from the twisted mind of

take a semi-confident woman in pursuit of good work and good politics, mix with a serious bout of political fatigue and emotional angst, and whadya get? an unsure neurotic who has fashioned a couch fort out of blankies and a yoga mat, who is clutching a jar of kraft smooth peanut butter and a single spoon. i'm not coughy or snotty or pukey, but this has been a week of utter sick. in the head.

it's not so bad though. to keep the mental chops cut, have slid into sporadic bouts of writing - ongoing advocacy project for cpf, prelim text for feminist web project that audra and i hope to launch soon, personal rants about love and lack of it.

funny thing about this sort of temp funk is that my Intellectual Self knows exactly what's wrong and exactly what to do. my Child Self, however, wants to curl up and just feel really bad about taunting questions like Can We Ever Win, Who Fucking Cares, What Am I Doing, Does It Matter, What Does He Want, What Do I Want...

late night convo with girlfriend 13 hours ago yielded these actual statements, which we decided would make heelarious blog post titles. figure out who said which (mom, stop reading here):

- i fucked paul wells
- is he a grower or a shower?
- foreskin is fascinating
- i have lube hand prints on my ceiling

ok, ok, snapping out of this will occur forthwith. it's no big deal, though, to feel really shitty about things for a minute and dabble in agoraphobia, mmkay?