Hyper Little Thoughts

Just finished watching the Lion King. I love that movie. I think it marks one of the last truly great Disney movies. And, it made me feel better.

The pain, it seems, is in temporary remission. I took a scalding hot bath and had some hot tea. That and the three pain pills I took seem to have done the trick for now. So I'm going to get up, do my dishes, hopefully take the trash out and get started on a paper that's due Friday before it comes back.

Here's hoping.

I can't tell whether it's gotten worse or stayed the same. The only thing I know is that it did not get better. I went out and got some meds, but they're wearing off pretty quickly. I can't tell if i have a fever because I have no themometer and no one sells the old cheap ones anymore - they're all the digital ones, and I really can't afford one. As it is, I had to take the money out of my checking account to pay my utility bill so that I could buy the meds.

This sucks in so many ways.

And also, I'm self-pitifying because I'm sick so don't get upset, but being sick really reminds a person how alone they are. I miss my mom, I want a bf, and I can't even talk to friends because I have no voice.

*wimper*

I just got email from Dr. Bradshaw saying that the Foucault reading was shortened, which means I read about 60 pages more than we had to.

Dammit.

And also? Bleck.

So tonight, after i finished foucault, I went out and got FUCKED UP.

Which I am now.

Bleck.

I finished it!

I finished The History of Sexuality!!!

Now my brain is dead. If anyone steps in something grey, could you point me to it, please?

You know, once you actually get into it, it's not so bad afterall. It's a little slow-going, but this idea that "repression" is actually a catalyst for the opposite is fascinating to me. I only have one more part - about 60 pages left. I've been taking periodic breaks to absorb the material. I feel all scholarly, though, trudging through this thing. It does use one of my pet peeves though. In academic or "intelligent" institutions, people for whatever feel the need for using extremely "intelligent" words to describe an idea, and usually a whole host of such words. What bothers me is when they do this, even though the idea can be summed up using a)laymen's vocabulary, or b)using a relatively small amount of words. I hate that people have to "show off" to make themselves feel smart.

Which is almost ironic, because in four seperate passages now, Foucault has attacked society for being so "verbose" when it comes to sexuality. Funny.

Needless to say, I'm getting much use out of my dictionary.

It's because I'm reading The History of Sexuality by Michel Foucault. I'm on page 8, and I have to read to page 130 by tomorrow evening. I've been reading for over an hour. This is seriously difficult stuff, theory aside. I feel like a short-bus rider trying to get through it. If you're unfamiliar with Foucault or queer/sexuality theory at all, I offer you a quote that I had to reread 12 times before I could piece together it's meaning:

"The affirmation of a sexuality that has never been more rigorously subjugated than during the age of the hypocritical, bustling, and responsible bourgeoisie is coupled with the gradiliquence of a discourse purporting to reveal the truth about sex, modify its economy within reality, subvert the law that governs it, and change its future."

Can someone IM me some Red Bull? I have a feeling it's going to be a long night.

I'm either hungover. Or bloody sick.

And since I only had two cocktails after work last night, I'm thinking it's probably the second one. Great. Just what I need right now. Sickness.

OTOH, though, that gives me the perfect excuse to lie in bed all day and not do homework. You know, except that if I don't, I'll be screwed. I need to read a few chapters for Intro the LGBTQ class, and write a paper. I also need to read a few chapters of Foucault (*cringe* - have you ever read this guy?!) for Queer Theory. 6 chapters for history, 300+ pages for Social Justice, and study for an exam in Human Sexuality.

Oh yeah, my life is teh funnest.

Hmm...maybe I'll reply to the 100+ LJ comments I've got stored up from all of you loverly people. Maybe.

Meant to include this on the last post, but I think this'll be read more.

I've gotten a few more emails on "abandoned!?!?!" fics. I know I haven't posted anything lately. But, I have not abandoned Learn to be Lonely, and if you've been following my RL posts, you'll know I've been a bit hectic lately. I have no clue when I'll be able to update it, or any of my other projects. Probably not anytime in the forseeable future.

Not technically a drabble, because I've no idea how long it's going to wind up being, but I felt the need to write something. I'm in a funky mood since this afternoon. Guilt, over not going to class; sadness over a conversation I had with someone today and what that convo means; worry over finances; you know - the usual stuff. No worries though, still high and dry. Just felt like brooding a bit. Hence, the dribble.

The fog dissipates like a curtain thrown back, and the city rushes to life once more. Taxi horns in the distance, a car alarm screaming. A homeless man pushes his cart across the intersection, one of its wheels missing and scraping against the asphalt. A bus rushes by, sweeping its blue-black smoke into my face, my hair, my mouth. I feel dirty. The dirt freezes in me with each step I take along the grey sidewalk. One cement square followed by another and another, each one with its own tracks and cracks. A thousand journeys pass over them with each sunrise and sunset. My path is the same as ever, my steps as repetative as the hour, the day, the month before. It's a travel I know well. I walk alone, two feet, two hands, two eyes, one heart beating in time to the sounds of my steps on the pavement. As I look ahead, I can see row after row of parked cars. Reds, blues, whites and blacks all overlaid with a thick coat of grey dust, ash, slush from this greasy winter. They reflect the sunless sky, the dark clouds that soar above the beige and empty tree branches. With each clip-clap of my feet, the daylight darkens; my soul grows heavier. I feel coldness on my cheek, wetness on my nose, and I turn my face back to the sky. Thick and heavy flakes float dreamily down; white chases away the grey. Suddenly the day seems bright, as it wasn't before. It seems colder, but this cold kisses the senses rather than drowning them. The wind stirs the flakes like confetti, and I am a parade of one, continuting on my journey, marching towards the end. No trumpets to announce me, no crowds to cheer me. Only the clip-clap on the familiar squares and the sounds of the city as I'm swallowed by the day once more.