So last night I was delighted by a package stuffed into the mailbox.
Dagger: On Butch Women
and in a few days, my used copy of
Brazen Femme: Queering Femininity
You know, my bookcase houses some other books on sex and gender and feminism. But these will be the first overtly queer titles to grace the bowing shelves. They are heavy with knowledge, my bookcase is overstuffed and in need of a companion. But where shall I put such things? Maybe I'll ask my roommate if I can make the dining room into a "study". There's nothing in there now, it's an empty space with a few random electronics guts lying on the floor. It needs a pillow pile and a pair of bookcase. A loveseat maybe. A rocking chair.
I've always wanted to have a library. A study. But how privileged can I be, that I can even entertain the thought with any sense of possibility whatsoever?
In my Feminist Theory class today we were talking about how everyone's experience of female life and of feminism is different. And how feminists in the third-world are still fighting for things that our First Wave mothers have already accomplished. I guess sometimes I just need to count my blessings.
It's a blessing to me that I can posses this literature. That I can keep it and display it on a bookcase. I can give it a name and talk about it in public. Because of the workers who came before, who gave me this gift.