Day 17

I found my senior thesis today, at home for the weekend:

60+ pages of stuff that hasn't changed in 7 years: the only people that have black women's back is black women. In identifying self, in accurately telling our story, etc etc etc. 

On another note I'm reading a paper by Shaun Harper (one of my reasons for being strongly interested in UPenn for its faculty) titled "The effects of sorority and fraternity membership on class participation and African American student engagement in predominantly White classroom environments" on my Nook (yes my dork is completely showing). You can download it for yourself (link below) but the gist of it is summarized in page 43 of my thesis:

Yeah, that. All of that. Link, as promised: http://works.bepress.com/sharper/20/

#31writenow

Sent from my iPhone

Day

Sent from my iPhone

Day 16

Written a while ago. I dont remember who or what I was responding to. The time stamp on the draft hasn't revealed any clues.

A response, which inspired me to write. You're down to fuck, and so am I. We can't take our eyes off each other. My body warms with each glance. I'm already there, wanting. I stand before you, silent, waiting. You, in a tshirt. Soft, damp from shower. Basketball shorts worn at 3pm. I'm ready for their dismissal. Take them off. I mentally tug at your waistband. I visually outline your greatness, your love below. I want it. Take them off. I'm rigid with anticipation. You will make me wait. Closer, still, no sound. I take a seat. You knock lightly at my door. Just a minute. I will let you in. Lower your lips close to my ears and whisper those things that make me wanna. Your eyes shutter like an f-stop. Capture these images: 1. of your hands gripping my thighs. 2. me, rising and falling like a cosine 3. turning me over, bending me further, me wanting you deeper. Punctuate me with exclamation marks as my thighs serve as a parenthetical to this erotic tale you tell between my legs. I hit return. My lips hang open mid-sentence, an ellipsis resting on the fullest parts. You taste. You want more. The aftershocks of

I wish I remembered who I was writing this to, and that I had the courage to send said response. #31writenow

Day 15

Today I ran outside at the track near work. It felt nice to have the ground underneath my feet. In retrospect, it was nice to run. I know I shouldnt focus on the distance but rather the effort, but 28 minutes to run/walk almost 2 miles?

Never mind. I'll take it. The alternative is 0 miles in 0 minutes. :)

I really just want #serenathighs. Not that people tend to laud her thighs, but I weirdly chant "Serena thighs" sometimes when I gotta push through while running. 

From ESPN Magazine's 2009 Body Issue:

Rather, any set of these will do:

Track thighs (might be) > Serena thighs.

Day 14

"The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

I read this in the agenda of a meeting I attended today regarding professional development. I've been thinking about it ever since. How will I know who I'm supposed to be if I haven't claimed it?

Innovation and inquiry inspire me. It's why I ask questions which are probably more interesting than the answer, or which have no answer at all. I have ideas and tend to just put them out there, just in case they stick. The execution isn't as important.

Potential inspires me. A box of unassembled furniture, a fresh set of crayons on the first day of school, the first page in a notebook. I like the idea of a fresh start and a blank canvas. It's equally scary because there's room for awesomeness and suckage. 

Happy endings inspire me. Especially the ones I know are coming in movies I've seen or are predictable. It just means I have to wait for it.

I'm inspired by intellect. The brain is amazing. The talent it produces. Re malfunction it experiences. Who made all that up? Science or spirit? The fact that it just is, inspires me. There's all of this stuff, everywhere and I get to be a part of it.

#31writenow

Day 13

I want to be in a place where I am not bitter about men, love, and relationships. I have no faith in any of them.

A lot of women chalk up their misfortune with love to a laundry list of "men are jerks" and "I always choose the wrong ones" or complete blaming: "it's my fault because of my issues." It's both. Men suck but so do we. Men are men because they are men. Women are women because of men. Our movement, our voice, our existence, however meek or mighty, is born from how men operate this world. Does this make me a bad feminist?

I'm scared of being alone and single. Currently and having been single all this time has become normal. Sure I want love in #him but even the tiny proof of its existence is unconvincing. All good things come to an end and for sure love is no exception. Men treat women the way they're taught and how we allow them to. Unfortunately, many of us don't advocate for what we truly want and need. So we get what's offered and gratefully accept. Then bitch because we didn't get better. Yes you deserve better, but you're the only person who believes that. Fix that. But if you only knew how.

If we believe the idea that there is someone for everyone, just one (keeping this argument simple), doesnt it mean that everyone we date is likely to be an ex? What kinda sickness do we commit ourselves to hoping that everyone we get emotionally attached to, from the first innocent hello to the last tumultuous, hard-to-say goodbye, is going to be our forever?

Love just feels like a stupid choice. Rather, a risky one. Why gamble your heart? What's most insulting is being met with "you just haven't found the right one yet to change your mind." Shouldn't I be the one to change my own mind?

I think the questions are more interesting than the answers.

Day 12

Day 10-11 is just lost.

I'm really struggling with my personal statement, again. I go through phases:

Phase 1: let me sit down and write a draft of my essay. I'm full of energy and enthusiasm for why Id be an awesome candidate.
Phase 2: *scans essay questions* simple enough. *opens fresh document*
Phase 3: spend time bulleting ideas, hit a wall where I've either repeated the same things or rewritten my résumé
Phase 4: begin perusing program website for inspiration
Phase 5: hit save and whine about nothing I've written is good enough or makes sense
Phase 6: mentally debate if its just writers block or really not knowing if I should be in graduate school if a simple statement is crippling me
Phase 7: wise up, realizing that I'm smarter, more talented and totally capable of being in graduate school, usually prompted by some interaction with either other awesome people or really not-so-awesome people, thus returning to Phase 1.

I'm between phase 5-6 right now. Sigh.

#31writenow