I believe that men and women have the right to do with their bodies as they please. I believe that while abortion is a painful, emotionally trying life-event, a woman should not be forced into a pregnancy she does not want. I believe that criminalizing abortion is not progressive; it will only make women feel more alone, more abandoned, and less equipped to understand themselves. I believe that even though a women does not support abortion, she can enact compassion, and hold her sister’s hand during the process. I believe that abortion should be a last resort for women, but still an option, and that women should have legal access to any birth control they need.
I believe that people should be able to marry whom they wish. Just as we do not discriminate against blacks who want to marry Asians, or Hindus who want to marry Christians, we should not object to gays, lesbians, or transgender people marrying their partners. I believe this world needs more love, not less, and a person’s gender holds no weight on the sanctity of a marriage bond, and that everyone should be entitled to the same rights that heteronormative couples enjoy.
I believe that the government has a responsibility to its people. I believe that although poverty and homelessness cannot be fully erased, we should try. More money should not be spent on homeless animals than homeless people. I believe that individuals have a right to the money they earn, but taxes on that income should be fair, and big businesses should not be given tax breaks because of their wealth and influence.
I believe that wars and violence should be avoided at all costs; that a president should not have the right to order invasions without Congress’ approval.
I believe that announcing your opposition to immoral practices does not make you a moral person. I believe that compassion and love are the best markers of a person’s goodness.
I believe that we should respect other people’s beliefs. I believe that most people are searching for the same things in life and in spirit, and that the path I choose cannot and should not be forced on anyone else.
I believe that education is valuable and powerful, and that we should be working as quickly and as best as we can to enable our youth to be better thinkers.
I believe that the arts should have a firm footing in our culture, and that a nation that does not support artistic enrichment is not developing fully.
I believe that slandering someone else’s name is a shameful way to gain popularity.
I believe that preying on people’s fears is a shameful way to attain your goals.
I believe that racism and prejudices of any kind should be eradicated. I especially believe that those individuals in power should squelch any racist attacks against their peers.
I believe the media has a responsibility to provide the facts about the people and events it reports. I believe that honor codes should be enforced for all news media organizations.
28 October 2008
What I Believe, Or, Where My Vote Is Coming From
set forth by Anonymous at 11:38 PM 0 thoughts by other people
Labels: beliefs, government, humanity, politics, racism, responsibility, women
15 October 2008
This Scares Me.
Thanks to Feministing for the heads up.
set forth by Anonymous at 1:02 PM 0 thoughts by other people
20 August 2008
This Is Rough
It was raining. She had been forced to walk across the Square, constantly losing her sandals across the wide, dark puddles, their plastic soles slipping beneath her feet, making her stumble and mutter “Fuck” under her breath. She had been forced to park in a forgotten strip of spaces behind ugly buildings, and it was raining. She was slipping and muttering as she crossed the ill-defined parking spaces, walked north down one street, east across another, and then finally heading south to the bookstore where she was being forced to buy a book that she could have bought for much cheaper online, had the professor given her students more than a few days notice. As she slipped and muttered north, than east, than south, she was forced to pass a boutique displaying storefront dresses she couldn’t afford, much less fit into, and she was forced to remember her lumpy figure’s tendency to grow all the more lumpy and saggy in all the wrong places. In the bookstore, she was forced to ask someone where the books she needed were, after initially telling a clerk, “No, I’m fine, I’mjustlookingrightnowthanks.” The books were, of course, neatly arranged alphabetically on a shelf wearing a neon green post-it note with her professor’s name and title as a name tag. She had missed the obviously marked shelf. She had missed a lot of things. She was feeling odd, and uncomfortable, awkward without her usual social safety blanket draped around her shoulders. When she placed her books on the counter to be rung up, she realized she’d forgotten to buy the journal she wanted to write down her reading assignments. She was too embarrassed of her forgetfulness in front of the undergraduate ringing her sale to mention it. He was wearing a deliberately faded plaid shirt, the kind that snapped rather than buttoned, and an ill-fitting and not-at-all humorous trucker’s hat. She would later forget what his face looked like, but would not forget the way his conversation with her was flat and lifeless, too impartial to even be considered forced. The undergraduate didn’t know his way around the cash register, and she grew impatient even though she recognized that she, too, was new to everything. She realized, too, that she was not impatient for the undergraduate’s slowness in ringing her purchase, but for her own easing into her new city. She’d become mildly agoraphobic. Going to the grocery store and shopping in a busy aisle nearly drove her into a panic attack, which she hid, of course, behind almost-closed eyes and a weak smile. “What class are these for…” the undergraduate stated, more than asked. “English 600.” She waited for the glimpse of recognition in the undergraduate’s eyes, but none came, and she was mildly disappointed that once again, no one cared that she was a Masters student. “Would you like a bag for this…” Again, the words followed one another as simply and obviously as a caravan of bored pack animals. It was not a question. But she answered it anyway, “No, thank you, I’ll just carry them.” She had intended to get a bag, as it was raining, and she’d had enough problems trying to keep her shoes on. The undergraduate had further problems knowing how to ring up her sale and charge it to her credit card, and had to consistently seek advice from Dot, the much more lively attendant who, despite ringing up her sale (by proxy) didn’t seem to notice the girl buying the books at all. “Would you like a bag with that…” She almost said ‘yes’ this time, but instead, not wanting to contradict her original opinion, went again with a bored, “No, thank you.” She left the bookstore without being noticed, and again slipped and muttered her way north, then west, then south back to her forgotten parking spot. It was then she noticed row upon row of books filling up a window that was nearly covered with a climbing vine and ill-draping power lines. With the rain coming down, it seemed dreary, yet calming, and she wanted to take a picture of the scene. She had only her cell phone, and was therefore faced to take a picture that did not capture at all what she felt when she first looked at the window full of books. The picture now on her screen deadened the affinity she felt for the window and vines and books. She got into her car, and heard a song sang by an artist she didn’t know. It was a sad song that tried to evoke tears from her chest. It almost succeeded, but she was resolved to avoid tears. Less than a mile from her home, she realized that the car in front of her was being followed by an ambitious black mutt. She was driving behind a dog that was happy to run behind a car. When the car escaped him, he merely stopped, turned, and looked at the oncoming girl. She pulled up beside him, honking at him to get out of the road, and he looked at her, wagged his tail, and walked away.
set forth by Anonymous at 9:22 PM 1 thoughts by other people
Labels: fiction
26 July 2008
T- 5 Days
Do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch.Jane Austen, Mansfield ParkI wasted time, and now doth time waste me; / For now hath time made me his numbering clock: / My thoughts are minutes...William Shakespeare, The Life and Death of Richard the SecondOh shit.Me
set forth by Anonymous at 4:39 PM 1 thoughts by other people
14 July 2008
Foreigner.
Homeskillets, I am tired. I worked my rear off last week at work, trying to hire a replacement, and now I've got to train her. I get off at 2 pm every day wanting a tequila sunrise. I'm too drained to even spend time with the friends I'll leave. Too tired to keep my mind engaged, my heart wanting more. I feel this strain on my relationships like little strings of elastic stretching, stretching, stretching until they break, too tired to hold on any longer.
set forth by Anonymous at 3:33 PM 0 thoughts by other people
20 June 2008
The Ease of Things
My mind has been settling back into the ease of things. I've been cooking, that's always a good sign--homey foods, comfortable foods that are simple to prepare and rich in taste and somehow infinitely more satisfying than food prepared by a stranger's hands. Potatoes, creamy tomato pasta sauces, and fresh sliced veggies--they ground me in the simpleness of home. I was lucky, really, to have such a simple childhood. My parents were not rich, so they provided for my brother and I in the manner they knew: good laughter, outdoor play, family suppers.
set forth by Anonymous at 9:54 AM 1 thoughts by other people
16 June 2008
Sex and Suffering.
I don't typically post poetry unless I have a busy mind, so I guess I'm busy trying to organize the next few months in my mind. I love this poem, so, for your reading pleasure, Tony Hoagland's "Self-Improvement":
set forth by Anonymous at 7:06 PM 0 thoughts by other people
02 February 2008
Walks With Dogs
It's a really beautiful day today. It's unseasonably warm for February, but it's beautiful anyway. I woke up around 8:15 this morning, and my mom dropped off the Yorshire Terrier that is now napping behind my head. Bogart and I just got back from our walk--I like walking with a dog because people who are outside inevitably stop and talk to you because you have a dog. And I think there's a direct correlation between old women and small dogs: the older the woman, smaller the dog she'll think is adorable. It's okay, though, because now two little old ladies in the condos adjoined to my apartment complex know me via Bogey.
Walking with a dog gives me the chance to think. Inevitably, when I walk through the condo-neighborhood, I think about what I want in life, where I want to be, who I want to be with, what I want to be doing. Obviously, I haven't the smallest clue. But on a day like this, not knowing seems better than being certain. And I've got plenty of time.
I've started watching my health a little better, and in only two weeks, I'm noticing how much happier, how much better I feel. Walks like today, enjoying them, prompts me to believe I want to stick around for days like this. There's a lot of bad going on in the world, there's a lot of hurt that won't be solved--I tend to let those things overtake my perspective. Walks with dogs tend to clear your mind. Boo, for instance, is the happiest dog in the universe. I really don't think there's ever a moment Bogey doesn't want to be around you, doesn't want to play fetch or hide-and-seek (and yeah, Bogart totally plays hide-and-seek, it's how he got his nickname, 'Boo'). It's infectious, really, the happiness of a dog. Even a small dog.
Happiness is generally infectious, anyway, isn't it? I went for dinner at the Bees Knees last night with a friend of mine. I don't know this woman particularly well; she just sat in front of me in Weiss' philosophy class last semester, and we chatted a lot. Yet there's this connection between us--be it shared interests, coinciding sensibilities, or something likened to the kindredness of spirits, I don't know. But hanging out with Melinda is just super fun. Even when we're talking about owing interest to the IRS and House resolutions that if passed, could not only outlaw abortion, but multiple types of birth control and assisted reproduction (HR 536-Scott), the world doesn't seem entirely dark. We disagree on who to vote for in Tuesday's primary, we've got different views of spirituality and religion, she's eons more intelligent than I, and my life is a little bit more stable than hers right now. But I think at the core of it all, we both just want to be happy. I think we try to be happy, and I think we try to bring happiness to the lives of those we encounter. As I was driving home after I stuffed myself on hummus and pita, I couldn't help but think how those that bring happiness make us want to get up and do good things for people. I think if we all tried to bring small joy into the lives around us, we'd all be better off.
The truth is, I'm worried about a lot of things. I habitually take on too many things at once and I exhaust myself. I was on the phone with mom yesterday afternoon, complaining about how exhausted I was. She responded, simply, "Well, you've been going all week, haven't you?" I try to control too many uncontrollable things. The beauty of walks with small dogs is that there's nothing to control. There's nothing to stress you out, nothing to busy your mind. It's just the dog and the joy he brings you.
set forth by Anonymous at 1:20 PM 3 thoughts by other people
14 January 2008
Hyperbolic
It's been ages since I've last updated. Things feel much the same. I finished all my grad school applications, and now I wait until March or April to find out my fate (my wyrd, as I just finished reading Beowulf). After looking over one of my applications, I realized I screwed up big time. I made silly grammatical errors that I'm really ashamed to have made. Luckily, it wasn't for the school that I really have my hopes set on. Unfortunately, it was my Plan C school, and if I don't get into it, I may be certifiably boned.
I graduate in May. May. 116 days. I feel too small to graduate, for graduate school. I worry about what would happen if I don't get accepted, but I also worry about what will happen if I do. Both seem impossible. My lease doesn't end until July 31st, though, so it would appear that I'm worrying now for nothing. If I get in, I'll go. If I don't, I'll stay, and try again. But right now, I feel as if I am either treading unceremoniously still waters, or getting ready to enter an unconquerable torrent.
As far as this semester goes, I'm procrastinating the one thing I need to be doing (THESIS!). I'm strangely diligent in one of my classes, normally studious in the others. I miss Weiss' philosophy class. There was room for discussion there. He knew the answers, but left room for questions. My history professor, though brilliant, asks us questions to which he already has definite answers. My Anglo-Saxon professor gives us quizzes. Weiss told good stories. And we, as classmates, sparked a strange camaraderie amongst each other that is rare to most classrooms.
I have a new boss. His name is Jim and he is tall and full of energy. This is a nice contrast to the sack of oats that occupied the desk previously. Also, he seems to value my opinion as an employee; he is not patronizing and he seems to trust my opinions. I hope he is not too young and too bold for the congregation. Or rather, I hope they are not stalwarts of tradition. My job has been incredibly busy lately, and I've enjoyed it. I feel revitalized at work. I feel as if my paycheck is not a thief's bounty. It's strange, feeling like my part-time job is my work, and my classes are play.
I received a compliment, a prompt to enter an essay contest, and an encouragement to present my research from a professor who I did not realize knew my name, much less remembered the paper I wrote. I still place my teachers in a box, and assume they do not have memories for the students they teach. One day, I would like to sit down with them, as something other than a student, and talk about things other than literature. If I was not a student, could we be friends?
I threw my mother a surprise 50th birthday party on Saturday. I sat, very much a guest, at a table of women who were all in their late 40's and early 50's. They told stories I should have paid more attention to so that I could write them down one day and feel nostalgic. They remarked on their age: their 30s were good because that was their time that they grew and knew their families. In their 40s, they met their closest friends, and came to know themselves. They feel old and aging in their 50s, but it's nice, because they really know themselves and are comfortable with the women they have come to be. There wasn't much I could contribute to this dialogue. None sat around the table wanted to return to their 20s--too much was uncertain, too much of themselves was unknown. If they had to go back, they would want to take with them the wisdom they now posses. I'm 22. I feel I know myself fairly well, yet in their company, I felt young, foolish, and unrefined. I felt like there is still very much I've yet to learn, but my lessons must be stumbled across and not sought out.
One day, I will write a play about these women.
set forth by Anonymous at 10:55 PM 1 thoughts by other people