these mutinies...

i have icky painful bits in sensitive places.
this sucks.
i hate it when my flesh goes into revolt.

crossing the ocean

thinking today of the novel "the Wide Sargasso Sea."
Jane Eyre from the point of view of the madwoman in the attic.

i remember reading all these books when i was younger, and picturing myself in those times, gothic romances, sword and sorcery fantasy, the marriage plots.
it hurts now to think that i was wrong. i wasn't those people. i was the creole woman locked up for madness of passion, i was a slave, i was a heathen...by birth and not by choice.

who would i be, in Lord of the Rings? maybe an orc-girl.
perhaps i should have just stuck to the Arabian Nights. but it's not like i fit there either.