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unambivalence.bsky.social
feminist utopian. doing software. writing about life. wistful about reflexivity. ex-academic. she/her/dr šŸ³ļøā€āš§ļø
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A kid about 5yo was visiting us and has a very sincere question: ā€œWhy are we real? Why am I real? Why are we all real?ā€ I said, ā€œWe’re real to other people, you’re real to me, that’s what makes you real.ā€ Our 6yo said more pointedly, ā€œIf you weren’t real, you wouldn’t be talking right now.ā€

someone stumbled across my teeny "RIP my academic career" website again, and i was reminded of how many of the submissions there just read like a long, depressing, collective chronicle of toxic sexism and misogyny in the academy. some representative samples:

i wrote a new song for the first time in months and it’s like… it just feels like such a relief to feel unstuck and finish something; plus it’s an odd chord progression that i’ve been playing for a year and could never figure out what to do with.

it's more of a note to myself, but here are two angsty, francophone, queer piano ballads that i liked: 1. angĆØle, "taxi" www.youtube.com/watch?v=spay...

i started writing a song about someone else’s report of their dream, and then that night, i found myself dreaming i was in the same scene i was trying to write about, wounds and all… i read a poem once about getting stuck in someone else’s dreams: it was like that.

my therapist finally figured out that my love language is reading very meta books about relationships, trauma, inconsistent attunement, etc, and sent me what is basically a syllabus.

summer day: 6:30am working 7:45 feed kids 8:30 shower 9:30 long work call 11 i got my hair done wheee 12:30pm trying to delete some code 2 drop off one kid, pick up another 4:30 code reviews 5:15 bike ride with 6yo 5:30 make dinner 7:30 kid bedtime 7:55 slight existential crisis 8pm i ate a peach

haven’t actually written anything new in a while, or finished anything in even longer, and it starts to feel like there’s this mass of feelings that want to get out and become something, somehow, to find their shapes and textures and their concreteness.

I was reading @susanstryker.bsky.social’s Transgender History today and it’s amazing how painful it is to (re)read the early TERF discourse, with its ā€œtrans women should be slapped in the face & given a lesson in why they are an ugly artifact of patriarchy and they should get over itā€ type stuff.

ā€œRadical softness as a boundless form of resistance,ā€ a protest sign I saw yesterday.

was considering bringing this to No Kings

mercifully this weirdness seems to be vanishing. it was so disconcerting, not like anything else i can remember experiencing.

ok so last week i was in the hospital overnight with dehydration and some unknown virus, and tested negative for covid, but ever since then, the world has felt so distant, as if looking out through a glass darkly, almost a little dizzily, like some kind of post viral brain chaos that comes and goes.

me: "eep it's summer beach time again soon, maybe i can hide myself in a new swimsuit?" capitalism: "oh look we have so many cute swimsuits marketed for trans people šŸŒˆšŸ˜šŸ¦‹" capitalism is so sneaky when it predicts your anxiety about being seen, and offers to soothe it with products.