Reclamation Proclamation

Just when I thought that a broken heart would kill me, my blood sugar and liver levels almost did. Who knew that a sugar and carb-heavy diet along with short alcoholic stints throughout your twenties could do such a thing? Modern science. I did not want to go to the doctor for this very reason —i.e. empirical evidence that your body is in a state of protest, but I cannot die without seeing Tennis live, or going to WWC next summer. Plus, I want to see Kylie live at least one more time. Priorities, man. Anyway, I changed my diet, started drinking more water, and started going to the gym. This is going to be the blandest Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve ever. Diabetes and liver aside, my body and my mind are returning to normalcy. In conjunction with taking advantage of Medicare, I think the haircut set off a chain of events. I do not know why I tried so hard to comply with the respectability politics of square presentation. Actually, I do know why: because I was defining myself by my significant other. However, I am woman, I am non-white, and I am heavily-tattooed. Regardless of "radical hairstyles," I will always be a magnet for judgement. Life is too short not to own my douchebag queerness in its entirety.

I finally got my period after not having it for 5 months. Everyone thought I was pregnant.

One of the required texts in my research methods class is Light in the Dark/Luz en lo Oscuro: Rewriting Identity, Spirituality, Reality by the late Gloria Anzaldúa. Parts of it are in Spanish and it does take me longer to read since I have to refer to Google Translate often, but it is incredibly inspiring and therapeutic. I actually do not mind taking the extra time to understand the Spanish. Junot Díaz has a quote about wypipo willing to read books in made up languages like Elvish, but freak out when they see Spanish. But this is America! America that was once Mexico? I digress. At times, I chastise myself for relating too much to the mystical aspects of the text and I become embarrassed. But thems the "intellectual imperialism" breaks, right? Decolonization is exhausting.

I crash my car into a bridge; I don't care.

My personal (de)evolution of caring has ranged from caring way too much, to caring as a means of understanding, to not caring at all, to now caring in the spirit of academia. I was sensitive to what others thought about me to the point of going out of my way to put others on blast and consequently, showed my own whole ass. I took up the mantle of "The Personal Is Political" and fought with anyone who was a heteropatriarchal and classist holy roller. Then I attempted to shift my reactionary outbursts into understanding why people do the terrible things that they do, and why their actions do not align with what they say they embody: Christ's love. It was exhausting and when I hit my thirties, I stopped wanting to understand because excusing garbage behavior with daddy issues, personal insecurities, or willful ignorance under the guise of religious supremacy is total bullshit. I am not here for self-identified grown folks who have toddler tantrums and navigate their lives as mean girls. Maybe y'all need to work out your sociopathy with the assistance of a shrink and perhaps integrate the concept of the apology into your lexicon and personal philosophy. I digress, I am not a psych major.

Where does that leave me currently? Having to care enough about a topic to spend almost a year researching it and then presenting my results in order to complete my degree. Do I side with a topic that I researched last semester that resonates with who I am, but I am kind of burnt out on? Or do I jump into a topic that I am unfamiliar with, but excited about — especially with an ethnographic goldmine rolling into town in the spring?

So what?! Who cares?!