i presented today in my feminist debates class — a summary and critique of an article called “reading the scar in breast cancer poetry.” i don’t think i’ve ever been particularly close to anyone who has had breast cancer. and even while i was reading the article, which details some unsavory aspects of the history of breast cancer treatment, and the accompanying poetry, some of which was quite good, i didn’t feel particularly moved.
but then last night i had the weirdest dreams. i don’t remember breast cancer being an actual part of the plot, but the entire dream i was wearing an adhesive strip across my chest. and no one else seemed to think this was unusual. and this dream had a huge cast. mostly people from high school who i don’t talk to now and probably never will again. the type of people who, when you look through your yearbook, you say their name out loud and think “wow, i forgot you existed.” or, if you’re like and me, you look up their name on the sheriff’s web site to see if they’ve been arrested since high school. and many of them have.
i always remember my dreams, so it’s not particularly strange that i remember this one, even this late in the day (or this early in the morning, i guess you could say). but it made me feel different all day. ironically, like part of me is missing. it’s kind of like the mental condition of a mastectomy travelled from this article to my dream to my entire day.
anyway. kind of grim.
on a lighter note, there is now a TREEHOUSE on rice’s campus. i don’t know why it’s there, although i suspect it has something to do with the architecture students, because it’s close to what i think is their building. it’s not a particularly impressive treehouse, but i really want permission to hang out there — take naps there between classes, stake it out as a kind of battlement from which to throw acorns at the mean and nasty undergrad from last semester, invite my friends up for some kiddie comfort food, like peanut butter and jelly. i might stage a hostile takeover of this treehouse.
well, it’s been a long day, consisting of a collective 7 hours of class. but before i go,
interesting things said in my feminist debates class (ironically, most of them refer to the male reproductive organ):
1. penis penis penis penis penis!
2. do you remember the good freud? can we move on to the bad freud?
3. this is the porous identity model. it… has holes in it.
4. i didn’t know surgeons were so focused on making penises!
5. he has a penis. let’s just lay it on the table.