>where the magic happens

>

So yesterday was useless for posting because a) I had leftovers and b) I spent most of the day trying to outline the introduction to my thesis…for the fourth time. I’m thrown out everything I’ve written so far (I can hear you laughing, Rivers) but this time I think I’ve got it. My difficulty, you see, is that this is an ethics paper. And ethics papers are inherently full of holes because if people don’t buy into your ontological base, well, they aren’t going to care much about the rest of it. More to the point, if the person who is writing it (me) doesn’t buy into their own (hippie dippy) ontological base, then they aren’t going to care much about the rest of it. But after four times through, I think I have found my grounding, thanks in large part to Joan Tronto, Fiona Robinson, and Val Plumwood. None of this makes any sense, does it? Ah well. At least I have a chapter two. Chapter ones are for losers anyways.

On a related note, I thought I would give you all some insight into the little land I call ‘thesisville’. Above is a picture of my office. From left: My bookshelf, my laundry, monthly calendars highlighting wildly ambitious deadlines, a stack of books that I have read 500 times and still barely understand, my bright blue desk with A.’s desktop computer (Steve), a heap of “inspirational” pictures (including Jennifer Aniston, Christy Turlington, James McAvoy, A., and Lily Cole), a mug of peppermint tea, my printer (Jane), my “filing cabinet” which is actually just a glorified milk crate, my new mustard yellow handbag which already has an ink stain inside it (effing ecologically friendly leaky pens), my hula hoop, and my exercise gear and exercise ball (which gets much less use than my hula hoop).

This is where I live.

Tonight: veggie casserole. I think.

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One thought on “>where the magic happens

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