sun / chillin w/ grita on the couch / slight break from grading

from Dodie Bellamy's blog:

I keep thinking of a line Ariana Reines recently posted on her blog:

But aren’t blogs supposed to be all about vulnerability; subjectivity

I would imagine that most people would answer this with a resounding NO. I love, though, that she would assume this, that so many women are now aiming towards this. Yesterday, Kevin quoted Muriel Rukeyser to me: "What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open." YES.


this is why i love laura little's blog. raw honesty. i also admire kate zambreno's blog for this too. i cant exactly be supremely candid on my blog (sorry my feminist lady writers out there / i do so very much admire you though for being able...) because my fam reads my blog & so do students & i do like to retain a lil privacy.


pbs aired a new series tonite--'south riding'--and guess what? i lurve it a lot. takes place in the early 30s, main character's fiancee dies in war, so she pursues a career as a teacher instead of wife/mother--& i think maybe she's lucky. she says she wouldve never pursued anything via a career if he wouldve come back. he probably would have been so utterly damaged by experience her whole life wouldve been difficult (understatement). maybe im just projecting, yep--it's not everyone's lot for devastation.

harrison writes a lot a/b war affecting northridge's character in the road home: [it rends me]

smith said my early aspirations to be an artist were the same thing. he gracefully didnt ask me why i had stopped after the war, but then i said that the war had evidently brought me too far down to earth. the grief and horror of war coarsens us and about the time i saw him in the potato field i had begun to understand life again without becoming enraged at least once a day. (94)

it had often come to me that i had let alcohol begin to destroy my dreams after the death of adelle. it was as if the dreams needed to be sedated in the atmosphere of turbulent darkness, and then alcohol in such vast quantity had so diminished their clarity that by the time i joined world war I, i was robotic, following the structure of hope rather than feeling hope herself. i certainly hadnt the wit to understand that i was trying to die, though if i had had any confidence in an afterlife in which id see adelle i would have put a bullet through my skull at any moment. at first alcohol gave me an illusion of coherence because it kept everything, including grief, in its specific place where it could be relentlessly and inefficiently mulled over. at such times we drink so as not to go mad, but then we have only found another sort of madness. (99)

how strange it seemed to me now not to have known then that there would be another willow, inplacably more damaging, so that one went through life carrying an invisible gravestone that would disappear, then return with leaden fury, which, when dissipated, would arrange itself in the lucid and melancholy paintings the mind constructs of love. (74)

it is arguable whether anyone truly recovers from anything. (9)

anyways...grading still. good news is ms laura little passed her BIG ASS NURSING SCHOOL TEST! big yays!--& she's coming to tucson at the end of may. woohoo! in other news: i ate too much. feel sick. pasta belly sick.