the female gaze

Look with your eyes, not with your hands.


Such a minute fraction of this life do we live: so much is sleep, tooth-brushing, waiting for mail, for metamorphosis, for those sudden moments of incandescence: unexpected, but once one knows them, one can live life in the light of their past and the hope of their future.



A grad student muses on her life, film, friends, politics, reality televizzle, and music.


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"The story of your life is not your life, it's your story" -- John Barth
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Sunday, November 24, 2002
 
life is so very very good right now

hard to say where the patience, energy, and giggles came from to sail through the last INTENSE and crazy hours. I don't have the time to get into it right now, but I did all of the driving and we lived in the car for two days - we drank beers in a sketchy Yonkers hotel which may or may not have had a gas leak until 5am, I drove around the Bronx for an hour this morning, debating went reasonably well, we had a good time and I somehow convinced the crew to go to Joe's Shanghai for dinner - it took 5 hours, I got in so many near fatal crashes up and down all of Manhattan, driving on Canal Street, driving home Dan, Duncan and I got way carried away about life philosophy and ended up near Utica, it's after 2am and alas we're saftely (this is a divine miracle as I realize what an incomptenent and dangerous road hazard I am) and it was all so good. My mind was clear of Midd and all of the freshly fallen snow - it was an escape when it was most needed. I remained rather composed - and I just had a great old time.

Pleasant surprise. My GRE score report finally arrived, and well, gloat with me, bomp-a-bomp-a-ph-bomp, perfect score on writing / analytical. That ought TO mean something, kiddies.