A brief observation: Margaret Atwood's heroines are not heroines - they are the passive objects of her stories. Things happen to them, around them, are done in their name. They are demonised, yet not culpable. And in many of her stories there is the motif of the other woman, the woman as agent, the sexual, spirited woman, misunderstood. This other woman meets her downfall at the hands of the patriarchy, while the one who acquieses dies a slower death. When I read her books I experience an identification with both of them, and it temporarily paralyses me.
In other female news, this morning I was in, had, experienced 'period pain'. In line with the thinking above about the active woman and the passive woman, and especially because of reading about the divided woman, I don't want to conceptualise the pain as something other than myself, in some part that isn't quite me, just mine. I wasn't thinking any of this at the time though, I was merely wondering 'when will I die of this?', 'if I eat will I throw up?' and 'how many is too many painkillers?'. I was also thinking 'responsibilities aaargh, got to get back, can't get the train, going to faint... wilt.....', which wasn't massively helpful. But hey, I didn't come back in time for the stuff, and nobody died, so it's all ok. And I took 6 painkillers and thus alienated my brain from the rest of my body for a few hours, which was what it took to get the train from Southampton to Cambridge. So now, after cleaning the bathroom, I will go to bed. This might all seem a bit incoherent, but you try period pain some time and then try to be lucid, you patriarch!
It's tipping it down outside - the kind of rain that is *exactly* like a cloud that has lost it's way or gotten too heavy or lazy and so settled on the ground. The view from my window looks like a dodgy tv, everything vibrating slightly because of the watery air.
I gave my notice in yesterday, and nobody hates me now, so that's nice. I also went to bed at 10:30, so that's two adult things in one day. How exciting!
No-one emailing me today, except Gabriel, Hughes Hall students, and Tesco, and that's all business. So I am bored.
Today, while washing my hair, I discovered that you can slap your tongue really hard and it doesn't hurt. So that was important.
I have a really busy month ahead, with no days scheduled free, a new job, a job interview, a trip to Germany, some probably gruelling sail training, an alulmni reps conference thing, and too many parties. My friend K is moving to Africa for a year, to the Central African Republic, where they barely even have telegrams, and I won't get to say goodbye properly. Oh well, at least I now know I can slap my own tongue. And I have clean hair. And it's not raining any more. And Jesus loves me :P
Hope is my second-favourite word, after 'grace'. If I have two
daughters they will be called Grace and Hope. Hope kicks cynicism's
ass! Hope makes a mockery of fear. Hope gently caresses hurting
people, and brings out courage, and joy. Hope is what Politics lacks,
it's what I have felt a dearth of in my heart for a while. It's the
imminent rising sun in my life, the pink tinge on the horizon. Hope
will drive out bitterness and build something glorious where it once
was.
Hope. Hope. Hope. It's not just sweet, it's kick-ass!
Last night I had a horrible dream, and am still feeling a bit shaken, and scared. I dreamed that my middle brother, Michael, was about 15 again (he's 17) and that he'd come to visit me in Cambridge. Lots of people were round, and Jerry and he were playfighting, and I got a bit worried because Jerryw as picking him up by the arms and I had some notion that because Michael hadn't finished growing his bones would be weaker, so I asked Jerry to stop. And then both Jerry and Michael got really angry with me, and Jerry started kicking him in the breatbone and yanking at his arms and it was really hurting Michael but he wouldn't let me intervene.
And so I turned to the crowd that were watching and asked for help, but instead of helping me, Katherine started accusing me of having messed up someone else's life by being selfish, and said that all the 'good things' I'd done recently, all the right decisions made, were actually purely from selfish motives. And I was crying and defending myself but no-one would listen, and everyone turned away from me. And my brother was physically broken and I was ashamed and it was awful.
And then suddenly I was in a park with Matt Lee, and it was all good until I started remembering some of the bad things I'd done when I was younger, particularly some of the guys I'd messed around. I started feeling really bad that my ex is gay, I felt like it was my fault for treating him like a toy, discarding him when someone 'better' had come along. And when I said all this Matt left, because he didn't want to know me anymore.
ISSUES!
So I'm sure it's all fine really, and was probably just my subconscious having a detox, but I feel a bit like I've been emotionally assaulted by a ghost.
Let the vet do it!