I don’t think I’ve made it clear yet just how disgusting I find vaginas. To me, they look like nothing so much as knife wounds, as if somebody carved into a slit into a perfectly fine piece of bare flesh. Seriously, what is inside a vagina? I picture it being full of howling demons and jagged structures too horrible to describe, like something out of an H.P. Lovecraft story. On the rare occasion that I watch straight people fuck, I feel like I’m watching a horror movie. “Don’t go in there!” I want to shout. Obviously, some people feel differently. Whatever. All I know is that in spite of all the gross-out comedies I’ve seen, nothing has ever repulsed me the way a vagina does. Some people might find dicks ugly or assholes disgusting. But with them, you know what you’re getting into. I’ve never been able to say that about vaginas.
I don’t drink much. I don’t smoke weed either. I’ve never felt the need to engage in any sort of chemical stimulation, unless you count the occasional mocha or soda. Some people enjoy that. Good for them. I have, however, entertained the notion of going to Burning Man someday. It seems like a lot of fun. I’m not a very religious person, nor am I very “spiritual”, but there does seem to be something life-affirming about going to the middle of the desert and spending several days “finding yourself”. I’ve read one or two books by Zen masters, and one of them advises that the best way to feel like you are living a productive life is to think of every moment as part of the same experience. When washing the dishes, don’t just wash the dishes to get the dishwashing out of the way. Wash the dishes to wash the dishes. It’s a helpful way to look at things. I try not to think of my time as wasted unless it’s spent doing something that someone else forced me to do. Sadly, that still happens on occasion.
I’m still getting used to the feeling of living on my own. I don’t mean the feeling of having a room or apartment to myself, as I’ve been used to that for a long time. I mean the feeling of scheduling one’s own doctor’s appointments, paying one’s own bills, and finding one’s own living accommodations. My parents still don’t trust my ability to do that. I don’t always trust my ability to do that, either. Many of the people in my grad program are married and have careers. I have a DVD collection.
I found a place to live for the rest of the summer. It’s on-campus housing, but it’s reasonably priced and, from what I’ve heard, a great atmosphere. (Digression: looking for an apartment is one of the few areas where it can be easier to be a woman than a man. Many women are understandably hesitant to allow a strange man into their home, and so post ads saying either “female only” or “female preferred”. The only ad that I ever saw with a “male preferred” clause was from a bunch of gay guys. Sadly, their home was too far away from campus.) I’ve never thought of myself as upper-middle-class, though most people might look at me that way. Sure, I had a lot of privilege growing up, but not that much money. I knew a lot of people wealthier than I was, although I knew some who were poorer. My parents have paid for a lot of stuff over the years. I’ve also been left wanting. Speaking of which, I don’t know what I’m going to do about my missing iPod. I suppose I could just buy an off-brand mp3 player–which, I’m told, can be cheaper and work just as well–but I don’t know where to look, and given how finicky iTunes is about allowing any non-Apple downloads to be played on an Apple device, I’m not sure how reluctant it will be to let me port all of my music and podcasts over to a device that Steve Jobs didn’t approve. I’m sure there’s a way. But I hate having to find it. (On another note, I really hate how anal iTunes is about what files it will play. I’ve downloaded something from another source, uploaded it onto my iPod, and watched iTunes yank it off my iPod just because I moved the original download to another folder. If anyone reading this can explain to my why that happens, don’t bother. It shouldn’t, that’s the point.)
I feel that there is too much happiness in the world. Far too many people shrug off problems with, “Oh, it’ll all work out.” Unless it doesn’t. Sometimes shitty things happen. People get punished for doing the right thing, people get away with doing the wrong thing, and sometimes, life just sucks. I’m not a very optimistic person. How can I be when as I type this, I’m sitting in an un-air-conditioned apartment sharing a room with my cousin who is so strapped for cash that his home does not even contain a chair, let alone a table? Too much is still unresolved. And the problem isn’t me; it’s everyone else.
I’m getting really sick of “concern”. I constantly hear from people who want to sit down and talk to me just to make sure that I’m alright. No, I’m not alright, and the main reason for that is that no one will take “I’m alright” for an answer. If they did, I’d be alright. But the change has to begin with me. It always has to begin with me.
(Hat tip to Aussielicious for the fantastic video.)