seething.

the midol is starting to take effect so i believe i am at a point where i can construct logical thoughts. if you have the dubious pleasure of speaking with me on a somewhat frequent basis, you have no doubt heard me complain at some point about my reproductive system. it really is a beast. even other women hear of my burden and all they can muster is a quiet "...damn." perhaps in a past life i was a misogynist. every year my mother asks me what i want for my birthday, and every year i say "a hysterectomy." i'm being completely serious. i have no intention of bearing children of my own. i will happily adopt should i choose the path of motherhood; of training someone else in being a decent, proactive human. the way i see it, my reproductive organs are of no use to me. they are a plague upon the temple that is my body, and i would gladly take a long-handled grapefruit spoon to my uterus, were the solution really that simple.

in the time since my last post i finished infidel, then started and completed bell hooks' where we stand: class matters. my review and critical analysis of hooks' work deserves it's own convoluted entry that i will save for the nebulous future, but i did promise i would give my thoughts on the former book.

i enjoyed it very much. ali writes in a way that is very disarming in spite of the incredibly volatile opinions she expresses so eloquently and bravely. she recounts for us in expertly vivid detail her upbringing in somalia, saudi arabia, ethiopia and kenya. she dissects and lays out the difference betwen the clan-influenced islam that was instilled in her by her grandmother and the rigid, fundamentalist ilk that she was faced with and ultimately became a part of while living in saudi arabia. she assumes a modicum of knowledge about the faith on the part of the reader, but certainly takes care to explain and differentiate when the necessity is there. all of the horrific, sensationalized stores about violence, mutilation and struggle from "undeveloped", faraway lands that are picked over, edited, wrapped neatly and presented to us by western media - these things were this woman's life, and she recounts them to us, making sure to spare no detail. this i feel is important, because we are made aware of atrocities committed (with and without holy names involved) as i type this and as you read it. on the other hand, we are also enriched by gaining knowledge of the beauty and depth of other cultures that too many are wholly ignorant of. as i delved deeper into the pages of her memoir, i began to understand why christopher hitchens wrote the foreword to this work. there is a seething criticism and ultimately, a calling out of those who perpetuate the world's major religions for the oppression, confusion, abuse and bloodshed they are all directly responsible for. most importantly, ali makes it very clear that religion is intangible - it is nothing without it's maker and sustainer, man. it was man who assembled religion, he who maintains it, and only he who can disassemble it. i think she does a beautiful job of beginning that work with the consciousness raised in this book. of course, her primary target is islam. islam was the driving force behind her excision, her arranged marriage, a catalyst for the dementia of both her mother and sister, the jusitification behind merciless abuse by members of her community, and the heaviest hand in her torment and confusion regarding adolesence - a time wrought with turbulence to begin with. i will not turn this into a criticism of islam because i would feel the need to be fair and give equal amounts of venom to christianity and judaism, but i will say that it is a fantastic read for anyone who has a love of seeing one's mind develop, morph, expand and strengthen before your eyes. i have to meet this woman someday.

i have been craving a lot of time to myself recently. been wanting to be alone, reading. clearly i've achieved that to a certain level. i tend to procure more books this week and devour them. feel free to provide suggestions. i have also been focusing more on my love of correspondence (ironic, given my appetite for physical solitude) and writing letters again. the internet is so instantaneous and impersonal (which serves it's own good purpose at times), i had forgotten the feeling of anticipating mail. i had forgotten the care and meticulous effort i adore putting into the crafting of a letter. i had nearly forgotten how much i simply love writing by hand. so if you want to know what i've been up to lately, that's it aside from working, of course.

i refuse to talk about work except to state simply that i refuse to talk about it. i feel like my head is going to explode.

fall is swiftly upon us. coats, apple orchards, and the hushed, colder days.

when i have seen my friends lately, i have actively focused on making our time together about talking and listening. i have been making my intention to truly interact very much known. so often the quality time we spend with people revolves around the variety of ways we can pay money to not talk, and i feel like we are missing so much. the irony is that i haven't talked to them about how they feel about it. if you are into sitting around and talking, or talking while baking, do get in touch.

i amaze even myself at my ability to seethe so quietly these days. it's a little frightening because it is not a sustainable state of being.