Things are good this weekend. For a while I was kind of depressed and lonely every weekend. I'm not sure what happened that could contribute to my feeling normal again. Perhaps I am just psyched about moving out, and simultaneously distracted with papers I need to be writing. Had a bit of an encounter with the ex on Facebook, it kind of wrecked my whole week, but I'm still proud of myself for not letting it effect me as much as it used to. She told me she was doing a post doc in Neuroscience at my University. Clearly this is false, she doesn't have a PHD nor has she ever been interested in the nervous system. I think she's moving into the city to pursue a Masters in Science degree at my University. Hahaha. I laugh because four months prior I asked her if she would consider moving into the city and pursing another degree or something and she laughed at me, she was trying to make me feel like a fool. The hypocrisy is self evident. Now she has a new boyfriend who happens to have a Masters in Science degree as well. It's as if she forms her identity in accordance with these other guys and lacks any authenticity whatsoever. Why do I still care about all of this? Well, I suppose because I feel she is encroaching on my territory, my safe place, the place that I went to after our breakup and started to heal from her emotional abuse. Now she is going to be around there. I know the University is not actually mine and she can do as she wants. But, upon hearing this news, it felt like she was entering my space.
Right now I am biting my finger nails off, some final words on a huge academic fellowship is going to show up in my e-mail. It's about 15,000 dollars, and it would be huge if I got it. My optimistic self wants to think that it's a good thing I haven't got a denial yet and that maybe I am one of the last to be considered for the fellowship, but I don't want to get my hopes up too much.
I'm writing a paper on disability, feminism and sexuality. It's a pretty big undertaking, but I hope to write about philosophy of disability and feminism, and then later talk about sexuality informed by the previous section on disability and feminism. Not too many people write about disability and sexuality, but it should be an interesting paper, that I hope will be published in the future.
Not much else has been going on, the semester is winding down. I am getting a chest piece done at the start of this summer, and then I am going to Montreal for a music festival. I am already in talks of getting a press pass to get backstage to take some photographs. The bands included are huge: Florence and the Machine, The Black Keys, Young the Giant, and so on. I'm looking forward to it.
Finally, I'm moving out at the end of the summer! I have never moved out. The logistics were frightening to me. I have to arrange for care givers to pick groceries up for me, to help with food prep and to clean up a bit. It's nothing too major but I will be in full control of my surroundings and the independence is both exciting and frightening. Will I be able to do this? Will I have to come home again and live with my parents as I conclude my degree? Inevitably it needs to happen, I need to push myself out there into the world. To prepare, I have been reading some interesting narratives on the lives of persons with disabilities who had been in and out of home and residential homes through most of their lives, and who now live their lives with significant independence. These stories and narratives are an inspiration to me, and provide me with enough motivation to think, "Yes, I am scared. But I can do this!"
For some reason I am finding it so hard to motivate myself to write these papers. I am stymied at the prospect, it's as if I'm being blocked from actually starting and I don't know why. I feel this urge to get something out there, but I am terrified at what I might say or what will come about. It's not like I have no ideas. The ideas are there and flowing like leaves in the fall wind, but my own insecurity is keeping me from expressing myself. Ahhh, the agony! But I suppose the only thing I can do is bite the bullet and get something down on paper. And now, I go, I write and I hum to myself in my temple of doom (my room).
Right now I am biting my finger nails off, some final words on a huge academic fellowship is going to show up in my e-mail. It's about 15,000 dollars, and it would be huge if I got it. My optimistic self wants to think that it's a good thing I haven't got a denial yet and that maybe I am one of the last to be considered for the fellowship, but I don't want to get my hopes up too much.
I'm writing a paper on disability, feminism and sexuality. It's a pretty big undertaking, but I hope to write about philosophy of disability and feminism, and then later talk about sexuality informed by the previous section on disability and feminism. Not too many people write about disability and sexuality, but it should be an interesting paper, that I hope will be published in the future.
Not much else has been going on, the semester is winding down. I am getting a chest piece done at the start of this summer, and then I am going to Montreal for a music festival. I am already in talks of getting a press pass to get backstage to take some photographs. The bands included are huge: Florence and the Machine, The Black Keys, Young the Giant, and so on. I'm looking forward to it.
Finally, I'm moving out at the end of the summer! I have never moved out. The logistics were frightening to me. I have to arrange for care givers to pick groceries up for me, to help with food prep and to clean up a bit. It's nothing too major but I will be in full control of my surroundings and the independence is both exciting and frightening. Will I be able to do this? Will I have to come home again and live with my parents as I conclude my degree? Inevitably it needs to happen, I need to push myself out there into the world. To prepare, I have been reading some interesting narratives on the lives of persons with disabilities who had been in and out of home and residential homes through most of their lives, and who now live their lives with significant independence. These stories and narratives are an inspiration to me, and provide me with enough motivation to think, "Yes, I am scared. But I can do this!"
For some reason I am finding it so hard to motivate myself to write these papers. I am stymied at the prospect, it's as if I'm being blocked from actually starting and I don't know why. I feel this urge to get something out there, but I am terrified at what I might say or what will come about. It's not like I have no ideas. The ideas are there and flowing like leaves in the fall wind, but my own insecurity is keeping me from expressing myself. Ahhh, the agony! But I suppose the only thing I can do is bite the bullet and get something down on paper. And now, I go, I write and I hum to myself in my temple of doom (my room).
I'll keep you posted, i'm excited/nervous/worried i hope as always, this only brings the best out of me again.