Guilty Pleasures

I know that I’m tired when I start to convince myself that Tori Amos is Very Profound. I’m curled up in my post-yoga and meditation bliss on the couch in my sweats with the laptop, finishing off this damned social psychology paper. (Derrida and Disability: Version 4.0!) It’s a pretty awful paper, although I’m surprised that it’s as coherent as it is. I did my “Gee, I don’t know what to write about, so I guess I’ll make it about my dissertation!” standard. One of my classmates said “Disability and Derrida? Haven’t I read that paper?” This, you see, is the new and improved version.
I’m listening to my guilty-pleasure c.d.’s, which prominently feature Tori and Alannis Morrissete. Yup. The music of my disgruntled 6th grade days. And when my mom and I lived in a motel for a summer in order to take care of my hospitalized grandmother, the only c.d. I had with me was Jagged Little Pill. I walked many a disgruntled, lonely lap around Motel 6 with Alannis. Heh. And I remember thinking I was sly when my friend and I were talking about how she’s “high, but she’s grounded.”
I’m feeling all solid and feminist the past few days. I loved the conference. LOVED it. I remember when I used to be so intimidated by older feminists. Granted, this was a grad student conference so the faculty was on our turf...but they rocked. I had this moment of intense gratitude mixed with fear: Thank you so much for everything that you’ve done for my generation. And I actually want to cry, because . But then I’m afraid that we’re losing all that’s been gained, and it freaks me out. (Right now, I feel government agencies symbolically shoving flags into my uterus.) I feel the presence of all of that with me intensely today.
I’m really stressed finishing up, but I’m also really damn content.
It's actually strange to have this feeling during finals.