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That Cat, having just run riot around the living room, settled herself down to take a big bite out of my golden-syrupped waffles. I picked her up by the middle - the kitten I could once scoop up in one hand now works quite well as a draught excluder - and put her in the kitchen, and closed the door.
Poor kitty. Cue much wailing. "You don't looooooove me! You hate me! I bet I'm adopted!"
I ate my waffles, put the plate down and let her back in. Cue much purring, finger licking, and finally settling herself down to lick the golden syrup off the plate. Fine, I thought. Okay, she's rotting her little teeth, but she's due to lose them in the few weeks or so.
Then she shoved her little nose into the mug on the table, pushed it off and bounced down onto the floor. I sat up and found her cheerfully lapping up half a mug of black coffee. This is, I would argue, all the proof one needs that she is not adopted. She would have none of that. I put her back in the kitchen and all was peace.
And then small, stripy, kitty paws appeared under the kitchen door. They flailed. They flailed some more. Then a tiny kitty nose. Then a tiny kitty miaow. "S'okay, if you don't love me. I'll just. I'll just starve. It's okay."
In conclusion: I give up. I have a cat enthusiastically investigating the back of my jeans. With her claws. If anyone asks, I've just got into kink. Is less embarrassing than Defeat By Four-Month-Old Kitten.
In other news, I'm still here. Went to all my classes and lectures this week, save one. I still love the law. As for my brain... well. Still here. Having been offered it, I have so far resisted switching my meds to amitryptyline, because it's a tricyclic and the side-effects will probably be too awful for me to function. I went to my first session of talk-therapy on Wednesday. My counsellor is middle-aged, balding and has ears that stick out to here. I like him a lot. He said, tell me about your family. I told him about my family. I told him my father is a cheerful aging hippie, my mother is both awesome and occasionally crazy. He said, tell me about your friends. I told him about them. He asked, how do you cope with life and depression.
I did not say: I make convoluted puns on the internet. I eat waffles. I pick up my cat and sing, "Kitty in the sky with diamonds!" My dearest friend comes in from Norfolk and sexually propositions me.
I said: humour.
He laughed, and told me that he didn't like to make sweeping predictions so early on in the therapy-process, and he hadn't known me too long, but, well, "I think you'll probably be fine."
In other other news:
Truly idiotic post from Feministing today - apparently we should not be in long-distance relationships because they're not environmentally-friendly. As well as being idiotic in itself, this post exemplifies one of the things that annoy me about the big feminist blogs (Feministing, Feministe, Pandagon): they're so very definite about what a feminist, or in this case, a social progessive, is like. Occasionally that approach backfires spectacularly - see Amanda Marcotte's incredibly racist book covers, for example - but not often enough for my liking. Possibly this is just the week white privilege is pissing me off, but hell, white privilege pisses me off.
(Random bit of rage for the day: people keep talking about Christmas. Christmas is in December, for heaven's sake. I belong to a religious tradition that is also subscribed to by a billion people. The major winter religious festival of this religious tradition is, er, on Monday. Have I heard a single thing from the media, or the world at large, about this? Have I fuck.)
(Note: I am aware that this is not white privilege per se. I have never found a good term to describe it. I once described it as "orthopraxic cultural privilege", but I don't think it'll catch on.)
(Further note:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jacinthsong gave me a Diwali card. This is awesome.)
I stop babbling now, yesyes. I am going to re-read Whipping Girl now.
Poor kitty. Cue much wailing. "You don't looooooove me! You hate me! I bet I'm adopted!"
I ate my waffles, put the plate down and let her back in. Cue much purring, finger licking, and finally settling herself down to lick the golden syrup off the plate. Fine, I thought. Okay, she's rotting her little teeth, but she's due to lose them in the few weeks or so.
Then she shoved her little nose into the mug on the table, pushed it off and bounced down onto the floor. I sat up and found her cheerfully lapping up half a mug of black coffee. This is, I would argue, all the proof one needs that she is not adopted. She would have none of that. I put her back in the kitchen and all was peace.
And then small, stripy, kitty paws appeared under the kitchen door. They flailed. They flailed some more. Then a tiny kitty nose. Then a tiny kitty miaow. "S'okay, if you don't love me. I'll just. I'll just starve. It's okay."
In conclusion: I give up. I have a cat enthusiastically investigating the back of my jeans. With her claws. If anyone asks, I've just got into kink. Is less embarrassing than Defeat By Four-Month-Old Kitten.
In other news, I'm still here. Went to all my classes and lectures this week, save one. I still love the law. As for my brain... well. Still here. Having been offered it, I have so far resisted switching my meds to amitryptyline, because it's a tricyclic and the side-effects will probably be too awful for me to function. I went to my first session of talk-therapy on Wednesday. My counsellor is middle-aged, balding and has ears that stick out to here. I like him a lot. He said, tell me about your family. I told him about my family. I told him my father is a cheerful aging hippie, my mother is both awesome and occasionally crazy. He said, tell me about your friends. I told him about them. He asked, how do you cope with life and depression.
I did not say: I make convoluted puns on the internet. I eat waffles. I pick up my cat and sing, "Kitty in the sky with diamonds!" My dearest friend comes in from Norfolk and sexually propositions me.
I said: humour.
He laughed, and told me that he didn't like to make sweeping predictions so early on in the therapy-process, and he hadn't known me too long, but, well, "I think you'll probably be fine."
In other other news:
Truly idiotic post from Feministing today - apparently we should not be in long-distance relationships because they're not environmentally-friendly. As well as being idiotic in itself, this post exemplifies one of the things that annoy me about the big feminist blogs (Feministing, Feministe, Pandagon): they're so very definite about what a feminist, or in this case, a social progessive, is like. Occasionally that approach backfires spectacularly - see Amanda Marcotte's incredibly racist book covers, for example - but not often enough for my liking. Possibly this is just the week white privilege is pissing me off, but hell, white privilege pisses me off.
(Random bit of rage for the day: people keep talking about Christmas. Christmas is in December, for heaven's sake. I belong to a religious tradition that is also subscribed to by a billion people. The major winter religious festival of this religious tradition is, er, on Monday. Have I heard a single thing from the media, or the world at large, about this? Have I fuck.)
(Note: I am aware that this is not white privilege per se. I have never found a good term to describe it. I once described it as "orthopraxic cultural privilege", but I don't think it'll catch on.)
(Further note:
jacinthsong gave me a Diwali card. This is awesome.)I stop babbling now, yesyes. I am going to re-read Whipping Girl now.
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Oh. Oh my. It appears that I am going to have Words with feministing.com quite soon. And I was doing so well with getting on with reading about whether or not the random dead guy who wrote a particular medieval Scottish poem is or is not the random dead guy we think he is or not.
If I don't see you IRL or online between now and then, happy Diwali, love. I would send you sweets, but I don't trust Harriet not to beat you up and take them all :D
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A very happy Diwali to you too, dear!
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Ohgod. If I didn't hate people who do it so very, very much, I would so be doing a loud and public flounce on feministing right now.
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Me: Because I want to do this too much to waste it feeling shit.
Him: That's the right answer.
.... that's the first time anyone's told me I've got the right answer in about a decade. *smile*
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Happy Diwali for Monday!
(Some genius setting up Diwali lights on the Lanyon for the festival has managed to break all the outside lights on the main building. Its a bit tragic.)
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I read the three blogs you've mentioned here every day (along with 29 other feminist or LGBT-focused blogs because I'm compulsive, apparently) and I'm usually a fan--particularly of Feministe-- but my appreciation of them has taken a few hits in the past 6-7 months or so. My go-to blog has always been Shakesville (http://www.shakesville.com). I'm also really digging Hunter of Justice (http://hunterforjustice.typepad.com/hunter_of_justice/) (she's a feminist law prof to boot!) and RH Reality Check (http://www.RHRealityCheck.org) of late.
re religious privilege: ack! Who is talking about Christmas in October? That is beyond silly, first of all for the reason you've just stated, and also because linear time is our friend. Also? If Doctor Who has taught us nothing, it's that Bad Things Happen at Christmas. (never during Diwali, Rosh Hashanah, Ramadan, or any other important times of the year!) Why tempt fate?
I've seriously had to come to terms with my Christian-centric view of the year since switching to my current school (which is a Jewish school). Even after a year I still have to go out of my way to stop myself from talking about "Christmas break" since it's so invisibly ingrained into my brain. Since half my family is, for at least some intents and purposes, jewish, this is a really pathetic showing on my part. Given that right now in the US McCain's supporters (losing, but unfortunately still many in number) are using the word "muslim" as an insult in and of itself, I kind of despair for a religiously and culturally pluralistic society here.
Happy Diwali, in any case! I'm very glad both you and your brain are still here.
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People are selling Christmas decorations and cards, and there are adverts on television, and people are asking me where I'll spend it. Sigh. I hate the Christian-centric view of the world so, so much; there is nothing in the world so awful, specially when you're a kid but even now, as a really enormous party that it seems as everyone else in the world is invited to. And your own parties - see, for example, Diwali, a festival I can't celebrate properly because I'm thousand of miles away from where it's properly celebrated - aren't nearly as fun.
Happy Diwali to you too! To you and yours!
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:-)
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Reverand Lovejoy: See Home? When you were in trouble everyone came to help you, whether Christian (indicates Ned Flanders), Jew (indicates Krusty) or (indicating Apu)...Miscellaneous.
Apu: Hundu! There are 800 million of us.
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And... you know... and I mention this because of the mention of Whipping Girl... you are one of the people who give me the courage, just by existing, to stand up and say "Germaine sodding Greer? No thanks." to people who might be able to do something about the situation. So... thank you.
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And... thank you, sweetheart. I'm not as much of an activist as I ought to be, perhaps - I always think I ought to do more - so it's really nice to hear that you're out there being awesome. :)
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I am in a long-distance relationship--not as long as distance as many of people I know, but not the same city, nevertheless--and I can't bring myself to respond to that article. I'm fairly sure Alex didn't move to Leeds as part of his long-term plan to kill the world (he might have done, but I think the degree in economics will be more use for that than the extra train trips).
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Anyway. *squish* Yes. Is tricky to decide whether to switch or not. And hte process of switching is generally awful, so I hope you don't have to.
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Happy Diwali..! You doing anything for it? I may go see the fireworks but not sure.
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I always sulk at the lack of attention given to Diwali because it's so much more colourful and happy and positive than so many other religious festivals.no subject
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My unhelpful advice let me gice you it!
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It does give me hope that two of the full-timers in my uni's English department are Buddhists, and that, when the poster sale came to campus, my Catholic officemate chose two posters... oddly including a Buddha, with a quotation (unattributed, but sounds Dhammapada to me). Maybe I'm having an insidious influence on her, and I'll walk in one day to find her grading papers seated on a zafu, or just plunked down facing the wall with incense going.
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I'm glad you like your counsellor, that's always helpful, and well done on going to all your lectures. That really is an achievement when you're feeling so awful. *huggles*