Guess I Needed a Break

Becoming one with el Blog during the last couple of weeks seemed so daunting that to even attempt a line or two was excruciating. So I didn't.

And here I am now, if only for an instant, to relay some of what's been going on, if for no other reason than to put something, anything, up here to let the folks know I'm still around.

Saw Dogville. Whew. Me and Erica. Speechless. Submitted a couple of resumes last Wednesday. Got a call the same day for one. Had the interview yesterday. Going back next week for a try out. Went to a butch-femme dance. Danced and stuff. Had a really great time. Missed my dose of Lorelai from the "Gilmore Girls" on Tuesday. Where are my subjects?!

Jesus.  I, uh, oh yeah, I was fighting with my fucking thesis last weekend. I graduate in less than four weeks and I still have a chapter to write, plus the intro and conclusion. The time I've got left also includes the fact that I have to get it to my advisors for a read. They've only seen 20 pages and didn't say anything specific. Just that I needed to get it down in pages.

The struggle of this past weekend, though, came when I decided to begin Theory Integration. It wasn't working the way I had planned. Some of it had to do with writing and the rest of it had to do with my extremely limited knowledge of post-structuralism. The bottom line, though, is that I'm not a theorist. I just talk like one. And so I can't very well inject theory into something if it's coming straight outta my ass. It'll be obvious.

So I started thinking. And grappling. And I spoke with Melissa after class last night. I told her about my problem. My relationship to the film is not theoretical. It's personal. And although I could definitely use theory to support my argument, fuck it. I don't wanna.

So I'm going to take advantage of the fact that I am in an interdisciplinary program at a school all about being liberal and just write a bunch of pages about gender, perception, violence, and fear. With my voice. Not the borrowed, tapped-into voices of Judith Butler, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, and the like.

I am a little relieved about having dealt with my guilt about not using theory. I'm still working on my narcissism concerning my use of memoir in the thing. Do I dare say I hope to have it finished by next Friday?????

So despite the fact that everything seems to be going just fine, there are some things beneath my surface that aren't sitting right with me. This week has been a long one already and I felt that way since Sunday night. This, I believe, is not a good sign.

Twenty-nine days till Madison Square Garden. It hasn't hit me yet that my academia is almost over. It was fun while it lasted. But now, I must go meet a friend, because we are going to go get some Reservoir wings and beer. May the next time I write be sooner than later. --Signed, On Fire