When I started covering my hair, I wasn't clear on why I was doing it. I just felt the impulse. Now, though, looking back on it, I remember it as one of the most freeing experiences I've had. Psychologically, having that barrier between me and other people was wonderful. Certainly, many people stared. I was asked if I'd converted to Islam several times (although since my neck was uncovered, it would have made more sense to ask me if I'd become conservatively Jewish, and even that would be pretty nonsensical since I was wearing spaghetti-strap tops and tight jeans like always) and given condolences from people who assumed I was undergoing chemotherapy. But people stared at me before I started covering my hair, and with my hair covered, I felt like I had some kind of armor against that gaze.
Now I think back to that time and rather wish I could get back to it. Unfortunately, it isn't as simple as donning a headscarf again. Many people who have seen pictures of me with a headscarf have commented, "you look so much prettier now -- I'm glad you stopped wearing it." Perhaps I'm vain, but their words have an impact on me. The purpose of covering my hair wasn't to make me less pretty; that was never the attitude I had. Besides, I'm not used to the scarf anymore, and with short hair, scarves are harder to keep on your head.
These are all excuses, though, trying to cover up the fact that I'm simply not sure what it would be like to take that drastic step again. I like dancing, wearing fashionable clothes, showing off my figure. I'm not tzniut and my religion doesn't require me to be. In many ways this makes the choice harder: I could not give a simple explanation to my boss, for instance, or my friends, about why I've decided to cover my hair.
Someday, though, I'm pretty sure I'm going to return to the practice of wearing a headscarf. There is something hugely comforting, hugely empowering, about asserting that kind of control over your body and your self-image. Strangely enough, it's similar to the feeling one receives from getting a tattoo or a body piercing. You are choosing something about your image; you are in charge of yourself in a way that our culture does not often allow women to be. It has nothing to do with women needing to cover themselves in order to prevent men from being horny (as if you can prevent men from being horny!) but rather everything to do with establishing yourself as the ultimate arbiter over your own body and your own image.
Besides, it's an absolutely lovely feeling to unbind your scarf at the end of the day, unpin your hair, and feel it fall free over your shoulders. Absolutely lovely.
Reading feminist literary criticism, I realize that until today it never struck me that our culture defines science as preeminent over and preferable to art -- and that then it assigns science as "masculine" and art as "feminine."
Somehow, I never realized that when I think well, if I were a biologist, I might actually help somebody, I might actually be worth something -- if only I could do math! it was quite such a profound statement opposing what has been defined as femininity.
(This is not to say that I think science should be masculine -- or is masculine -- or anything like that; but it is defined that way.)
No wonder science departments are so hostile to women. We're edging in on that old boys' club.
The funny thing is, I would rather give up a hundred years of science than a hundred years of art. No, I'm not kidding. Yes, I do know what antibiotics and so on have done for us. (Not that it's helped me all that much, since I'm allergic to so many antibiotics.) But science -- science can always be reproduced. Art? When the individual mind that created it is gone, that work of art is gone forever, irreplaceable.
Yea, a professor came unto her, and said, "thou shalt write your qual; and you shall call its name Written, and there will be much rejoicing."
And so the qual was Written, and it was turned in, and there was gaiety and joy in all the land!
Well, first of all, I'm nearly done with my qual. Go me!
Second of all, I am still sick. The flu turned into the awful stuffy sneezes which turned into the coughing which turned into the sore throat which turned into the loss of voice and I have no idea what's coming next but it's gotta be something like broken bones or whatever. I get the feeling that this illness is not afraid to take the nuclear option. Anyway, Mom and Dad, I know you read this -- I'm not going to call until my voice come back; sorry.
Right now, my roommates are camping for a Wii outside a Best Buy somewhere in the outskirts of Portland. I'm excited. I just want to play "Twilight Princess" until my arms fall off is all. Of course, we've run out of cords and plugs (we have a PS2, a PS3, a Super Nintendo, and an Xbox 360) and therefore we're going to have to decide on something to unplug -- we've already benched the PS2, which is a pity because we don't have adapters for the memory cards yet and that means that when I finish my qual I can't celebrate by playing FFXII or FFX. Hopefully, they'll actually get a Wii -- the Target we called earlier sold out in 26 minutes -- and since I don't play anything on the PS3 or Xbox 360 I won't care what they unplug. Although, I guess we have Lemmings on the PS3, and the Xbox is really only good for Halo 2, which I am absolute shit at. So.
Lastly -- this semester. Lots of reading. I discovered, qualling, that I am indeed ready to go back to school, that I can indeed put in work in six-hour stretches like I need to during the semester. I'm pretty sure that's great.
I want to write more of my novel. With qual worries and a multitude of distractions, I've barely looked at it since November. I think that school starting again will be my cue to bring the novel off the back burner, try and get a couple hundred words every day. Since I know I can write upwards of twenty pages in a day, no sweat, and have them even be moderately readable, that ought to be a piece of cake. (Ought to be.)
Okay. Back to the qual, back to the grind.
In which fictional world/universe/land/city would you most like to live?
Submitted by glenn is the new chuck.
Time City, from A Tale of Time City by Diana Wynne Jones. One of the best things ever would be to be able to drop in to many, many times, from a city that takes the best parts of all of them.
And that's all, I'm too gross for more -- but I had to answer this question!
Well I'm sick. Sick, sick, sick. And I'm wondering what kind of a sick joke it is to make this happen to me right before my qualifying exam!
Last night, while chilling out and keeping it low-key (Jess, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I didn't make it to your birthday -- but I was already feeling a little run-down then, and didn't want to push it. I hope Tim and Allie told you happy birthday from me) I got this sore throat. Then my body started aching. I felt nauseous, my ears stuffed up. I'm pretty sure that during the night I had a fever, because I was alternately too hot and too cold. Miserable!
I ended up getting up at least four or five times during the night (probably more; I have a tendency to sleepwalk), drinking water, wishing that my muscles didn't hurt when I put weight on them and that my head didn't spin when I was standing. This morning I feel a bit better; I've taken some ibuprofen and drank a lot of water, and I'm sure that Allie will know the exact best combination of things to take to make me feel better. (Her mom's not a doctor for nothing; she always knows these things). Right now I'd kill for a DayQuil, though.
I guess I'd better call John and see if he would photocopy the articles I have yet to read for the qual and bring them over here (I'll wait till 10 AM, of course). I'll be damned before I do poorly on this test because of this! So that means lots of water, lying down, medicine, vitamins, and nothing that will make me drowsy because I have to study.
Okay, my pity party's over. I'm going to try and get a couple more hours rest before I start the day.
I took some beautiful photos of the snow, since it's never snowed this hard in Portland that I remember before -- on the left. I went out to Kenilworth Park, as soon as I woke up.
It's wonderful to wake up to such a gorgeous sight. I didn't end up going to work (cold, still snowing two hours after I woke up, and crazy people on the streets = not so much with the going very far) and I'm going to start a fire soon. The world is so beautiful today. What a great birthday present!
In other news, Jesse (not Graff, the other one) gave me Nobilis for my birthday, and now I really want to play it. Unfortunately, I have a qual to study for. This summer (because I won't have time to run a game till then), who wants to play Nobilis? ...think Neil Gaiman plus Constantine on an absinthe bender...
I turn twenty on the fourteenth.
This is strange: I will be older than Barbie.
This is relieving: I will no longer be a teenager. I'm tired of being so obviously younger.
This is strange: after twenty-one, you supposedly stop looking forward to your birthdays. Nothing to look forward to, I guess, unless you want to run for President.
I haven't got any party plans, not so much because I don't want them but because I can't bring myself to take the time to plan it. Also, I don't want a raucous screaming everyone-drunken sort of party, and that's the only type that doesn't take much planning, unless you want to spend money (and I don't have the cash to take my friends out to dinner). Oh well. The Haus bought me red tulips yesterday -- for which I was very grateful. They're potted, so they'll still be blooming on my birthday, which makes me absurdly happy. Tulips, my favorite flower, are a tradition on my birthday. I was surprised anyone remembered, cared, or bothered. Very pleasantly so.
I'm turning twenty. Strange.
So, I'm thinking that maybe this summer I'm going to try and go "Hungry For A Month." Reading the blog, it sounded pretty much inspiring. The thing is, I bet I could get people to sponsor me -- that is, people to donate a dollar for every day I go hungry to a food bank, or something.
I'm thinking my rules would be: a dollar a day. Drinks that are readily available for free to the general public (non-fancy coffee and tea) would not count towards my total of a dollar a day, but they would have to be simple -- that is, buy regular coffee and not a latte, etc. Sugar and salt in moderate amounts would not count towards my total, as they are also readily available for free (or, you know, very easily stealable: salt shakers are simple to swipe, and frankly I wouldn't feel bad about swiping one, if I really was living on $1 a day). I would also be allowed to eat a vitamin every day, so I don't get scurvy or something.
I'm pretty sure I could get enough calories this way (rice, here I come), and I would ask people to sponsor me -- a dollar a day for each day I go hungry.
Anyway, I'll have to figure out when I should do this and how. I was thinking summer, because then I won't be distracted from my classes, but I think that I might be able to get enough fat and so on that I wouldn't be screwed up. We'll see.
I guess, well, I made macaroons today off of this recipe. They turned out really well and were surprisingly easy to make -- as long as you have room in your fridge to chill them. Fortunately, I just cleaned the fridge, so we were cool on that score. Anyhow, I suggest that if you're chary of making fancy cookies, you try making macaroons. Dee-licious.
Now I need to get a madeleine tin, so that I can make madeleines and be really, really, really painfully cutesy.
What else have I been doing? - Studying. Working out. That's pretty much everything. I know it seems like painfully little to be doing, but I don't count "Guitar Hero" or "fan fiction" as real activities. I suppose I've been cooking and baking a lot, since our kitchen is nearly finished, and that counts for something -- I made muffins, and tried (but failed) to make simple crackers (I really need a rolling pin, and I swear I used to have one, but nope, nowhere to be found. So the crackers were too thick and pretty much gross.)
All right, I suppose I'll hold off on posting more till I have something interesting to say, or at least some pretty photos.
