My class is quarter is a new prep for me: Literary and Creative Expressions Across Cultures: Viewing Difference. I’ve themed it to study cinematic representations of disability. So I have be immersed in the new-to-me body of scholarship of disability studies.   OMG. It is more than intellectually stimulating. It names for me things in my life. I am still in that cloud of fog that accompanies falling into a new discourse.  It’s like putting on black leather and chains and walking into a biker bar for the first time. Or entering the academy. Or marrying into a new family.

But the ideas are burning. I don’t know how to know them yet. I may have to write (don’t tell Margi).

So here we have Moppet, the grand dame of the back deck, taking her rightful place in the sun. If it’s one thing I like, it’s a old girl with an attitude.

Kevin in black mood?

When some people blog, they revel in getting all dark and esoteric. What does that get you? Does this bull look like the expression usually on your face?

Today I had a heartbreaking conversation with one of my graduate students. A quote board in the common room asked the question: “Name something on the top of your bucket list.” I wrote: “More fun, love, friends.” This elicted a 30 min conversation with a grad student about the postmodern dilemma of annhilation and consumption by the forces of discourse. I told him to get over that. I said we are SO PAST that false subjugation. I told him we were moving on as of a decade ago. “To where?” he asked, almost hopefully. I cheerfully replied: “Popomo!” (Thank you Matt Holtmeier). I begged him to consider Anthony Giddens’s who moved us past the myth of endless swirling in the man’s structures. He was beyond hope.

He argued strenuously for Niche and Marx. I told him to throw Foucault into the mix and really get depressed and resort to death poetry. In blackest tones and despair, he could not.  He truly saw no alternative. He mockingly told me to enjoy my [critical tone here] “fun and love and friends.”

The disheartened, poor man has NO belief in self-agency. No joy, no hope, no power in his life. (Made me wonder if he actually GETS the notion of a bucket list.) I told him he only believes what he believes because he believes it. He has the power to believe something else. No. Not possible in his ideology (remember that ideology tells you what is, what is good, and what is possible a la Althesseur. My heart is sad for him.

On the other hand, because I do know what a bucket list is and am taking responsibility for what I do now that I’m facing it in general, I offer these pictures to represent what is possible:

This post was first drafted on June 14, 2011. Seems I forgot to publish it. But it is waking up today because it is an essential part of the backstory to today’s story.

Today, on Aug 15, 2011 I opened my blog to record a life lesson that Dene Hager, a former student and new influence on my current burning question (in this sixtieth year of personal evolution):  What do I want to be when I grow up? (Dene has blessed me with one of my deepest felt-needs and I must must must language it here on Kitty’s Kitty Blog: Picturing Cats and Languaging Life  –  but I see that journal wants to wait a few days.

This old draft  is revealing not only in what it says about my state of being in June, but in what has happened since then. Namely, the revelations that are, to me, a JOURNEY OF A LIFETIME.

Our beloved orange cat Ralph has developed an inexplicable need to piss on the clothes, computer, cables, and desk of his beloved human, Kevin. But it is passive aggressive because when Ralph is around Kevin, he snuggles up as usual. Yet Kevin’s office carpet was so destroyed that after every possible salvage attempt was made, we had to give in and tear out the carpet and pad.

Why would anyone choose to hurt the ones who feed and support and spend money and labor on their behalf? It is a grief that this adored being in our home is pushing us as far as this. Two vet visits later, kitty prozac aside, and with broken hearts, I feel disconsolate.

But the bigger grief in my life right now is an analogous tragedy happening to humans whose lives will be forever damaged by incidents and decisions of that which can only be called injustice. Perpetrated by those who should have supported them.

What do you do when you have no control over a pissing contest that you can’t win?

But I am happy to report that Tiger Lily now weighs a mere 14.5 lbs, down from 18.2

Weight is such an unkind instrument of measurement. Having always carried an extra 10 (if not 20) pounds and fantasizing about losing weight, I now find myself in the startling and curious position of being too thin. When someone who doesn’t quite measure 5′ tall loses 30 lbs in one year, the result is not flattering. Why is it that I used to feel guilty about being a size 10 or 12, but I now feel guilty about size 0 being large on me? Ah, vanity, thy name is (cultural conceptions of beauty for a) woman!

Reminds me of the proverb from the Christian bible that says “Where no oxen are, the crib is clean; but much increase is by the strength of an ox” (Proverbs 14:4). To translate for me it reads: “Where no cats live, cat hair is never a problem; on the other hand, the increase of love in my house with cats is worth the price of vacuuming cat hair.”