Supposed To

I am really supposed to be working a final paper for class. Really.

I am really supposed to be reading Darkest Road so I can finally move on in the 52 books project.

I am really supposed to be doing some sort of WORK right now.

Instead, I am blogging, sitting in a coffee shop with a friend with a stack of papers next to me (that I am hoping will spontaneously generate a memo for class). I have also been reading This Time I Dance! which I got from my aunt at Xmas. I was, I admit, pretty skeptical at first, since my strong, over-indulged inner cynic does NOT do self-help books, but I'm actually enjoying it. I skim the parts that get a little too...gush, but the story - Harvard Law grad / corporate lawyer turned writer and creativity guru - is reassuring and exactly what I need to hear (or read - let's be picky) right now.

I would like to use my JD (assuming I get it) to pursue some sort of community activism / grassroots movement / advocacy. Possibly in the Pacific Northwest. And write fiction. And sleep well, through the night, and wake up not exhausted.

So. I'm putting that out there.

And, having admitted that (and having locked my cynic in a broom closet while ignoring her strident protestations), I do feel better :)

Questions and Sun

I was asked today what feminism means to me. I will forgo a discussion about how unfair this question is, given that academics who spend their careers on this discussion have yet to come to a consensus. I think it means having a choice and being a given a chance, regardless of any labels whatsoever. Can you do this? Can you think about this? Are you capable?

I didn't read today, although I meant to. It was a beautiful day. I sat outside and talked with a friend, but I didn't read for school for for 52 books or anything else. The world is becoming beautiful again, and I love it. It does, however, make it difficult to concentrate or focus on anything other than the fact of sun on my face and wind playing with my dress. I wouldn't change a thing.