(no subject)
the fucker has to be done today, so today will start my recovery: not yet, but soon, i'll ring the bell. and when i do, it'll be the sound of me having a life again.
and, as i finish writing about reproductive bodies, i just started to "ride the wave," with the absolute worst cramps i've ever had.** as in, i've had to take breaks from writing to curl in a ball. while this is probably due to the fact that my diet has been absolute shit lately, i'm going to go with the obvious metaphor here: my body is laboring out my div iii. i am giving birth, to a very large, very whiney though hopefully well-written, baby.
the pregnancy metaphor really can extend to the whole div iii. think about it: you start off, you're excited, you pick out a name, you look longingly at the adorable books you're going to buy, and you really just want to meet this div iii, meet the little darling you've been thinking about. even better, it's a planned div iii! you're not sure what it's going to look like in the end, but you know you picked out the topic, and it was the right time for you to do this. you simply hope that there will be no complications. you're nervous. it's natural. you haven't done this before.
and then, fast forward: it's april, you're almost done, and you can't fucking wait to have it out. your lower back hurts from sitting all the time, and you have tension headaches. you also haven't been able to sleep, either from stress or because the div iii won't stop kicking. you make last-minute changes to your plan, maybe you even change the name. you wonder whether or not you're going to be ok once it's out in the world, if you're up to the task. and, you're angry at your committee because they're refusing to give you drugs to ease the pain.
i think it works well.
i can keep going to the post-partum depression stage, but since i'm not there yet (damn damn DAMN) i don't have the insight. i'll miss the whole process, despite myself.
as i was talking to my member about this, literally using the term "post-partum" in reference to my div, we came onto the topic of actual post-partum depression: four people in her class are writing about it for their finals. we got to the topic of andrea yates-- the woman who drowned her four children-- and her current roommate.
(Be warned: this may or may not be completely fucked up of me to say. i can't tell.)
her roommate is dena schlosser, who is in an institution for cutting her baby's arms off. they are, apparently, very good friends.
can you imagine the conversations that come up?
**anyone who feels like that is too much information can go play in traffic.
and, as i finish writing about reproductive bodies, i just started to "ride the wave," with the absolute worst cramps i've ever had.** as in, i've had to take breaks from writing to curl in a ball. while this is probably due to the fact that my diet has been absolute shit lately, i'm going to go with the obvious metaphor here: my body is laboring out my div iii. i am giving birth, to a very large, very whiney though hopefully well-written, baby.
the pregnancy metaphor really can extend to the whole div iii. think about it: you start off, you're excited, you pick out a name, you look longingly at the adorable books you're going to buy, and you really just want to meet this div iii, meet the little darling you've been thinking about. even better, it's a planned div iii! you're not sure what it's going to look like in the end, but you know you picked out the topic, and it was the right time for you to do this. you simply hope that there will be no complications. you're nervous. it's natural. you haven't done this before.
and then, fast forward: it's april, you're almost done, and you can't fucking wait to have it out. your lower back hurts from sitting all the time, and you have tension headaches. you also haven't been able to sleep, either from stress or because the div iii won't stop kicking. you make last-minute changes to your plan, maybe you even change the name. you wonder whether or not you're going to be ok once it's out in the world, if you're up to the task. and, you're angry at your committee because they're refusing to give you drugs to ease the pain.
i think it works well.
i can keep going to the post-partum depression stage, but since i'm not there yet (damn damn DAMN) i don't have the insight. i'll miss the whole process, despite myself.
as i was talking to my member about this, literally using the term "post-partum" in reference to my div, we came onto the topic of actual post-partum depression: four people in her class are writing about it for their finals. we got to the topic of andrea yates-- the woman who drowned her four children-- and her current roommate.
(Be warned: this may or may not be completely fucked up of me to say. i can't tell.)
her roommate is dena schlosser, who is in an institution for cutting her baby's arms off. they are, apparently, very good friends.
can you imagine the conversations that come up?
**anyone who feels like that is too much information can go play in traffic.