This is not a feminist blog.
"Why, Dormouse," you might say, "we, your adoring (and still mostly hypothetical) fans, were under no impression that this was a feminist blog. You did not have to tell us that."
And of course you would be right. I did not have to tell you that this, my blog, is not a feminist blog. Except lately I've been thinking that perhaps it should be? That perhaps I have some things to say about the world and the patriarchy and all those lovely feminist things my Women's Studies minor has been cramming into my brain for the last four years. Perhaps I should put my views out there? I certainly do have a lot of them. But something stops me from wanting to feminist blog. It is, I think, one thing to be a feminist who blogs and another thing entirely to have a feminist blog. Perhaps I am afraid that some of the things I say will not match up to the internet's standards of feminist blogging? I certainly know I don't always say things "a good feminist" would say.
"Dormouse," you are all now calling out, "why are you even thinking about a feminist blog? You know you can still have this regular old blog and say feminist things sometimes. We will still love you."
I know my adoring (hypothetical) fans. I know you will still love me. But, if I don't give myself some direction in my pointless internet ramblings will I still love myself? You see, this is the question I have been struggling with of late. The interwebs are such a strange place to be. They make you question yourself far too much. I think for now I will just shelf the feminist blog thing and we can move on to the real problems tonight.
Adoring (hypothetical) fans, I think you deserve the truth from me. Tonight I had a panic attack over an e-mail. You see, I sent the King of the Hipsters an essay I'd written that he'd said he wanted to read. He said he wanted to read it a month ago. I only just got the courage (in case you were wondering, the formula for courage is as follows: 1 part feeling pretty good about yourself, 1 part feeling sort of sexy, 1 part feeling pretty intelligent, and 3 parts not getting enough sleep for an entire week and thus having poor decision making skills) to send it to him tonight. And now I've sent it. And it's gone. Out into the world of the interwebs where he will log in to his e-mail account and read it and maybe like it but maybe not and e-mail me back. Unfortunately, I have suddenly lost all of my courage and I wish more than anything that e-mail came with an "I absolutely regret the decision to send this" button. I find myself wanting his approval and fearing deep down inside that I will not get it. I am terrified that I may seem adorable, charming, intelligent, and maybe even sexy in person but that it's all a front for this monstrous creature who cannot even send an e-mail without seeming like a complete freak. Suddenly I feel awkward and stupid and so very small. This is not a feeling I enjoy. I do not recommend it for your futures my adoring (hypothetical) fans. And now, even though I want nothing more than to calm down I find myself obsessing. I find I am sitting on my couch dreading the moment I will find a reply from him in my inbox. This is the moment of realization I suppose where I find that being in lust with S was a lot easier. That through it all I can be more confident of my sensuality than I can of my own intelligence. I cannot flirt with my intelligence. I don't find my academic prowess to be particularly sexy. Yet here I am, attempting to gain approval through my intellectual pursuits and I am worried that I am failing. Perhaps things are easier when they are sexual. Perhaps I should stick to that? I don't know. After all of this you, my adoring (hypothetical) fans, will find me, the Dormouse, completely at a loss. Maybe you can figure it all out? Until next time...
-The Dormouse
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