type of person who just likes to drag and drop their blog into reality. I’m much more of a tinkerer.

SURF (Summer Undergraduate Research Fellowships) are due Thursday. I need to get my transcript, my written statement and a signed written approval from my thesis advisor by then. Meanwhile, the 101 degree fever rages on.

Last night I was so hot that Sparkle Pants ran me a bath. I got in, was in for five minutes and realized I’d turned the water bright green. The water had had no color when I’d gotten in. It was, in a word, freaky. How did I turn the water bright GREEN? Was I that dirty? Am I, perhaps, radioactive?

Financial aid stuff is also due Thursday. My renewal FAFSA is complete, but there’s another special little thing they make you fill out if you go to my University. And of course that costs 40 dollars I don’t have. I also got to postpone a midterm today, because my Classics professor understands that radioactive students should not have to come to class. Spring break is coming up and I feel so, so far behind. Everything is falling down on top of me and I’m riding the waves of solid panic attack.

Meanwhile, Bee and I have talked and are on the same page about a lot of things. She’s a lot like my Alex, so I just have to get back into the swing of bipolar, which I have been used to, and can be used to again. Bee’s girlfrend Lena, our roommate, is a packrat of considerable nature – almost as bad as my father, and the stuff piled on stuff combined with the being sick and the being behind and the deadlines looming are combining to give me a major case of the freakouts. I just want to fall asleep and never, ever wake up. I have dreams that stacks of things are falling on me and I’m suffocating and nothing will ever, ever be okay again.

Why won’t this virus go away? Why must every semester feel like a skinofmyteeth sort of thing?

So, my friend Bee and I are starting the first Feminist sorority in the country, and things are taking off a lot faster than I’d ever thought possible. We started it around certain ideas we both believed in, and that I think we still both believe in; but I’m worried about getting so caught up in trying to get members, or trying to get people interested without pissing them off that we completely abandon those principles we started the group with.

One of those is the idea that men cannot be feminists. Feminist-allies is what I prefer to call them. One of the foundational aspects of the group is that only women will hold leadership positions, because there are so many feminist organizations on our campus that are led by men, that are organized by men, that bring in male speakers, that center around men. I don’t want our sorority to become a care-taking organization. I want it to be by women, for women, and about women. And men can help, but they cannot lead. It’s our responsibility to lead our own movement.

This is a lot like the civil rights movement. White people were certainly able to help, to march alongside Blacks, and Browns, but they didn’t (usually) understand the oppression they were fighting as keenly as those they were fighting alongside. They were desperately needed, yes, to fight alongside, to raise awareness, to bring people to the movement, but they were not the movement themselves. Just like men are not the feminist movement, and they can’t be. Because they’re not women.

I just want to figure out how to stick my pole in the concrete and hang on. I don’t want to get whipped around left and right, recanting things because they aren’t universally…politically correct, I suppose. And I don’t understand why I should have to. I know that there are plenty of places where I am wrong, and I think that I am openminded enough that my mind can be changed if that’s the case. I just feel like we’re already buckling under for little to no reason…

It worries me.

I’m going to have a talk with Bee when she gets home tonight, but right now I’m just wondering why we’re giving in so quickly, when there’s absolutely no reason why we have to. We’re not even facing heavy opposition yet. What happens when we do?

I spent Thursday afternoon designing a website for my sorority, so I have no creative juices left in me – just viral juices, and those aren’t the ones I’d like to share. For now I’ve got someone else’s design up (and y’all know how I despise that), so I’m sure that soon I’ll find something to procrastinate over and figure out how to hand-code my own WordPress design.

Yes, yes, I’ve moved on to WordPress. Why? Because I am the master guru of Movable Type and after three days I cannot get it installed on this server. WP took me five minutes, and it would have been less if my internet connection hadn’t been so slow. Seeing as I was in the bathroom. Pooing.

I’ve been running about a 109 degree fever since Thursday morning. It was a little lower before that…like, 107. I think by the time I press “publish” on this post, I may be officially dead. My brain certainly feels like it’s liquified and poured out of my ears. And right in time for midterms! So exciting!

I have a 10 page paper due in one class, the prompt for which is ” “.

Did you catch that? Yeah, there is no prompt. It has to have something to do with what we’ve read, possibly, and it has to tie some things together, maybe, or prove a point. It doesn’t really seem to matter what that point is. When I see my professor now, I want to beat her with sticks. Sticks and a bit of my head that I’ve ripped off since it stopped being able to breathe, or swallow, or blink or really do anything at all without the help of massive doses of codeine and ibuprofin and my roommate had her headphones on so that she couldn’t hear the timer on the oven. But I could hear it. And I could hear the music she was listening to.

She’s not cooking me anything, like something that would make a poor girl with a viral infection feel better. No, she’s cooking our fish’s rocks. So that the bacteria dies.

I think perhaps cooking me might be the best way to go if all continues on its present course.

There are only so many ways to make tuna fish sandwiches. How do you like yours?

Currently Reading

Eve Ensler, Insecure At Last

Brettell and Sargent, eds. Gender in Cross-Cultural Perspective

Quoth the Raven:

"Girls aren't beautiful, they're pretty. Beautiful is too heavy a word to assign to a girl. Women are beautiful because their faces show that they know, that they have lost something and picked up something else."

-Henry Rollins
February 2007
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