circa August 24, 2010, 09:59 : and i've been 'fessing double fast, addressing questions nobody asked

i keep doing sruti things, like buying sruti dresses, sruti books, and listening to sruti music.  but then i keep saying these terrible un-sruti things.  i get so mean.  and i guess it's comforting that being this virulent feels so unnatural of me.  i don't recognize myself as this hard shell.  i spend too much time of my life giggling for this to feel remotely fitting.  yet, i insist on bullying the ones i like instead of the ones i don't.  i stiffen up when old friends put their arms around me, and i say things like, "fuck everything."  and i smile and bite my tongue, and say, "right, right" when i want to say things like, "this is fucking ridiculous.  fix this."

but my mom still comes into my room perpetually worried about my ever stable (ha) health.  her first thought after her eight hour work shift returns to our early morning conversation about the lack of results from a blood test.  and the idea that i know a person that fills this title of a mother, and that this mother's first concern is my health, is exactly the kind of thing that suggests that i'm still living sruti's life.  wherever she is.

today my sister bumped into an early religion teacher.  also known as one of my first experiences with anomalies.  this is a woman who comes from the same culture i do.  a woman draped in a permanent sari uniform, both, emphatically denying and yet emphatically implying her secularism.  and when this woman asks how i am, my sister says, "she's good.  she's fasting."  this woman grimaces.  she has always wanted me to take my black eyeliner and angrily rebel like i adolescently threatened to.  i used to be that kind of a person.  i no longer have any desire to fight anyone.  even the ones that i know are so terribly wrong.  now, i have recurring dreams where i find domesticity tied up in a bow, sitting under my bed.  it smells like the cosby show.

and here's this thing, whatever it is.  i'm not embarrassed by these thoughts, but they're not the sort of thing you tell people.  so i'm thinking back to this weeks mad men episode and don's going, (paraphrase coming,) "why does everyone insist on talking about things?" and she shrugs and says, "i don't know, but for whatever reason they feel a little better after they do."

so what's that saying?  that this self indulgent analysis is remotely progressive?  is it?

probably not.
but i'll tell you anyways.