medicated

So, my medicine is beginning to stabilize and I'm hoping that no one thinks I'm crazy, but then again, it's none of my business what others think about me.

Having passion without becoming disenchanted. Using talent without fear. Having enough space in my head to hold all the information I willingly seek and take in. This is what I'm working on. Well, among many other things.

Things are good, getting better every day. Sadly, my ethnography became a bust, and I'm going to have to let my professor in on that, but not until he grades my take-home exam in which I exalted how much I want to do this particular ethnography and said, "I just want to learn everything!" Maybe I was being manic. Maybe not. Maybe that was my natural state that gets stepped on so often. I should let my freak flag fly. I really should. And I will.

I got his book and even though I haven't been able to read it yet, I realized that, like most of the population, "the world lives for the weekends," and I bet that he is teaching as a break, or otherwise a vehicle, for going back to the land of the nomad pastoralists. I know he's married, so I'm sure he loves his wife, but I think his heart is there. How wonderful and at the same time wonderfully tragic it would be to be in a place, stuck with -worst case scenario- a bunch of students that don't give a fuck about anthropology with only one or two that truly take it seriously, while your heart is going out to those that live completely different lives than you. Not that they are victims. Not that he's a victim. Quite the contrary. I bet he longs for the life-expectancy and livelihood of the people there. I bet he looks at American culture and thinks, "What a waste, what a consumerist police state..." I bet he thinks about the people that are so far away from him and wishes that he was singing and dancing with them. Sometimes, I think that way, too.

I wonder how many of my professors feel this way and are only here as a short break from their passions. I hope few. I'd hate to think that I'm here working so hard, after working so hard to get here, and they are the ones not putting their hearts into it. I must disengage from that thought now.

My best friend finished serving his time for his second DUI yesterday. I gave him my congratulations and told him that "it's only gonna get better from here." I believe that, and if he believes that, too, it will. Above and beyond.

The first roommate I had here dated the guy that just died in the dorm over. That's been shaking me quite a bit. They are taking him for an autopsy and I don't know that the school will ever release the real information, but I'm sure the people that knew him know what happened. There might have been people there that left so they wouldn't get into trouble, and I find that incredibly sad. I worry that when people share a hobby, their friends might be just hobby-friends and may really not care at all. Love to the people going through that.

Love to all the people living. Life is not always fair, not always happy. Sometimes life is hard, but if we look at the love that pokes through even the bad times, we'll see through the bad, and the joy will give us more pleasure than we could have imagined otherwise.

Back to Feminist Methodologies. Goodnight.