June 21, 2010 § Leave a comment
I spend most of my time on the internet on feminist blogs, on Ravelry, and on Etsy. It’s a trifecta of gendering. Even my fantasies are gendered. In them I do more than knit endless stockinette stitch and click around and think about blogging. No, in these I finish every project that I start. My determination outweighs my tiredness. I am a Crafter, and I sell something fabulous on Etsy. Something wondrous to wear because I love clothes (and fabric and poems and feminism, yeesh). And this is my JOB!
My other dream, which I am slacking on right this very moment, is a Fulbright. To Hungary. To interview the women who make Kalocsa embroideries. I want their stories and the stories of their families. I want a book out of this.
I am further along here, though I still need a publisher. I have been studying Hungarian for the last 18 months (it’s hard). My mother’s family is from Hungary. I have friends of friends in Hungary. This can’t be classified as a dream anymore. It’s a goal. And I’ll be visiting Hungary soon to test my shaky pronunciation on unsuspecting cabdrivers and waitstaff throughout Budapest.
I’ll tell you something though: it’s hard to take concrete action on your goals the week before you get married. Just saying.
June 9, 2010 § Leave a comment
Why blog? Specifically why should I blog. It seems like this enormous act of hubris because I think about me all the time. If I think about me, I write about me. Eventually bore even myself. But I have to write — writing is part of my makeup. (Not makeup, though that’s what I wear when I do gussy it up.) Composition is part of my composition. See! I love words!
Part of what I intend to do with this blog is to conduct interviews with ordinary people. And part of what I intend to do with this blog is figure out what I should be writing and what I should be working on. Truly, I don’t believe anyone is ordinary, and I am trying to show myself the same consideration.
Since managing depression eats up so much of my life, I’ll have to write about that too sometimes. Telling people about my depression is a huge fear (ImightnotgetajobI’llnevergetajob), and fear is a big part of what keeps me from doing the work I should do. So hi depression. You annoy me. You wrote the first sentences of this blog entry.
Of course I’ll be writing about things that concern me — racism, sexism, a giant fucking oil catastrophe. I prefer to think about all the isms as issues of fairness. I want everything to be fair for everyone in the world. This doesn’t mean that all people should have the same things — it means that everyone deserves a shot at controlling at least parts of her/his/hir destiny. And I don’t care that this is impossible.
June 4, 2010 § Leave a comment
Other people have trouble writing; other people struggle with depression and caustic self-doubt. I think a lot about the world (and I spend too much time on the internet), but I am terrifically shy. I don’t come across as shy, usually. People tell me I seem confident and assertive, that my voice is strong, my personality strong.
This is true, one-on-one. Or at small gatherings. In controlled situations. But putting myself into the world is not easy. I am truly, genuinely shy. I don’t like being judged and found lacking. And I value privacy . Ha! (I know, right.) I think maybe that’s where nostalgia is going next—blue water and privacy.
But you know, the water. . There are problems with the water. And the fish in the water. And the birds. Mammals. The people who live near the water (who are also mammals). Their lives are gone. If they are lucky they will get new lives that open up before them. Most will not be lucky.
My Aunt Kathy told me that her neighbor (a cosmetologist) said that cosmetologists and hairdressers are going down to the Louisiana coastline and cleaning the oil off of some birds and some mammals. Because this is their area of expertise—they know how to clean gunk off of hair and skin.
I am inadequate to speak to the troubles in this world. My hope though is that if I write enough, I can clean one bird, so to speak.