By the rules of war

listening to: keane's 'somewhere only we know,' which i am admitting with a certain reluctance. somehow it's harder for me to say i like this song, or, you know, maroon 5, than to reveal the taste for justin, jc, etc. i think it might be because i can't pass it off as ironic?

you say, we need feminists as we need (i just typed 'ween'!) doctors or policemen. people to fix us, or things. to take on the cause, fulfill the role, yes. yes.

dan would be reading emily dickinson if it had been assigned in comp lit. not that this means one thing or another.

this afternoon it's been raining, w/ thunder, lightning. i opened the window in my room, and sat in my pink chair, my feet on the edge of the bed. i'm embroidering this page i tore out of vogue: a girl with an old-fashioned hairdo, a black polka dot dress. so far i've only given her a pink-red hairline. women must be beautiful, and women must be good at housework. mending with curlers in her hair. in class we'd talk about how i could expand on this project. how the work functions, which would be much easier for me to talk to you about than when you ask me, say, how does beauty itself function. at least, it's a more accessible starting point.

i've also been waiting for my laundry to be done, and my lasagna.