(no subject)
I am tired, menstrual, and feeling disconnected from LJ/fandom stuff.
But! I am in a good mood.
Because where I've been is off in work land, partially as a result of practicalities because kittyzams is going to be here this weekend so I need to get ahead, but also things have started clicking. \o/ Not only have I had thoughts about directions for my dissertation, I've also had ideas for 1, 2, 3, count 'em, 4 papers. THANK GOD. I'm even possibly theorizing my research assistantship work.
Also, I realized that the badness I'd been experiencing the last few weeks--lethargy, anxiety, and meh--are, duh!, totally the beginnings of seasonal affective disorder again. And naming it made me feel like there's more order in my world. Also, this winter I'm going to buy a damn lamp thingie instead of suffering with my insanity.
And lately, even when I was mired in bleh, I had these moments of feeling really blessed about the people in my life. Like, I was having a horrible day and pretty deeply ensconced in my own self-absorbed bullshit when suddenly I realized that within a period 48 hours I'd received phone calls, emails, visits or been in the company of loved ones from so many origins: weird conference calls from my dad and my brother, text messages from C, eyesofmyeyes, friends from elementary school, high school, college, former lovers, fandom people on multiple continents. And that that's totally normal. Then I cleaned out my voicemail fully for the first time in a year and was deeply amused by the story of my world THAT told. One included a BOY drunk-dialing me about Roswell porn. And another who was sad that he couldn't make me steak dinner and watch Buffy. Or my brother's bi or tri-monthly stony, in-transit phone calls: "Dude, I'm driving from North Carolina to Vermont - call me any time in the next 12 hours." Ahahahaha.
And yet, I'm ridiculous. When these people in my Lit Theory class and my Gender Studies class started trying to make friends with me, inviting me over for dinner and parties and such, I'm all (in my head), "Oh! Really? You think I'm interesting?" :P
So taking things for granted - totally overrated. Even when I'm hiding under the covers eating carbohydrates, avoiding the world that is not my cat, incapable of making myself read theory in favor of fruitless searches for Ron/Hermione fic that doesn't suck or memoirs about people dying of AIDS (actually, that was a really good book).
Random other thought: Sometimes I think that everything I write is in some sense autobiographical, if only in that it says things about what I'm thinking--where my head's at. I'm such a follow-the-passion writer both in terms of fic, my scholarly work, and creative non-fiction, etcetera. It's like, because the boundaries between my interests are so permeable, everything's open to analysis...or narrative. This is probably also why when I get writer's block it FUCKS ME UP so much, but I'm not thinking about that right now. *beam*
P.S. kittyzams is going to be here on Friday!
P.P.S. Quite seriously, my "project" for my Gender and Autobiography class is going to involve my lifelong intimacy with fiction(s) and include how I made my family call me Dorothy (from The Wizard of Oz) when I was four and my R/Hr doubled identification dealie. Hee. Remember when I wrote that craziness involving fiction about dead cats and grief integrated with Barthes's A Lover's Discourse and turned it in for credit? Yeah, sometimes I think that I'm getting away with murder--I mean, AWESOMENESS.
But! I am in a good mood.
Because where I've been is off in work land, partially as a result of practicalities because kittyzams is going to be here this weekend so I need to get ahead, but also things have started clicking. \o/ Not only have I had thoughts about directions for my dissertation, I've also had ideas for 1, 2, 3, count 'em, 4 papers. THANK GOD. I'm even possibly theorizing my research assistantship work.
Also, I realized that the badness I'd been experiencing the last few weeks--lethargy, anxiety, and meh--are, duh!, totally the beginnings of seasonal affective disorder again. And naming it made me feel like there's more order in my world. Also, this winter I'm going to buy a damn lamp thingie instead of suffering with my insanity.
And lately, even when I was mired in bleh, I had these moments of feeling really blessed about the people in my life. Like, I was having a horrible day and pretty deeply ensconced in my own self-absorbed bullshit when suddenly I realized that within a period 48 hours I'd received phone calls, emails, visits or been in the company of loved ones from so many origins: weird conference calls from my dad and my brother, text messages from C, eyesofmyeyes, friends from elementary school, high school, college, former lovers, fandom people on multiple continents. And that that's totally normal. Then I cleaned out my voicemail fully for the first time in a year and was deeply amused by the story of my world THAT told. One included a BOY drunk-dialing me about Roswell porn. And another who was sad that he couldn't make me steak dinner and watch Buffy. Or my brother's bi or tri-monthly stony, in-transit phone calls: "Dude, I'm driving from North Carolina to Vermont - call me any time in the next 12 hours." Ahahahaha.
And yet, I'm ridiculous. When these people in my Lit Theory class and my Gender Studies class started trying to make friends with me, inviting me over for dinner and parties and such, I'm all (in my head), "Oh! Really? You think I'm interesting?" :P
So taking things for granted - totally overrated. Even when I'm hiding under the covers eating carbohydrates, avoiding the world that is not my cat, incapable of making myself read theory in favor of fruitless searches for Ron/Hermione fic that doesn't suck or memoirs about people dying of AIDS (actually, that was a really good book).
Random other thought: Sometimes I think that everything I write is in some sense autobiographical, if only in that it says things about what I'm thinking--where my head's at. I'm such a follow-the-passion writer both in terms of fic, my scholarly work, and creative non-fiction, etcetera. It's like, because the boundaries between my interests are so permeable, everything's open to analysis...or narrative. This is probably also why when I get writer's block it FUCKS ME UP so much, but I'm not thinking about that right now. *beam*
P.S. kittyzams is going to be here on Friday!
P.P.S. Quite seriously, my "project" for my Gender and Autobiography class is going to involve my lifelong intimacy with fiction(s) and include how I made my family call me Dorothy (from The Wizard of Oz) when I was four and my R/Hr doubled identification dealie. Hee. Remember when I wrote that craziness involving fiction about dead cats and grief integrated with Barthes's A Lover's Discourse and turned it in for credit? Yeah, sometimes I think that I'm getting away with murder--I mean, AWESOMENESS.