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Monthly Archives: January 2016

I didn’t want to be on the internet yesterday. Not after Alan Rickman died. We had not even the opportunity to mourn the passing of the Goblin King when the light on another one of Britain’s Suns extinguished a mere 48 hours later. While I cannot call myself a Bowie fan, I cannot deny his influence on me. Alan Rickman, on the other hand, became my Dark Knight in Gleaming Armani when I was 7. At 13, he taught me the advantages of spoons over axes against your adversary. At 15, I was desperate to learn what I had to do to endeavor to deserve him. At 18, I wanted to get drunk on tequila (sans the spitting) because I was out of ideas on how to proceed with my university major. At 21, he seduced me with the potency and importance of knowing one’s Potions. At 25, he provided me with a strange insight into the cynicism of a hyper-intelligent, manically depressed robot.

You get the idea: how do you say good-bye to what you grew up with?

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Yeah, I took a break from writing on this blog. A long ass break. It wasn’t intentional; it wasn’t on accident either. The fact is that my best blog entries come to me when I have focused my anger and passion like a surgeon focuses her scalpel. Over the past 11 months, I have been on a roller coaster of experiences, ranging from receiving one honor to becoming the target of three catastrophes — wash, rinse, repeat the cycle. Given the frequency of emotional whiplash, it seemed inevitable that I would grow…tired. A person only has so many spoons, and when you are in the midst of, among other things, fighting to keep your health and your house together [literally and metaphorically], prioritizing the war against the Kyriarchy first and foremost doesn’t seem like the best course of action.

Because let’s be real: we may be all about the Struggle, but the Struggle is not all about us.

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