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shiny things

Hi again. i have a deadline. my methods chapter is supposed to be done and into my advisor by tomorrow evening. But I’m all distracted and itchy and i have to pee and i’m grumpy and all i really want to do is go to the gym, but i have to read for tonight’s class, and tomorrow’s writing group meeting and i wish i were doing something active RIGHT NOW, like something that would mean i was fighting in the Glorious Revolution and saving lives and all that….but NOOOOO…i’m writing about phenomenology and fretting about shit i can’t do anything about, and missing my mom and wondering whatever happened to so-and-so from that workshop I was in ten years ago and planning my next stand-up gig (and i haven’t DONE stand-up in more than TWO YEARS) –anything but follow through on even ONE thought about how i’m going to do this research.

What am i afraid of?

Why don’t I think I’m worth this?

I don’t really have to pee.

and i’m fighting with my girlfriend.

and with the people who sold me my murphy bed three years ago.

and with the people who think there is such a fucking thing as a “pro-porn feminist”.

and their cousins, the ‘sex positive’ feminists.

MALE feminists…fer cryin’ out loud

and doctors who think it’s perfectly FINE to give women testosterone for no better reason than they don’t want to be women anymore.

How would they KNOW, really? i mean, how would they know what it is to BE  a woman, really really? I don’t know what it is to be a woman, for certain sure…Left to our own devices, unconstrained by patriarchy, how would we grow from girls into womanhood? what would that be like?

What would it be like if we got to grow up, and sprout breasts and start our menses and learn languages and math and how to do the PERFECT squat without also having to learn how to negotiate the gauntlet of  come-ons and put-downs by men and their systems?

i don’t know what that would be like, but I do know that it will be even less possible when the women who should be beside me are all fucked up and bearded and speedy and loopy from hormones that shouldn’t be coursing through their bodies, and surgeries that are not necessary. And it is less possible too, when there are women (otherwise perfectly lovely, smart, competent women) who will fight me for the “right” to have women choose to dance naked against steel poles and suck cock in supper clubs and back alleys in order to pay rent. jesus.

why are we having these fights? what would happen if we aimed our sights higher, and helped each other out of these pits of patriarchal muck?

can you imagine?

goodlord. I can’t imagine how i’m gonna get from the middle of this freakin’ paper to the end, let alone what it might be like to be a free woman among free women–free humans…

but i guess i’d better try. it’s not going to get done if I just sit here squirming.

and we’re not gonna get free if we can’t imagine something much more than “choice”.

harm reduction rant coming…

next time i have a deadline.

should be any time now.

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About easilyriled

My mom was Edith, my dad was John. I have a brother, who is Shawn. I have many friends and allies and mentors in my life. I'm white, over-educated, under-employed, messy, funny, smart, lesbian, feminist "Not the fun kind", as Andrea Dworkin said. But I, like the feminists I hang with, ARE fun. I play accordion better than I did, and i'm learning the concertina. Slowly.

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