Sarah. Libra. Pennsylvania. English major.
"Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no whenever you don't want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you're doing here. Believe in kissing."
"Dave's not here, man."
better things are coming;
i swear there's truth in that.
I never EVER thought about my “oppression as a woman by men” until I took rhetoric and had language symbols and speaking the body and phallocentric discourse beaten into my brain.
I was putting on my face and thinking of patriotism or patriots or at least that word for some reason. And I started thinking about it… Patriot. Patriarchy. Pat, pat, pat… We call home the motherland (I was trying to think of what a fatherland would be, but I haven’t gotten that hashed out in any way yet.). So if we are soldiers of our motherland, why are we called patriots and not matriots?
(I imagine the answer lies somewhere in the dated views of men as superior to women, and women as not even human more or less, so of course we’d be patriots. That’s not a satisfying answer though.)
Rhetoric turned me away from being quite SO anti-feminist. I guess I’ve always been a feminist myself, BUT the label feminist has SO many implications in this day and age…all these qualities of being and thinking and feeling and doing that I don’t align myself with or identify with.
I identify with being a woman who can do anything a man does. I identify that there are some things that men or women traditionally do better than each other, but also that gender is more than what’s between your legs. Gender is in your heart. We’re all capable of anything, male, female, shemale, shim, neither, both, whatever.
While recognizing that is important, I don’t think that we need to erase the concepts of masculinity of femininity. I like having qualities that distinguish me as a woman. I don’t know that trying to make everyone androgynous would be a good thing. After all, it takes an awareness of our sex to be aware of our sexuality?
Eh… Maybe not. I don’t know. That ^ literally just struck me. So I think I need to think it through (er, I know I do).
Anyways, off to work! Toodaloo you-know-whats!
I’m laying in bed in a cold sweat (because I slept buried under my quilt and woke up to my box fan pulling cold air in and throwing it up all over me). And even though a glorious hot shower is what awaits me at the other end of the house, I just so do not want to get up.
Or go to work. But it’ll be a good thing. Today and tomorrow, my usual Friday off, then a four-day grind (for some reason, my four to six day long stretches at work always come with a surge in people texting me and wanting to do things, so I get to play as hard as I work during most of those stints). After that though, I think Mom wants to go to camp.
Her 54th birthday is on Tuesday (and she and Dad’s 27th wedding anniversary is Friday—crazy right? which also makes Sunday Laura’s birthday and Wednesday John’s birthday). So hopefully she’ll spend a week there, and I’ll spend my next Wednesday-Thursday-Friday off up at camp, where life is goooooooooood.
I need to have a conversation with my house full of children after work tonight (which means I gotta stay up until they’re both home and listening). One of my roommates only buys himself breakfast food and, so I hear, nibbles my food and my roommate’s food the rest of the time. Now if I’m here, and someone asks, I almost never say no to someone eating my food. And I always cook for whoever is here any time I cook. But, dear deviant roommate, much like I do not eat your yogurt and cereal, please don’t eat my food while I’m gone. We all know butter, milk, and bread are shared. And I designate leftovers I can’t or won’t eat in time and other foods I buy o be for everyone (and the only reason I’m not more liberal with the leftovers is because I often cook large meals on purpose so that I will have leftovers to take into work for lunches).
Anyways I’m rambling about things that don’t change because you put them on Tumblr (something known as a waste of time? :P). Me and little cat are gonna go get a shower, get ourselves dressed, and I’m going to feed us both and rip up chicken for a salad for my lunch at work.
I should have some profound note to end this on, but nothing is profound about hiding from the outside world because you’re a little chilly. ;)
And YOU. Oh my gosh. You have this way of making me feel like a diamond lost in a bag of charcoal briquettes. You wipe off the dust and show me my own shine. And when you’re not there to shine me up, sometimes I lose my luster. I forget what I’m capable of achieving, what I do better than just about anyone, how good I am at the rest of it, too. You make me glow.
More importantly than any of that, and even when you’re not around so much, you gave me the gift of honesty. Every compliment came from a mouth which wished to do no more than keep me grounded, but you never could help yourself; you always did get a kick out of watching me get excited, be it for good reason or frivolous pursuit.
I miss you, and I hope that we cross paths again someday. Too many moons have passed, my friend. You did so much for me, and I’d like to do some great things for you, if you’d give me the chance.
We will meet again. Soon and frequently, just like old times.
To recap: woke up at 6 am, put my rent check in the mail, captured Moom’ow and brought him home to my sister a day early (because I saw another little neighborhood kitty dead, and it made me sad and scared), got paid, my mom did my laundry for me and cooked me dinner and bought me a ridiculous amount of groceries. And now an impromptu sleepover, because I just don’t feel like it. I feel like drinking wine and laying on my parents’ couch. :)
Tomorrow morning it’s up bright and early to give my mom some computer lessons (especially Skype—I’d love to be able to Skype with my mama), then making a few stops up 15 the whole way home (except that part where you get off of 15 in Willpo because otherwise you go north where Lock Haven isn’t, unless I decide to make some of my along-15-but-north-of-Willpo stops tomorrow, which implies copious amounts of energy by the time I’ve driven that far).
My kitten love is at home with the boys (because I planned to drop off Moom’ow and more of less leave again). I hate when my little boo isn’t with me. Bbuutt it’s not like there’s a shortage of cats here. :P
So. Gonna crank the ac, pour myself some more wine, and read some Aldous Huxley.
Carlisle is a good place to be sometimes. :) And it’s ALWAYS good to see my family (an three out of four of my old cars).
SPEAKING OF: the first week or two I had Zoey I really missed Lola. Even since I’ve found my left foot searching for a clutch when I’m daydreaming and driving. But parking my car behind Lola today, I don’t know—I just realized that I don’t feel like that was ever my car. I’ve put over 1,500 miles on my car (I brought her home May 21st). Zoey feels like mine now.
That’s a good feeling. I’m getting REALLY good at adapting and letting go the older I get.
I’m just in a damn dapper dandy and frankly fine-minded mood. And I don’t really know why. I feel like I should be in a funk. I’m certainly not going to over think a good mood. I’m just going to fuel it with wine (and comics if Huxley gets too heavy for my buzz :P).
Why did I let myself be suckered into online summer tutoring? I hate tutoring. People can’t even follow simple directions.
Send your paper and a brief overview of your assignment. It’s not hard. You send me a “case study” with no parameters and some obviously plagiarized material (plagiarized only because it isn’t cited) and tell me to check your grammer (which is spelled “grammar” with two “a”s by the way)?
…I don’t hate tutoring. I do hate people who assume that “tutor” means I will correct their work for them. No. I don’t do that. And if you can’t listen after the third time I’m asking you to send your assignment, I’m gonna stop reading the damn things.
Life…so perfect sometimes.
Easy day at work. Getting paid to go home Tuesday. Found a home for the cat outside that the methheads abandoned when they got kicked out of their house. Get to see my family and do a load of laundry for free and get some free groceries.
As much as it sucked feeling lousy yesterday, I didn’t mind the time off. Being at work today was nothing, and I have the next two days in a row off again. I’ve got groceries and leftovers. I’m going to read and sun myself tomorrow, study some new astral interests.
Summer’s going, I think, just the way it is supposed to. It isn’t over the top amazing, nor it is painful and torturous. Maybe I’m just finally learning how to sit and settle with the fact that some things take time. Maybe I’m growing up and learning patience!
in cooking and gardening and reading and good music and wine and liquor too.
I believe this stupid slow-cooked chicken drowned in honey bbq sauce will be delicious and satisfying.