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Horrid week continues. Today, I misplaced my wallet. Discovered this after I exited the train and was hunting for my subway pass. First thought that entered my brain was - how the frigging heck am I getting home? Second, oh my god, where is my wallet! Third, OMG MY ID, MONEY, ETC is in that wallet! FUCK!!!! Calm down, calm....okay, think, (this while I'm having a coughing fit, and trying to breath, because methinks the allergies are either a cold, the flu, or just a severe allergy attack), right, must have left it at work. It's obviously there. Last time I saw it. Damn. Okay, how am I getting home? A nice black police officer kindly loans me six single dollar bills to buy a metro card to get myself home. Left messages at work - but no one is there to check - work place closes early. Almost positive it is there - because there is no other place it could be. I couldn't have lost it on the train and no one could have taken it out of my bag - very hard to get things out of my bag. But am worrying all the same.
[ETA at 12pm next day: Found my wallet at work, in my desk, as hoped. Highly relieved. Would have been a nightmare to replace.]
There's a rather interesting discussion going on in about two blogs on my flist about deconstructionalism. Actually not just those blogs, I've seen it elsewhere. It brings back fond memories of my days as an English Lit Major back in the 1980s. In 1989, I vividly remember spending two-three hours yakking with guy sitting at the computer terminal behind me, as we wrote our senior thesises. His was on deconstructionalism or rather deconstructing the superhero in society, or the protagonist privilege/Heroe's journey as deconstructed by Alan Moore and Frank Miller, amongst others. He had to fight the English Department to let him propose it. Cute guy - curly white blond hair, tall and lean, leather jacket with stubs, silver necklace, earring, John Lennon style glasses, and those big black boots - Doc Martens. Yes, he looked more like a punk rocker than an English Lit Major. This we know. And he was a heck of a lot more interesting than what I was writing about - I was busy contrasting Molly Bloom to Caddy Thompson - and how the male narrators deconstructed these women and redefined them to suite their own purpose.
( a very long ramble about deconstructionism in literary criticism and stories, including a bit on protagonist privilege, amongst other things - probably won't make much sense, will certainly annoy some folks, you may want to skip... )
****Please read my profile page before commenting - where I state that I write spontaneously, rarely proof or edit, make frequent typos and errors, and none of this is necessarily factual unless clearly stated (which not here) - they are just my random musings and often off the top of my head (I may well change my mind five minutes later). So...if something I wrote makes you see red? Annoys you? Makes you cranky? Take five breaths, remember its just some woman's lj, and click away, do not post.
My blood-pressure thanks you. ;-)
ETA2: You may link to this entry, if you wish.
[ETA at 12pm next day: Found my wallet at work, in my desk, as hoped. Highly relieved. Would have been a nightmare to replace.]
There's a rather interesting discussion going on in about two blogs on my flist about deconstructionalism. Actually not just those blogs, I've seen it elsewhere. It brings back fond memories of my days as an English Lit Major back in the 1980s. In 1989, I vividly remember spending two-three hours yakking with guy sitting at the computer terminal behind me, as we wrote our senior thesises. His was on deconstructionalism or rather deconstructing the superhero in society, or the protagonist privilege/Heroe's journey as deconstructed by Alan Moore and Frank Miller, amongst others. He had to fight the English Department to let him propose it. Cute guy - curly white blond hair, tall and lean, leather jacket with stubs, silver necklace, earring, John Lennon style glasses, and those big black boots - Doc Martens. Yes, he looked more like a punk rocker than an English Lit Major. This we know. And he was a heck of a lot more interesting than what I was writing about - I was busy contrasting Molly Bloom to Caddy Thompson - and how the male narrators deconstructed these women and redefined them to suite their own purpose.
( a very long ramble about deconstructionism in literary criticism and stories, including a bit on protagonist privilege, amongst other things - probably won't make much sense, will certainly annoy some folks, you may want to skip... )
****Please read my profile page before commenting - where I state that I write spontaneously, rarely proof or edit, make frequent typos and errors, and none of this is necessarily factual unless clearly stated (which not here) - they are just my random musings and often off the top of my head (I may well change my mind five minutes later). So...if something I wrote makes you see red? Annoys you? Makes you cranky? Take five breaths, remember its just some woman's lj, and click away, do not post.
My blood-pressure thanks you. ;-)
ETA2: You may link to this entry, if you wish.
