all the promises we broke

[lotesse]

to do this evening: finish reading The Well of Loneliness, call my senators and fucking beg for the continuance of my goddamn right to bodily sovereignty and, yanno, basic fucking medical care. Excuse the language, but sometimes the irony of my academic field just gets me. Nothing damn well changes. We write and fight and beg and weep and teach and then we lose everything yet again. (background on the whole bloody mess at Jezebel.)

On the plus side, the book is pretty banging. Melodramatic as anything, but in a yummy queer way that I find very pleasing.