| I was pregnant in graduate school. It was my second baby (second baby daddy-at this time convinced I was worthy of breeding with, not necessarily marrying), and I had gained way too much weight to be walking the halls of a youth infested (pseudo) liberal arts college (catholic in denomination) to be comfortable. Also, I was embarrassed that I was without a spouse (or a boyfriend, thanks to skinny blonde). Or, at least a ring. Shit, faking it would have been just fine.
I put myself on bed rest. I stayed comfy on my mattress on the floor, laptop on my lap, bowl of Doritos at my side (enter any sort of edible substance here, as it probably made it at some point to the side of me during this period of time).
I was able to get credit for my literary criticism course, if I simply participated via the World Wide Web in note worthy classroom conversations. Which meant my interaction with Barthes and Derrida was limited, and I could bullshit my way through the rest. I mean, you read Derrida and see how intellectual you feel afterwards. Plus, I feel that pregnancy was cutting off the circulation to my faculties of reason.
Dr Debra Hall was a feminist. That is what she told us, anyhow. She was a feminist who seriously despised me ever since the previous semester when I refused to go see her husband's performance of Uncle Vanya at the local community theatre. It was Uncle Vanya, I was five months pregnant, and my boyfriend had just left me for the skinny, blonde republican waitress at the restaurant he worked at. I mean, as if I am going to willingly go anywhere that doesn't count for a grade or money. Plus, my kid could barely eat, so I wasn't about to pay even ten dollars to put food on her kids table. Dr Hall had a man to help pay the bills. I had loan money and a measly child support payment for my first kid. It was uncle fucking Vanya.
Dr Hall was a feminist. She didn't take her husband's last name. Dr Hall was very pro-women. However, she did state on two different occasions that my life would be easier if I were married and having a child. Really, Dr Hall? You don't say. I wondered if you could be a feminist in theory but an asshole in practice.
Email thread during class was somewhat uneventful. Dr Hall was a post modernist at heart. She felt art could be anything. She believed fully in relativity. I thought relativity just helped with self-esteem. It reminded me of a mother saying to her child, "Honey, that picture is beautiful because you drew it." Fuck that. What a way to set a kid up for future disappointments. Although, now we had a society saying that very same thing to the collective- "It's okay world, that your art looks like shit. You did it, and that's all that matters, and someone somewhere will appreciate it." You know, some degenerate who has no idea what makes good art.
Dr Hall was a feminist, and she hated Howard Stern. She loved Dworkin. One time I asked her if she considered sex with her husband rape, and Dr Hall told me that sometimes, even religion has some bad ideas. I said, "Yes, absolutely. The no birth control thing is amazingly stupid." I believe she quietly agreed.
She also had a problem with plagiarism. I thought an idea free for all was a beautiful and communal concept. She was angry with me for no quoting very known ideas and witticisms. I told her once the ideas hit the air (or paper, for that matter) they were everyone's. That began a month long debate on plagiarism that sent me to the hospital twice for false labor.
After I had the baby (named Theodore, after Theo Huxtable from the Cosby Show, although I lied a said I named him after Theodor Adorno to look cool), I came back to class, and she sent me home when my nipples leaked through my shirt. Apparently, it was offensive.
Dr Hall was a feminist, though. Very pro-women. |
