Reading The Feminine Mystique for the first time, I just realized something.
Feminism is not about womyn power, or the glorious sisterhood of women, or the right of women to be astronauts or physicists or to rule over men. It may be at least on the surface supporting some of those things, but it's not about them.
Feminism is about the right to choose, for everyone, men and women. It's the right of a woman to choose whether or not to be a housewife, an astronaut, a horse trainer or soldier or seamstress. It's the right of a man to choose what sort of woman he marries, when he marries and why. It's the right of every human being to have that choice and to make it without fear of pressure, prejudice or pain.
That's what feminism is about. And it won't really have the effect that we want and need until everyone--everyone--realizes that.
I do not have too many books. I do not. I simply have too few bookcases.
On tomorrow's to-do list; move the new bookcase into my room. See if I can move out my bed and move in the futon as well. See if doing so will make the bottom two shelves of the brown bookcase accessible. Put away clothes washed today. Put away small mountain of shoes. Sort out pile of mending and pile of missing sockes. Sort out random containers. Put away random things in the box of Random Things. Get huge grey thing out of my room (seriously, wtf is that thing? An air filter?). Possibly clean out my desk. Go in for more pony therapy.
Oh, and make plans to see El sometime. It's been too long and I need to nick her copy of Deathly Hallows since I've no intention of buying one myself.
*puts head under a blanket and pretends fandom doesn't exist*
Edit: Oh! I forgot! Because of my lamentable lack of bookcases, I'll be going through my books and having another book sale. Watch this space to place orders.
FANDOM, FANDOM EVERYWHERE AND NOT A DROP OF SANITY.
My bunny had to be put to sleep half an hour ago. Her name was Hazel, though no one ever called her that; usually it was booboo, or bunny, or some other sickening name. She was grey and soft, with a little white collar around her neck and a little white nose. She was the sweetest bunny around, and she used to lick your nose, or your finger, just because she could. She ate grass in this really cute way, too, chewing it up like you used to chew spaghetti when you were a kid, one long strand at a time.
She was also
five eight years old, and she got congestive heart failure. That's what the vet said, anyway. We only noticed that she wasn't breathing very well. The vet did say that we got her there in time, so she didn't hurt, and they kept petting her and telling her she was okay, so she wasn't scared.
She was such a good bunny. I hope she and my kitty have a good time in heaven.
Pictures to follow. Right now I just need to sleep.