Disturbed

I just came across the most disturbing website. Some dude has been taking random pictures of curvy women and posting them on the web. It's basically a whole web page full of big bootied women in tight jeans. I'm not going to post the link because I don't want to direct anyone to a website that encourages men and women to objectify and reduce a woman to the size of her ass or cup size.

It's funny that I should run across this website, randomly, after starting an excellent book called Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture by Ariel Levy (Levy writes for New York magazine), which details the bizarre and very alarming trend among young women to exploit other women and themselves as sex objects and call it "liberating" and "powerful". Levy discusses the birth and death of radical feminism and the division amongst women involved in the movement over pornography.

Over the last decade or so I've had a lot of problems with boyfriends, roommates, friends and, in the past 2 1/2 years, fellow volunteers, chastizing me for my often times loud vitrolic objections to pornography. I've been called a prude, uptight and an all around spoilsport because not only does pornography make me uncomfortable (I feel a genuinely uncomfortable and embarassed for the women being degraded in pornography) I honestly don't find it empowering towards women at all. In Female Chauvinist Pigs, Levy does an excellent job of explaining how we've been sold the idea that women can only be powerful through selling themselves as sexual objects, only this time the pornography industry calls it "liberation" and "freedom" for women. They've made women feel like they've got complete control over their sexuality, which, I guess they do, but at the expense of making themselves into sexual objects.

If you're at all interested in pornography or the really odd, ugly direction pop culture has taken in the past few years, you should check out this book. You might not find yourself nodding your head and shouting "Right on, sistah!" like I do (okay, I don't actually yell that outloud, but I do in my head), but it's good food for thought.

A good day

I had a really good day yesterday, much to my surprise. I met with my PT, Leslie, who told me that as long as I continued to strengthen my back through the various exercises she'd given me to do, I would be able to run again. I know that probably wouldn't seem like a very big deal to a lot of people, but it's a huge deal to me. If I can start running again I can get back into shape and start feeling like I have completely regained control over my life, finally. It's about time; it's been 3 years since I last ran.

I also found out that the place I bought my computer from will fix it free of charge because when I bought this thing I had enough foresight to buy insurance for 4 years and not just 2 years like most people. Even if they wouldn't cover the price of a new battery (that's what I think is probably wrong with it) it still wouldn't have been the end of the world-- I would've ended up paying only $100 or so, which isn't the end of the world. But, a hundred bucks saved on fixing this is a hundred bucks I can spend on myself in Minneapolis when I go hang with JP and Rosa.

Full day

I'm not particuliarly excited about today. I have a bunch of stuff to do and not a lot of time to relax. The good news is I only have ONE day left of studying for the GREs and then I'm done (I've made the executive decision to not study tomorrow, the day before the test, in order to just chill and give my mind a rest).

The least exciting thing I have to do today is go to my physical therapist and inform her in no uncertain terms that I'm filing a lawsuit against the guy who hit me and she, as my PT for the last 4 1/2 years, is going to be a part of that lawsuit, like it or not. The last time I brought this up to her she acted really weird; in fact she changed the subject and sort of pretended like I hadn't said anything at all. She will help me though--she knows me and the extent of my back and ankle injuries better than any other physcian or therapist who's treated me--even if she doesn't know it now. Legally, I'm not sure she has much of a choice.

It looks like I'll be heading up to Minneapolis February 17th. I'm really really looking forward to it; I think I'm going to be in need of a break after all this craziness with the deposition and applications and appointments. I'm already in need of a break and I haven't even started working yet.

Speaking of jobs and work I was talking to my mom last night and was joking around with her about how if I didn't get into grad school or find a job I was going back into Peace Corps. She laughed, I laughed and then I told her I wasn't kidding. I'm not. I'd do it. In fact, the idea of going to Africa and working in some sort of NGO/NGA that does HIV/AIDS prevention is tempting. I wouldn't have to stay for two years--I'm still eligible for all the PC Fellowship programs and benefits because I've already finished my service in Ukraine. I'd be going in with nothing to lose, so to speak. God, I wonder what my mother would do to me it I left for some place like Ghana or Burkina Faso or South Africa....My friends and family would think I'd totally lost my mind. Maybe I have.

Old lady

I know I said this in my last post, but it bares repeating again: I CAN NOT WAIT UNITL I AM DONE WITH THESE APPLICATIONS. The amount of paperwork involved in applying to graduate school is ridiculous.

For example, I got my Marquette application yesterday, which is proving to be by far the biggest pain in the ass ever, and realized in order to recieve financial aid I need to have 3 letters of recommendations from people who can attest to my academic prowess. Now, the application to the program I'm applying already requires 4 letters of rec. (two from professors and two from PC administration). Now, I really hope that doesn't mean I need to have another letter of recommendation from yet one more professor, because that would make a total of FIVE letters of recommendation for this fucking program. The program at Marquette is pretty awesome; 100% tuition paid plus $1565 monthly stipend. I'll also be working like a dog--I'll need to work 18 hours per week at a local NGO during the school year and 40 hours per week during the summer. Despite all this though, the more requirements for the Marquette application the less I want to go there. I mean, this isn't Harvard for Christ's sakes.

On a completely unrelated note, I've noticed I've been watching an enormous amount of TV the last few days. I've also been going to bed on the weekends by 10 pm, which makes me feel like an old lady. I guess it's because I've been working out so much and doing enough academic work that I'm just freaking exhausted by the end of the day. It's ridiculous. Sometimes I worry though that I act too old for my age. I feel like I'm 50 years old. I mean, how many unmarried, childless 29 year-olds do you know that are out cold by 10:30 pm on a Saturday night?

Busy bee

I wonder if they play the music at this internet cafe super loud to get rid of people. It's ridiculous. I can't concentrate. I guess that means I should go home and study for the fucking GREs instead of sitting here and trying to get some work done.

This week has been insane and kind of stressful. There is no way I could prepare myself for my impending deposition, apply to graduate schools and work all at the same time. I guess my decision to wait until February to start working was actually a sound choice instead of me just being lazy. In fact, I have a feeling I've been better about getting stuff done than most of the other RPCVs from my group. That's just a guess though.

Lately I've had a craving to box. Maybe, secretly, I'm just looking for someone to beat the shit out of. There's a class that starts in a week or so that I could take if I really wanted to. Hmmm....

Never in a million years would I have thought that I'd learn how to box in Ukraine. God, I remember the look on my 8th graders' faces when I told them, I, their 5'2, female, American teacher, was learning how to box. That was a priceless moment.

Well, I should probably get started on studying and editing my essay. I can't wait until I'm done with all this!

Grad school application craziness

It looks like I may actually get everything done. I received my transcripts from the University of Iowa yesterday (my GPA was actually higher than I remember it being, thank you very much), and then today I got an e-mail from one of my favorite professors of all time saying that she would write me a letter of recommendation. THANK GOD.

I knew before I started applying to graduate schools that there would be a lot of paperwork to do, but Christ, this almost rivals the application process for Peace Corps. At least with Peace Corps I wasn't battling a deadline like I am now (my CMU deadline is Feb. 1st and my Marquette deadline is Feb. 10th).

I can't believe how willing people have been to read my essay. I think I may have actually had too many people read it at this point--I may be over-editing it. I mean, there's a point where I need to stop drafting and call it good enough, you know? I don't want edit out all the good stuff.

Shrinking Head

Friday went about as I expected: it was emotionally exhausting and not something I'm looking forward to doing again. Anne asked me after the appointment if I felt better, to which I responded that no, I didn't feel even a little better. In fact, in the course of talking with Dr. S I burst into tears three times. The first time was when, in the course of talking about the accident, I described the feeling I had that I was going to die (this was right as I was about to hit the house). The second and third times had to do with how frustrated and angry I've been since then. Fun, fun times.

The really fascinating part of the whole day came when Dr. S gave me a battery of tests. First I was asked to draw a picture of a complete person, which I did a pretty lousy job on. Then I had to complete a worksheet in which I completed sentences about how I felt. Even though I was told not to over-analyze the questions, I couldn't help but laugh at the obviousness of some of them, and sort of scratch my head at others. For example, "My greatest fear..." is pretty obviously measuring what you're afraid of (duh). "Dancing....", though, honestly, I'm a little unsure what they're trying to get at.

The dancing theme came up again when I took the MMPS (Minnesota, something, something, something), an extremely long test in which you have to answer whether or not a particular statement is true or false as it relates to you or how you feel. It's 567 questions! Isn't that crazy? Some of the questions were clearly geared towards people who needed immediate hospitalization. Amongst my favorite was "I see people and animals that other people don't see," and, "I like to hurt people for no particuliar reason." Then there were questions like, "I would like to be a building constructer," which, I'll be honest, I'm unclear as to what that indicates about a person. I do know I've never had a desire to be build anything other than a career, so I had to answer false on that one.

Whiny-poo

Yesterday I had a really good day, thank God. Brian and Rosa sent me their critiques of my grad school essay. Amongst the highlights were "This is really good," and "You're 90% done." More important than stroking my ego, though, they offered a lot of really helpful suggestions. Sometimes I'm amazed at how lucky I am to have these two in my life. Putting up with all the stupid shit I had to put up with from my site in Ukraine was worth it for no other reason than I got meet some really fantastic people, these two being prime examples.

In about 30 minutes I'll head off to an appointment I've been dreading for weeks; a five hour series of tests to determine whether or not I'm suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I've been pretty emotional all week, so this may not be the best time for me to go and talk to a clinical psychologist about my accident, which makes me a little dizzy and lightheaded and panicky to talk about even on a good week. In fact, if I do more than describe briefly what happened I get totally freaked out. I suppose that in itself is a sign that there's a problem.

I don't want there to be a problem, though. I'm tired of being so fucking sensitive that when other people are in pain I feelit too. I feel like I take it on, sometimes. And then, when I'm upset or hurt I'm practically blinded by what I feel. I'm such a freak sometimes.

Slightly recovered

I think I wrote myself through a mini-breakdown yesterday. In the past when this would happen I would do it privately; maybe I should start writing in a journal again to help me with this whole post-Peace-Corps-lawsuit-single-and-desperate phase. What do ya think?

I don't know what's come over me today and yesterday. I hate to admit this, but a large portion of my pissiness started when I weighed myself yesterday, which is ridiculous and stupid. My self-esteem should not be tied quite so much to how much I wiegh.

I mean come on, I'm not overweight, nor hideously ugly. I'm pretty driven and goal oriented, so I wouldn't call myself a loser. Occasionally it'll occur to me that I'm kinda smart (although sometimes I wonder, especially when I fuck up the quantative section of the GREs or my language proficency inventory after two years of studying and living in a Russian speaking enviroment). So what's up with beating myself up?

Yesterday I seriously considered writing a mass e-mail to everyone alerting them to the fact that I have a blog. I didn't though--I don't know why. In fact, I've been wondering what the point of keeping all this to myself is about. I love my close friends intensely--I think a lot of only children do that as a way of replacing the love they miss out on by not having brothers or sisters--but I love having secrets (also an only child thing). I pride myself on being able to keep secrets, so by not telling anyone I have this blog and occasionally writing about them I'm challenging myself. I wonder how long I can go without telling anyone. It'll probably come out when I'm drunk.

Hopefully today will be better than yesterday. I'm going to take a break from my graduate school essay and working out. I think I need a day of rest. It's funny--I feel like every day should be a day of rest considering I'm unemployed and all. It's not though.

Lawsuit

I've been in kind of a pissy mood lately. Gee, I can't imagine why: I'm lonely, broke, unemployed and getting fatter and fatter (despite my nearly exemplary diet and going to the gym four times a week). Oh, did I mention I might be crazy and depressed?

I shouldn't say I'm crazy. I'm not, not clinically, at least. I may be depressed, though, as the result of a car accident I had almost three years ago that wound me up in the hospital for 3 days and physical therapy for months. See, it appears as though the fantasically bloody daymares (I call them daymares because I have them while I'm awake, as opposed to when I'm asleep like regular nightmares) I've been having aren't normal. My lawyer, Ron and his assistant, Ron (yup, they have the same first name) decided that in order to get the "big picture" of all the damage this guy who hit me caused me, I should have an assment done by a specialist.

This didn't seem so bad at first. That is until I learned that a) this specialist fella lives 1 1/2 hours away from me, b) it's a FIVE HOUR assessment and c) this means I'm going to spend five fucking hours reliving one of the worst times in my life. I'm really looking forward to it, as you can imagine.

So, if I am diagnosed with post-traumatic stress syndrome, like they suspect I will be, what do I do then? Do I start shoveling pills in my mouth? Do I start seeing a psychiatrist? When will I be over it? What do I do? Am I going to have to go at this alone? What will it mean to my case against this guy? Can't I be one of the few people in the world that's not depressed?

Sometimes I wonder if bringing this court case wasn't a huge mistake. Then I think about all medical bills and bullshit I would have to deal with on my own with no financial help at all if I didn't file this lawsuit. I hate the fact that I have to do all this in order to just get the fucking money I need to cover my medical costs. Is this the way insurance and insurance companies always work?

Is this what it's come to--putting a monetary value on pain and suffering and all the hours I've spent replaying the accident what would have happened had there been someone in the passenger's seat or if one of the numerous kids who were outside playing that day would've been hit. I have get into a fucking pissing match with Allstate Insurance company about that? Why? Why does this have to be so difficult?

Devotion

There's this coffeeshop I go to virtually every day not far from where my mom works. It's nothing special; they play some cheesy eighties music, they have high speed internet, and the staff is super nice.

The other morning I got my coffee and headed over to the same spot I sit at for hours at a time. This time, however, I stumbled into a meeting of church folk studying the bible. Now, I'm not going to rip on church folk for being religious--I'm not that unoriginal--or believing in God. It did however, make me a little envious.

I'm not an atheist or agnostic. I believe there's a God. I'm not going to get into why (does it really matter what my reasons are?). I don't, however, feel so comfortable with my beliefs as to broadcast them to a bunch of strangers, like these folks did. They didn't offend me or anything, rather I was more....amazed at the unabashed way in which they talked about the "Lord" and "creation" and discussed scripture. Don't they feel too conspicuous? Don't they worry about some telling them to knock it off? Aren't they worried about getting lynched in the parking lot? I would be.

I'm actually kind of jealous. Not in their devotion--there's something about the super religous that creeps me out, probably because I've had so many encounters with so many of the devoted that have been really nasty and judmental people--but rather because they're so confident in their beliefs. There are very few things I'm that I'm so confident in that I'd be willing to share it with a room full of strangers. Why can't I be that confident in myself?

grumplstilskin

Today was kind of a shitty day. I woke up tired, drove my mom to work, then spent the morning looking at computers and MP3 players on-line, only to turn around and beat myself up for my burgeoning materialism.

After that I came home and starting working on my grad school essay for my application to Carnegie Mellon, which, until this afternoon I thought was coming together quite nicely. Well, true to form, I sat down to read what I had written so far and started to doubt how good it actually was. I've fought this battle with myself for about the last 15 years (since I started high school); just when I start to feel smart or proud of myself for something I've accomplished or done I'm overwhelmed with insecurity.

This was no different: I started reading what I had written and nearly erased the two pages I'd been working on (thankfully, I didn't). Why do I do this shit to myself? I psyched my out of the fucking GREs (and now I have to take them over again) and now I'm going to back myself into writer's block. It's a four page paper, for god's sake! This is not rocket science! I'm going to get into this program--I know it.

Honestly, I think part of my problem is I need to stop living so much in my head. I need get out; make some new friends or, say, may be even (gasp) go on a date. I think that'd be a good start on getting my confidence back. That or I need to get a life and get over myself.