Suffering from Bell's Palsy

I know I haven't written in a long time, but I've been kind of wrapped up in other things and not very motivated to write. But I saw something in Salon that really sparked me. I've been out of town for the past week at conferences, so I'm really late to this, but this letter writer who has Bell's Palsy is absolutely flipping her shit. She doesn't want to leave the house. She's trying to figure out what she did wrong to deserve such a horrible fucking tragedy. She's wondering if the universe is giving her a message.

Oy. It really pissed me off, so I was happy to go to the letters section to see how other people felt. I'm bummed that comments are closed, because I would have given her a lopsided mouthful! The letter is just dripping with arrogance and privilege. Bell's Palsy sucks, big time, but it isn't the end of the world. There's excruciating pain, it's hard to eat or drink anything, your eyes hurt like hell, people make rude comments and you make babies cry.

It seems like this person is most concerned about the last two symptoms. Here's what I say: Fuck it. If someone is so offended by the sight of your slightly contorted face, then they have a real problem and I feel sorry for them, because they must go through life getting offended by everything. And I make babies cry anyway, so I don't even know if my Bell's made it worse or if it was just my charm.

If she were upset over the pain and inconvenience, then I could sympathize. But even as I was suffering my intense pain from Bell's, I never felt sorry for myself. (Well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration.) Other people felt VERY sorry for me, like my mother, and all I could say was, "At least it's temporary. It's not killing me. Get over it!"

I'm reminded of my brush with boobicle cancer. I had a lump, I had a mammogram, doctor told me it needed to come out, and I was under the knife the following week. Everyone felt so sorry for me, wondering how I would manage with a mutilated titty that would most certainly be unattractive to possible suitors, and going through a divorce and all I didn't want to feel unattractive, did I? Again, oy. The surgery sucked, big time. I couldn't move my right arm for a long time. I still have stabbing pain in my boob, especially in cold weather. I had to wear a binder type bra while I was healing. And yes, I have a scar. But I'm not ashamed of it in the least. It's a sign of my present health, which I may not have right now had I not gotten that scar.

That's what I don't understand about women who get breast implants after a mastectomy. I've had really small boobs all my life, so having a mastectomy wouldn't really affect me aesthetically. (Physically, pain wise and ability wise, is another story. It's an incredibly difficult procedure to recover from.) So it kind of pisses me off when women in life-threatening circumstances still have the ability to decide that they don't want to live like me, flat-chested and happy.

This has turned into a long rant. Maybe it will get me blogging again. But things like this just really spark my fire. People just aren't grateful for what they have and need to wallow in self-pity, and I have no patience for it. Bell's Palsy girl: leave your house, grow a sack, and get a life! You're going to be a mother soon! Don't pass your neuroses to your child!

Whew.

I'm not patriotic

I've never felt the rush of patriotism on the Fourth of July like others profess to feel. To me, it's a day off from work, a good time to cook out with family and friends, maybe go to the beach, and watch some fireworks. If anything, it's more of a celebration of summer.

This year, I'm feeling decidedly unpatriotic. There have been too many atrocities committed throughout the world in the name of freedom that it makes me nauseous. I love my country, but like an unruly child, I expect more of her. Shame.

As I enjoy my day off from work and some yummy summer food and fireworks, I leave you with this quote by Garth Ennis:

I like this country, Jesse. I like baseball and whiskey and Mom's apple pie-- not my mom's apple pie, but you know what I mean-- and the Stars and Stripes, and John Wayne, and fireworks on the Fourth of July.

And I like the myth of the place. The myth of America: that simple, honest men, born of her great plains and woods and skies have made a nation of her, and will prove worthy of her when the time is right.

Under harsh light it is false. But a good myth to live up to, all the same.

Yeah. I get it.

I didn't think I'd react so strongly

As days went by this week, my reaction to the Virginia Tech shootings has grown stronger and stronger. I live about 50-60 miles from Blacksburg, which is close, but enough distance to feel insulated initially. I never feared for my safety or for the safety of my geographically local friends. To do so would be a waste of time and a waste of energy, because we can't live our lives in constant fear of what might happen.

By Wednesday, I was really starting to feel the anxiety well up in me, and was desperately hoping that my panic disorder would not be triggered. I think it was the fact that NBC had received the "packet" of materials from Cho that played a large part. Every time I turned on a TV, tuned a radio, checked my webmail, I was confronted with either a photo, video or audio clip of Cho and his painfully disturbed pleas for help. I was starting to feel overloaded, not with grief, but with anxiety.

Thankfully, a TV station out of Roanoke (which is near Blacksburg, but also broadcasts to my town, since we have no station of our own) made the excellent editorial decision to cease all broadcasting of Cho's photo, video, or writing. Not only did they pull these materials, but they did it for the right reasons: because airing these materials is painful for the community and is catering to Cho's desires and disrespecting the victims. I will be getting my news from WSLS from now on.

I don't get very emotional from events that don't affect me directly. I don't know anyone at VT, or anyone who lives in Blacksburg. I'm acquainted (barely) with folks who have children there, folks who are alumni, folks who have friends or partners that work there. None of them were victims, so I feel no real loss. So why have I missed so much sleep? Why did I have nightmares Wednesday and Thursday night about Cho's face? Why do I have such a strong reaction to the gun control debate currently circling the blogosphere?

I'm no therapist, so I don't know, I can only speculate. Maybe it's because I work on a college campus in a sleepy little town much like Blacksburg, so insulated from the evils of the outside world. Maybe it's because I've taught students who are very much like Cho in that they have antisocial tendencies, but I tried to see the best in them and let them be free citizens. Maybe it's because I know of a few mentally disturbed people who own guns, some of whom wear them constantly. Maybe it's because we can all identify, just a little bit, with the pain and frustration that Cho was feeling.

Those calling Cho a "madman" or "psycho" are only describing the troubled persona he manifested on Monday. This man was confused, in severe emotional pain, probably suffered from a psychiatric disorder, and was living in a society that values rugged individualism and shames those who reach out for help. Who among us hasn't felt like the world had turned against us? Who hasn't felt like we were suffering from institutional neglect? Who hasn't suffered grief? Who hasn't suffered a broken heart?

We can't, as a society, keep expecting people to solve these problems alone. Cho didn't have a good support system working for him. I have yet to hear about his family. He had no friends. Therefore, it is up to society to take care of people like him for the good of the rest of society. Right-wingers call that the "nanny state." I call it common sense and decency.

I'm Back!

My mini-vacation is over, the wedding went smoothly, my cousin is now married and off in Paris with his new spouse. I had never met her before Friday evening at the rehearsal dinner, and she really seems like she's got her head on straight. I think they'll be happy, since my cousin isn't a misogynist and she seems like she can handle her own. It's that damn power dynamic that breaks up a lot of marriages, so I wish them the best in fighting that.

Meanwhile, I started to feel very blue on Sunday. I knew that I had to return to Virginia on Tuesday, and I wasn't ready to leave Florida. Not only was the weather wonderful, but I was seeing my friends and family, playing with my nieces, and absorbing some much thirsted-for culture. I really miss my hometown, and I finally admitted to myself that I wanted to come back for good.

I know I've said it before, that I want to leave here and move back to Florida, but I needed to say it out loud to another person. So on Tuesday, when I just couldn't take it any more, I burst into tears when my mother asked why I looked so down. I was afraid that I was giving up, quitting, being a baby, being fickle. My mother reassured me that I had given this town the old college try, and that after a year I should know if I can live in a place or not. And clearly, I cannot, which I will try not to feel bad about. Of course, both of my parents want me to move back to Florida, partly for selfish reasons and partly because they know I'll be happier and have a more immediate support system.

But now comes the really hard part. I think I'm going to leave in August 2008, which gives me a little over a year at my current job. I said I would wait until I got tenure, but I don't think I can take it that long. Yes, this town is that bad, what with it's constant gossip and exclusivity and not a fucking thing to do. I also want to start a new career. I want to get a graduate degree in Sociology (with a concentration on feminism, of course) and teach. The only time I've felt truly fulfilled is when I had a regular semester course load, so that's what I need to pursue. I have to tell my department head that I'm leaving, which may make his head implode. I have to figure out my financial situation for once I get back home. I'll probably live with my parents at first, but I don't really want to since a) they can drive me insane sometimes, b) they live kind of out of the way from the university, and c) no matter how much they would disagree, they don't give me the kind of privacy I need. My father thinks I should stay in their guest house, which would be better, but it has it's own problems.

I feel much better after actually talking about it and having a plan. It has somehow made me more driven at work (even though I'm writing this post while I should be grading) to know that I have goals to accomplish in a year. So here is what I need to accomplish before August 2008:

1. Tell my department head I'm leaving "for personal reasons"
2. Tell my assistant I'm leaving, but give her more detail
3. Send in my proposal for an article that I really need to get published before I leave
   
4. Visit the Sociology department when I visit Florida again in June
5. Take the GRE
6. Apply for the Sociology graduate program, which I think will be painless since I've already got a graduate degree from this university
   
7. If accepted, apply for a TA position
8. Finish up one of the long-term projects I'm doing at work (this will be extremely difficult)
9. Try not to piss off too many people in the process

Think I can do it?

Sisterhood?

Since the publication of this article, the feminist blogosphere has been buzzing with critique of campus Greek life. The article in question describes the National HQ's cleansing of a sorority chapter of its less-than-perfect sisters. In other words, the bigwigs at HQ swooped into this struggling chapter and, rather than help the chapter strengthen its membership in positive ways, like innovative recruiting events, they simply purged the rolls of its members who didn't fit the thin, conventionally pretty, passive, dumb type.

Obviously, this article infuriated me. It's obvious to anyone with feminist tendencies that this was a clear case of sexism, racism, and classism all rolled into one bizarre story. To think that grown women were denied the benefits (that they had paid for) of sorority life because of how they looked makes me ill. One minute, "Won't you join our wonderful group of loving sisters? We'd so love to have you!" and the next minute, "Well, we didn't really mean it."

But it also embarasses me immensely. Why? Because I was in a sorority when I was in college. I've spent a lot of time trying to reconcile my sorority days with my feminist leanings, and all I can say is that my sorority days gave me great insight into how women who are served by the patriarchy can be cruel to other women under the guise of love and sisterhood.

I was nervous about going to college, partly because I had never spent much time away from home, and partly because I was socially insecure. A bit of a rebel, my parents thought that rush would be a great way for me to meet people and find my niche. Besides, they were both in the Greek system in college, and it was great! So, I did it, and I joined a house that was quite diverse ethnically, physically, and intellectually. Even the philosophy of the sorority was feminist, founded on the principle that women should spend the college years learning to be independent and free thinkers.

Looks can be deceiving. After my freshman year of "love" and "sisterhood" and "bonding" I was about to go through rush from the other side. For two weeks before rush, we prepared under the guidance of the rush coordinator: rehearsing skits, memorizing facts about our history, learning songs, making decorations. One day, we were told to try on the dresses that we planned to wear to one of the events. We then had to model our dresses for the coordinator and her committee to make sure it was a tasteful dress. However, once we were in that room with them, the gloves came off. Some of my sisters were told they were too fat to wear spaghetti straps or no sleeves, others that they had to cover tattoos with makeup, and I was told that I had to buy a padded pushup bra because I was too flat chested. It was, in fact, a chance for the committee to prevent an "ugly" disaster.

The next day, we were told to get into a line. The coordinator and a couple of her lackeys started rearranging us in the line. I figured this was a height thing, and that they were lining us up by height for some sort of formation. But then I thought, "We can line ourselves up by height, and it would be a helluva lot faster than this!" And then it hit me: they were lining us up by attractiveness. One of my closest friends ended up at the back of the line. She was devastated, and I was mad as hell.

But I stayed, and so did she, because we had a support group in my circle of friends, and because social life outside of the Greek system on my campus was near nonexistant. I had a place to live (that was cheaper than the dorm or an apartment) and three balanced meals every day. I had a built-in social life, complete with fraternity socials and volunteer work. And I had a serious boyfriend in our unofficial brother fraternity. I knew that something was wrong with the way we did things, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I hadn't found feminism at that point, and my only exposure to feminism was in an English class in which my instructor was a separatist lesbian who was actually not a feminist at all, but a grad student promoting matriarchy.

After graduation, which came a year late for me, I had a whirlwind of weddings to attend while I nursed the heart that my college boyfriend had recently broken. My good friends were very supportive, but the rest of my "sisters" were just happy that it didn't happen to them. They had their weddings, complete with puffy dresses, confection-colored bridesmaids, and giant diamonds. I was supposed to be one of them, but there I was, attending these weddings alone. (I should note that none of my close friends got married right away, so I wasn't "in" any of these weddings.) Toward the end of wedding season, I realized that my discomfort with these weddings was that I knew that life after college was dramatically different, and it seemed like these couples were just playing house.

While my sisters were getting married, I was starting grad school, which is when I found feminism. Specifically, Mary Daly's Gyn/Ecology (talk about baptism by fire!) It actually got me through my broken heart, and made me realize that I would have made a huge mistake if I had stayed with and married the college boyfriend, even though he was a really great guy. I realized that I had a lot of different paths ahead of me, and I was free to take any one I wanted. I also remembered that, as a little girl, instead of dreaming of my wedding day, I always dreamed of the day I'd be on my own. Remembering that dream is still something I do whenever I start to feel down on myself, because that's exactly what I'm doing.

But back to sisterhood. It took me a while, but I finally came to terms with the fact that I felt no "love" or "bond" or "sisterhood" with these women. It was a safety net. Sure, I had a small group of friends that I really did love, but I certainly didn't feel much affection for the other 85 women I'd sung songs with, passed candles with, and pledged my undying sisterhood to. Nope, it was all just an act. After college, the competition continued. If you were uncoupled, it was sad. If you were married, that was great. But if you were married with kids, you were so wonderful that your shit smelled like roses! That was the highest achievement with these women. And I lost interest in all the wedding/husband/baby updates.

I still keep in touch with my very best friend, and we see each other occasionally only because we live in the same state. I cherish her friendship, even though our lives are dramatically different. We probably never would have met without the sorority, so I can't say I completely regret it. But if I ever have a daughter, I will encourage her not to rush. I would hope that my child would be more emotionally deep than to just accept a pre-fab form of friendship, which is what I did, because it was easy. If I had it to do over again, it would be way different.

On professionalism, blogging, and anonymity

I decided to write an "about me and my life" post, since it may help explain a lot of where I'm coming from. If you've read previous posts, you know I'm opinionated, so here goes.

I'm an almost 31, divorced, unattached, liberal academic type. In fact, I'm an academic librarian, specifically science. I'm a born teacher, so librarianship has been ideal for me in that I can dabble in lots of different subjects but still teach and work with college students. I suppose I loved college so much that I never wanted to leave!

I work at a small, but quite prestigious, university in rural Virginia. I've been here for about a year. My job is mostly great, but I'm not happy with my location, seeing as there is no city for about 60 miles and I'm certainly a city girl. I've also been wondering of late whether I'm growing out of my chosen profession, and should move on to something new. I love librarianship, especially the scholarship of it, but it doesn't fulfill me like it used to. The academic world is frustrating, and if you aren't one of the primadonna ivory tower professors, it's doubly frustrating.

So I started this blog because I wanted to chronicle my life, opinions, and other events and see if any pattern would form. None yet. The title, Nothing Permanent, speaks to the fact that I think I'll be making a drastic life change in the next few years, and am reluctant to put down roots, for better or worse. I will probably go back to school and move out of the area. If I had to choose now, I'd get a second master's degree in Women's Studies at the University of South Florida.

A friend of mine asked me what I am most passionate about, and I answered "feminism." (This is followed closely by horticulture and photography.) He followed up by asking me why I didn't pursue "feminism" as a life path? I didn't have an answer for him, and it's really stuck with me. Maybe Women's Studies isn't the most prudent path for me, considering my career choices would be quite limited, but I now realize that I need to do something in my life where I'm fighting for something I rabidly believe in.

Because I'm having these thoughts about my career, I'm choosing to stay completely anonymous and not divulge my place of employment. Like many bloggers, I don't want my colleagues to discover my doubts about living in a podunk college town and working at a very conservative school. I also think it's important for some people to keep the work life and private life separate, which is why I don't really bring up personal issues at work except for people I'm friends with. And then, I only do it when we're "off the clock," so to speak.

A bit of history:
Some may wonder why I chose to work at a conservative university in a rural town. Well, it wasn't really a choice as much as a career builder. It's an excellent opportunity for me to do the research I've always wanted to, and the pay is pretty good. I was forced to look for work after my ex-husband abandoned me, which was only months after we married and I quit my previous job to move with him out of state. (Typical woman sacrificing her professional life for her man's, I know, barf.) I had just had an offer from a university within long commuting distance when he left me, and I didn't see the need to stay in an area I didn't particularly like when there were probably much better opportunities out there. I moved in with my parents as I embarked on my epic job search. Oy.

I'm glad I did it that way. And I'm not all bitterness and hate toward the ex, either. If it weren't for his spectacularly bad timing, it may have been much harder for us to divorce (although, it was a pretty messy divorce) and I wouldn't have had this experience to explore my scholarly interests. So, in the past two years, I've really grown as a person, thanks to a broken heart, some health problems, and a lonely transplantation.

Now, I blog for meditation, for record keeping, for sentimentality, for mental regurgitation, for psychological cleansing.