July 10 00 a few days ago, I had a long and very involved dream.warning: there are sex bits here. if you are offended by such stuff move elsewhere.
I was in a women's prison. Physically it was basically just like my grandmother's house in Texas. living room and tv room ad kitchen on the left of entrance, long hallway w/rooms leading off it on the right. at first I had one girlfriend. I remember us kissing. (this part was inspired by the BBC tv show Bad Girls, I think cashing in on the HBO prison drama OZ.) they put shackles on me. but then the shackles disappeared. this other woman was harassing me, and some stuff was missing from my room (which was the room that I stay in at grandma's --my father's childhood rooom). I accused my harasser and told the wardens she took off my shackles and they believed me and she was gone. Then she was my new girlfriend.
Outside the prison were some trees. at one point one male guard was having sex with a (female) prisoner against one. after she left he pulled off a small branch from where she had been pressed and sniffed it or sucked it.
then later, another guard was preparing to have sex WITH a tree, it sort of twisted and there were all these vertical folds in the bark,and he was stroking them and wetness was coming out, liquid just running down the treefolds and puddling a little at the base. Then a little boy ran up, and the guard was trying to explain how the wetness was naturally occuring tree-stuff, but the boy started exclaiming how he knew boys made that wet stuff, he recognised the smell. (weird, I know). Then there were some prison doctors. one who was young and cute and I knew he was sympathetic to me. at one point when I was explaining about my shackles being removed by my tromentor who was going to sell them or something, I had a piece of a chocolate bar, and I offered it to him and he sucked it off my finger. I smiled and caught his eye as I turned to go.
in another section,. me and a group of gurls and maybe the warden were walking up a wide staircase, and at a landing, there was a big box with what looked like some largish white fluffly round things. looking a little closer, one of them was a teddy bear/or a fuzzy baby-thing. it was mehanical. it was moving, and building other teddy-bear babies out of the white round bits. it was creepy: like they were going to build each other and multiply and then take over. I lauighed and said as much to my companions. I think this was before the escape asi think the warden woman said said something at this point.
Then we girls were all sitting on the floor in a room, and I was deciding that I had to go to another prison. I was explaining to my new girlfriend that this one was too small, and I needed somewher bigger or I'd go mad. not, I said, that I'd have more freedeom in a bigger more high-security place, but that I had so much energy, and a bigger place would have more energy to absorb me. I was being sent to "Anaheim. Anaheim connecticut." (I held a piece of paper in my hand as I was walking through the hallway and I could read the words Anaheim CT on it). The cute doctor (like ER) was standing with some other doctors in the hallway. he said maybe the other place would be better since some people at this place were "trying to break you down." "well it is prison," I said. he laughed. I said "or just like high school."

we had to be driven out from the prison in the trunk of a car. all of us lying down on our stomachs, in the trunk with the trunk open. I think it wasn't legal for us to be sitting the back seat. The car was just pulling out and I ran after it as the girls explained this to me. I asked them: Is there room? "of course" is there a blanket for me so I won't get cold, what with the wind and all? "sure" one laughed, and I piled in. the car was driving fast, and then it was somehow driving backwards and it was almost like we were on the top of a double decker bus, only exposed to the wind. We were high up, and I was on my stomach looking over the edge. We were zooming through a narrow street almost like a hallway, a narrow-narrow canyon with high connecting buildings on either side. and there were so many things in the road, people, other cars, tables, it never seemed like we would get through, but we kept squeezing by, even past other cars. then we WERE in a hallway and had to drfive down stairs. first down a few, towards a landing (it was all carpeted), and it was so steep i thought my face would hit the ground, luckily there was a pile of stuffed animals on the landing and my face pressed into them, then round a corner and down some more. it wasn't as bumpy as I had expected. then I think we fell out of the back (even though we had been moving forwards it was still the back of the car)?
Then me and a bunch of other transferees and a woman warden were walking outside in a city, and the warden and one of us had a map with little lights on it. it was like a geopositioning thing only the girl was complaining it didn't work. the warden explained that the lights showed where we were, but we were almost at the edge so it just lit up one little light in the direction we were going. we were in Amsterdam. In an area I was almost familiar with from a (waking life) memory. the place ws called Oreen. but I kept thinking of Amstelveen.
anyway we were escaping. a boy was helping us. it was c.p., my highschool boyfriend. but he was hooking up with another of the girls. I recognised him kinda, but didn't mind. we ran as a group for a while down a street, then chris and another girl and me found a silver trans am (only it looked more like a bmw, but we called it a trans am) he got in and the girl ran after, laughing. we were outdistancing the group. (I wasn't her, but i don't know if i was still runing or just being a spectator like in a movie.) then he stopped the car and opened the passeneger door and she got in. she (me?) is wearing my little zebra-stripe dress i just bought in Boston this time I was there. he was outside the car and he lay her down in the seat and was about to go down on her. he said as much, very explicitly, about giving her head (which i always thought was only what was done to guys. since we gurls don't really have a 'head' of anything).and then something about how "your pussy changes a little between the last two times I went down onyou. now since it's been a year, it will have changed even more." really? then i was her and we (he and i) were walking through the streets of a city. brick buildings, residential/shopping area, narrowish windy streets. feeling guilty about leaving the other girls behind. decide to go back and try to fit us all into the little sports car. all along the streets people are preparing for st. patricks day, a parade. we look towards where the girls are and we see police car. we think this means they have been caught. we back to the trans am and I get in the back with the other girl (suddenly we are two again) and he drives on. I'm feeling guilty because, I just realised, maybe that was only a cop car, and has nothing to do with the escape.

all I can remember. that was pretty wierd. I was all worn out from such a long and complicated dream when I awoke.

July 6 00 Today had an all-day series of workshops on our theses. Mandatory for the whole group, we had each been given one other person's draft to read and make comments on, had to present our own draft and hear comments. It was exhausting, but really good. good to hear what everyone was working on, and all the ones I heard were interesting. There were fice sessions, with three panels (meeting in different rooms) per session. About three papers per panel. Of course, I was assigned to give my presentation in one room and give commentary in another AT THE SAME TIME. needless to say, mine was the only scheduling problem. What am I, cursed?
All in all, though it worked out, and I got some good comments. there was this one moment, however that was kinda sad. One woman presented her thesis, she was the only black woman I had seen in this whole program, and I'd never seen her before this session. I think she must have been someone who deferred their thesis last year, and chosen to finish it in a second year. Anyway, her topic was really interesting, all about this group of states in southern Africa who had banded together to form an economic community. But her topic was huge. Absolutely huge. She was looking at international trade, labour market flows, measures of institutional and contractual stability, all kinds of data, all kinds of theories. And all the comments centered on that. And she got really mad. She thought everyone was questioning her ability. I tried to talk to her afterwards, and she was so angry. I was really thinking, the whole time, am I too sympathetic to the group? Am I merely raining on her parade? This is obviously something she is (and should be) proud of, she obviously goes way beyond an understanding of the theories, as far as I could tell. She knew a lot more than I did about some macroeconometric stuff. figured it sucked that it was a roomful of white people and a few asians. And only white people spoke and all had this criticism. figured it might. In my comment, I tried to take a different tack. I talked about a tiny facet in one of her sections. she talks about the security of property rights, and uses an index number to reflect the relative security of property rights. I pointed out that in Africa, the "securing" of property rights, often has racial, ethnic, colonial, let alone class overtones. And the index number may obscure some of the power struggles which have been and are ongoing in these areas. It would be important, I thought, to put an index number in context, especually in terms of comparing various regions, so as not to miss the power struiggles and resulting (im)balances which have occurred. But this kind of detail could not be done for every issue she had raised, although it is important for many of them. so.. maybe she could focus on only one or two of them. But I wasn't clear, or made no sense, or she was too mad or something.
But we only have 15,000 words. That's about 30 pages. Like a long journal article. What she was talking about was a book at least. And all she said to those who suggested she narrow it down was: "if you have any suggestions as to what I have that is redundant, I'll be happy to consider it, but until you can show me how to cut it down, i stick with this." sigh. And when I talked to her afterwards, we both got heated, because we had temperaments that could wind each other up (not in the British sense, but like watchsprings), and she was so sure everyone was doubting her ability, and thought they were suggesting she was trying for points and that's why she was covering so much... It was hard. I don't know if there's anything to do. I'm just afraid that she will try to cram it all in and not cover things deeply enough. And then get a less good mark than all her work deserves. It's part of that whole "answer the question" issue. people sweat blood on a reply which doesn't answer the question, and then they're mad because their work isn't recognised. Part of the requirement for a master's thesis is that it fits the definitions, and there is only a certain leeway of depth or width of topic that you can cover in 15,000 words. maybe that's what she's spent the second year doing, honing every single word. I hope so.
but there's this nagging what disloyalty? probably just white guilt or some shit. because maybe i have fallen in step too much? no i really don't think so. I can tell, as a scholar, when someone's tryong to do to much. If I'd been honest with her, when she said "do they doubt my ability" instead of saying "no." I should have said "they doubt your abilty to cover it in the space alloted. I do." guh. bridge called my back indeed.

July 5 00 now, I'm not about to turn into a jockgirl like melty or la malinchista, but I have to admit 1)Venus Williams is rightly named after a goddess. besides making tennis interesting to me, she's six-foot-one and in an interview impressed me mightily, even coming off as nice and down-to-earth. I rememeber the first news piece I saw about her a couple years ago, a special sports bit about her first six months on the scene. I shit you not, the announcer called her "the ghetto cinderella." unreal. Her sister Serena is also such a powerhouse. I have been unable to turn off Wimbledon, women's games only. Martina Navratilova is also fucking rad. 2)the Tour De France is much more interesting after having some of the strategies of cycle racing explained to me. I didn't know how complicated it was, I always thought it was every man for himself, but LDL's roommates are racers (and a finer bunch of zero-body-fat high-nervous-energy nearly-hairless young men you couldn't hope to meet) and were pointing out the wind-resistance issues, and the roles of the different team members. cool.

July 4 00back in town back in town.. my time in Boston was good overall. I did take the exam. It went okay. My mother is all right, she has no thyroid gland now. But she's recovering from the surgery. Stayed pretty close to home, helped out around the house, kept Dad company (he's used to being the invalid, not mom). While she rested up after the surgery, took the chance to introduce them to the films of Jim Jarmusch. First Mystery Train, then Down By Law, then Dead Man. Wheeee! They loved'em. As I knew they would. Who wouldn't?

My arrival in Boston was unbefuckinglievable. here beginneth the saga:
I was supposed to leave on Monday, 3pm from Gatwick. When I checked in at 1pm, they said the flight was delayed 3 hours. I got a voucher from them to get some tea and a book. Sat and virtuously studied for the exam (which would be on Wednesday, mom's surgery on Thursday). About 2 hours later I checked the screen for my flight, and there was a flashing notice next to it "Gate Closing." Now this looked to me like it meant that the flight had already boarded. I fled through security, almost leaving my disks (with all my thesis stuff on them) there. Booked across the airport to the gate. About 12 American women and two other people were also there, all thinking the same thing. We got to the gate and this guy in an airport uniform (not a Virgin uniform) had no idea what was going on. He though maybe the plane left from another gate than the one on the screen. He made some calls. A Virgin rep showed up. She asked us to wait while she made some calls. About 20 minutes later she told us the flight was cancelled. They would give us a room at a hotel, and we'd get on the flight tomorrow. I explained to her that I was traveling because of a family illness and I needed to get there. Okay I admit I was tearful, because I'm high-strung like that and it was a damn frustrating situation. Anyway she took me aside and said they could put me ona flight through American Airlines to New York, and then give me a connecting flight to Boston on Continental early Tuesday morn. Okay. So she told me to go back to the check-in desk and talk to a guy who she was calling and he'd arrange it. When I got to the check-in desk there was a long line of people freaking out. Many of them had had flights out over the weekend that had been cancelled cuz the computer system had crashed, and now here they were again. I found my guy, looking harried, and he whispered to me that he'd get me my tickets but that I should not say anything about it because there were only 5 spaces available, and everyone else would get mad..okay... After waiting for another half-hour or so he came over with my tickets. The flight left from Heathrow so they put us (me and another guy) in a taxi to heathrow. We made it there pretty quick, and I checked in at American by 7:15 (flight at 8:00). At the check-in desk the guy said "you have a connecting flight?" "yeah through continental" I showed him the ticket. "well continental doesn't know anything about it.." riiiight. "Can you tell them about it please?" And he did. As far as he told me, anyway. But the folks at American knew nothing about the hotel arrangements. So over to the Virgin counter. At this point I'm getting hungry. And I need to call my folks. But no time! The Virgin people have no idea about us. We have to re-explain everything. I get another voucher and a phone card, but we're waiting to hear about the hotel so I can't go use it. Finally they tell us to go to the gate, and they'll have the info for us there. So I book it up to the food area, where there is no vegetarian food available (only in the sit-down restaurants), the only quick thing is a seafood bar. riiiight. so I spend my 10pound voucher on an apple and a muffin at the coffee counter and head to the gate. There they know nothing about us. I go through security, and inside the AA rep calls over to Virgin and they assure us that "A Virgin Rep will be there to meet us in NY." "But we get in way after t he last Virgin flight, will someone really be there?" long pause. call back to the Virgin Counter. "Yes. someone will meet you with information about the hotel." riiiight. Still haven't had time to call anyone. I have no credit card so I can't call from the plane. My fellow Virgin-refugee very kindly offers me his mobile phone. i make a quick call to the folks (busy- probably trying to find out what's going on) and one to LDL. LDL is in a bad mood and starts telling me about his job stress. I get off the phone, since it's not mine, having asked him to call my folks and let'em know what I think is happening. I'm now worrying about whether he still has a job, as well as all of these fucking connections.
Once we get on the plane we sit around for another 45 minutes, then finally take off. On the flight, I wonder if my bank card works in the phone slot. I ask a flight attendant, explain my situation to her. I'm worried because I still haven't actually spoken to my folks. At first she thinks thre's a way for me to make a call, but realises there isn't. then she, amazingly, offers to have the flight crew contact ground support and have them give a message to my folks. i write a brief one with the flight info as I know it, and off she goes. whew. Unfortunately, because this is not the flight I booked, there is no vegetarian meal for me. I eat some crackers and grapes and feel sorry for myself.
We arrive at around 11:30 pm. Through customs and immigration. Asking at the departure lounge, there is no Virgin rep there. The woman calls the Virgin desk. Says to me there's a Limo driver to take me to the hotel. No rep to speak to about any information, though. riiiight. So the limo guy, a Jamaican man in a very fancy car, takes me off into the New York night. I tell him about my connecting flight, just as we pull into the hotel parking lot. He pauses. "but Continental flies out of Newark." On my ticket it says JFK. "That flight has to be out of Newark." Another phone call to Virgin. I talk to the woman and tell her about my flight. It's now after midnight. I'm starving and tired. She tells me that I should be put on an American flight out of JFK, and that we have to go back to the airport so she can give me a new ticket. riiiiighht. back to the airport. Finally arrive at the hotel, by which time the resarant is closed. riiight. I weasel a veggie burger out of the bar-snacks people, who are taking pity on me. I must look like death. I feel transparent. It takes 45 minutes for the veggie burger, which I take up to my room. It's too heavy and greasy and I'm too tired to eat. i ask for a wakeup call at 5:45 and collapse.
take a shuttle to airport, shuttle flight to boston. taxi to home. collapse. It's Tuesday morning and I have a final exam tomorrow. fuck it all I'm goin to bed.