I'm looking forward to tonight's party but a little exhausted from the trip to the Xplorat0rium -- which was a total blast. We met up with Dr. Bit.
It was sunny and nice when we got there but hailing when we drove off.
I can't stop thinking today about the uncertainty to do with school and what I'll be doing. What if professor F. read my paper and hated it so intensely she doesn't want me for her student and won't pull for me anymore? What if I just get it back in the mail or get a terse email about how she expected better from me and she's disillusioned with my scholarliness? I've been coasting most of the time on "whatever happens, happens for the best and I'l'l cope" but there are moments of terrible unease and near-panic.
Also thinking suddenly very intensely about identity and anonymity (the extremely thin anonymity of this blog is only one aspect... when I publish stuff, what to publish it under? When I write an author bio, depending on context, what do I include? The old zines? Sleazy things? "respectable" things? ) i am in principle against my being closeted about anything. And it feels like pointless lying because it will all end up being connected or coming out anyway. I'm not aiming to be a super respectable academic so it's not like I'll be fucking that up. It's just the thought of upsetting my parents and their extended family or friends that bothers me. By now I just wish they could go "Oh well, that's my weird daughter, it's her life" in the same way they got to a point of putting photos of me and M. with funny-colored mohawks on their desks at work.
I look at other people's novels and short stories and wild poems that are web searchable and think about this a lot. THEY deal with it don't they? You think kathy 4cker's great-aunt gave her mom shit for her novels? Or was it all just politely ignored and glossed? For fucks sake sometimes it feels like people's families have an easier time sweeping their alcoholic wife-beating family members under the rug than they do their slightly transgressive writers and thinkers. Or possibly I'm just overly paranoid and no one in my family will give a flying fuck about anything I do.
I saw a funny letter somewhere lately that schopenhauer's mom wrote to him about how intolerably obnoxious he was. i'll link to it later.
I'll talk more about this but for now... feeding, bathing Moomin and a quick pre-party nap for the Badger!!!