Rising up with fists.

About 48 hours ago, I decided to take Friday off. Rather, I decided to float the idea of taking it off with my boss, who agreed that I’m not always THAT vital, especially since Paul the Projectionist would be around to run the press screening.

A few people at work asked me what I was getting up to. I replied ‘Not a whole lot’.

I mean, in the back of my mind, I had visions of going for a 10K run, totally turfing out my wardrobe, raking the rest of the leaves before the snow started en masse, writing something Important or, at least, Very Funny, and taking a hugely long bath with wine and a trashy-ish book.

But nope. I didn’t even sleep in, but still managed not a whole lot. Unloaded the dishwasher this morning, biked to pub lunch with Richard, then went to the library and tried, in earnest, to figure out where to begin in learning more about body politics and self-image and all that stuff about which I pretend to know anything. Oh, and see if they had any books on comedy writing.

The results? Not great.

I did borrow a copy of Lesley Kinzel‘s Two Whole Cakes (I am already 1/4 of the way through and really enjoying it), then got very old school because, as I have mentioned in this space, I have never taken a Women’s/Gender Studies class and my feminist literature education consisted of not liking the book Cunt when I read it 12 years ago (I wonder if I’d be more sympathetic now?). Dove straight in and took out a copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves (out of curiosity, mostly, because a few slightly-older-than-I-am ladies I admire give it great credit) and The Female Eunuch, which has intimidated me since I first heard of it in 1988 when I first read the second Adrian Mole Book (his little sister’s middle name is ‘Germaine’, doncha know).

I probably won’t get around to reading those last two. As soon as I packed them into my pannier, I thought ‘what am I DOING, I can’t read these’.

I will try, at least. The first is more a textbook than anything, obviously, so I am sure I will browse through some of it. And I (mostly) love Germaine Greer (to varying degrees) when I see her on television and read her columns, but perhaps it will be too clever for me.

A self-doubting feminist. What a new concept.

Eh. Despite being a self-described one since age 12, I still have a lot to learn.

Or, y’know, I’m just a normal human person with normal human neuroses.

Anyway, back to the public library. Something that annoyed the bejeezus out of me, and what might ultimately drive me back to a university library instead, is the lack of variety and how the Dewey Decimal system put books on eating disorders among (MANY) memoirs about weight loss by almost-famous people and weirdo ‘keep the weight off FOR GOOD’ diet books. Mixed messages? In the public library? Bah.

(I also saw a couple share a can of Pringles and then fall asleep 10 feet from the Info desk. ANYtHING GOES AT THE OPL.)

Anyway, my raucous day of reading and ruminating and sitting in pubs and not writing very much at all is winding down (at 6pm, because I know how to party) with tacos (from a fancy grocery store kit, no less), knitting, and maybe a big, ‘splodey movie. I’d do that bath thing, but I’m too lazy to head back out to pick up the wine (there wasn’t room in my bag earlier).

And, starting tomorrow, I can spend the rest of my weekend being productive.

Maybe.

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