It's been a long time since I posted. I find that when I have the most to say, I don't say it. Maybe I know that if I write it down, I must deal with it, think about it.
David and I adopted a dog from the shelter this week and he is pretty wonderful. His name is Jake, but of course I call him Jakers, Jakey-poo, and Bat Boy (have you ever seen a pit bull's ears? Seriously). Last night David came back from taking The Bat for a walk and I was cleaning up. We had this little rhythm with what we were doing, and it was strange. We weren't tripping over one another or asking one another to do something; it was like we each new our role in the moment. It made me think about other people who spend a good part of their 20s in dorms. Answering to RAs, paying a lot of money to have a curfew... not being able to truly inhabit their living space. And I looked around me, at my kitchen, and me Swiffering the floor, and David making Jake sit for his treat, and I thought, wow. Look at the feminist being so domestic.
I've struggled a lot recently, especially, with what being a feminist means. I've struggled with my choices. I guess I can only compare it to the way other people struggle with being true Catholics or Christians or parents. It's an ongoing commitment and it's not easy. Sure, it's easy and natural to believe this is what you are, you know it's right and worth your trouble... but it's hard sometimes. And how does a feminist get married?! How do I stand in a white dress, which has been used to signify the way a woman "is" on her wedding day, and how do I do it while being a feminist?
I've answered these questions for myself... but it's a process.