So, I'm here at this Women’s Studies Conference.
In Oakland, California and it’s like super cool and everyone is all radical and their heads are shaved and their tattoos are flashed and the world will change, right here, in the Mariott Hotel where the elevators aren’t working and I rode the service elevator up to my room twice today and walked down the stairs the same number of times.
And I adore some of the women here.
And I don’t understand some of the women here.
And I don’t feel connected to all of the women here.
But I do feel connected to some of the women here.
And that’s just it. See?
I did the smooching of the professionals.
I asked my questions to the panel.
But that’s not where I’m trying to be.
Sometimes I feel like being a feminist is like trying to make your body be all about your neck (or some other random part, you pick..) while in reality, it’s just a crucial part of you.
Who you are.
No more and no less than any other part.
It’s simply essential,
in a crucial, humble kind of way.
Oh, I was born in a liberal bubble, what do I know?
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