Hitting the reset button

I am exhausted. I woke up extra super-early this morning to finish preparing discussion for my class. I led discussion for three hours, on four authors. I went to an hour and a half panel discussion on fieldwork. I went up and talked to one of the panelists afterwards and basically asked them to be my friend, because they were trans, and I miss all my trans friends. Actually, I miss all my all my friends. I came home, looked at the reading list facing me for the day after tomorrow, and saw a wall.

So I gave myself a few lovely hours, smoked a little weed, drank a glass of wine, and watched the royal tenenbaums for the manyth time. Came downstairs, put dinner in the oven, then cracked Foucault's History of Sexuality.

And, oh esteemed readers, my mind is being blown into a million tiny pieces. With all the underlining, starring, bracketing, commenting, tracing, and squiggling, I may have written as much as he has, in this particular copy. It turns out exhaustion is actually a productive state in which to read monsieur michel.

I should get back to it, in fact.

But first, since we are all here, let us reconsider the porn post as a moment not transgressive, but indeed fully expressive of dominant discourse... an imperative was established: Not only will you confess to your acts contravening the law, but you will seek to transform your desire, your every desire, into discourse (p. 21). {sigh.} What's a girl to do, other than to run a little more through my "endless mill of speech."