Waiting. And Waiting.

We're getting sick of waiting for the damn FDA to put their politics aside to help women. At least I am. While they're writing thier hands, delaying action, playing their political scenarios over and over in their heads - women are suffering. When will they make us stop waiting?

They make us wait for a decision to get Plan B over the counter. They make us wait 48 hours to get an abortion. "Sit tight" - they say, thinking they'll calm us down. They tell us to wait until we're married to have sex. If we do have sex, we're supposed to wait until he's ready to climax so we can do it together. We're supposed to wait to have families if we want careers - or wait to have careers if we want families. The clock keeps ticking. It'll only be a little longer until we are paid equally - until we have as many CEOs, or Senators, or Supreme Court judges. To the little girl who's anxious and ambitious people say, "hold your horses." She's supposed to wait a little longer, give everyone else the head start she knows she deserves. Wait a little longer, well, we're tired of waiting. We've been waiting too long and the results have been too shitty and we don't want to wait - don't need to wait. We can take what we want, what we deserve. We will not wait anymore. I will not wait anymore. I will not live my life by someone else's clock. Good things do not come to those who will wait - good things are coming to those who are making us wait - who think they can keep us sitting, twidling our thumbs - waiting for some benevolant man to give us the surprise we've been waiting for. They hope they'll keep us waiting for long enough - that we'll forget what it is we're waiting for.

Today is my last day at The Fresh Air Fund, and I have to admit, I am going to miss this place. I wrapped up the projects I'm working on and am now waiting for five o'clock. In the mean time, I have been surfing the net and stumbled upon a beautiful website, OurTruths.org. It is an online and print 'zine that hopes to unveil the mystery and stigma associated with abortion and allow women a chance to share their stories and experiences. Reading many of the women's stories, I find myself touched, confused, encouraged and enlightened.

What I've realized through reading the stories on this website along with others from different sources is that the emotions that come with abortion vary greatly. Just because someone is avidly pro-choice doesn't mean that they can't grieve their abortion - doesn't mean they can't have a moment where they wonder if they did the right thing. The fact is, abortion is a choice that should be included in the list of choices women have when deciding how to continue on after finding out they are pregnant. Anti-choice women seek abortions, just as pro-choice women choose not to. It would do us all good to step down from the political pedestal we have climbed and ground ourselves in what this issue is all about. It isn't about who's right or who's wrong - but allowing a woman to decide what is right for herself. Just as I disagree with the anti-choice mobs harrasing women outside of clinics, shoving plastic fetuses in their faces and proclaiming their damnation - I also don't agree with clinics that overbook appointments, forcing counseling sessions short, establishing a cold, calculated atmosphere. Women's clinics should be places of hope, of comfort, of peace. They should be a place women can take refuge in - where they can trust that the providers are invested in the outcome of their specific case. Where they can speak with a counselor for as long as they like - where they can feel comfortable about having an abortion - or leaving without one.

I myself have never had an abortion. I've know those that have. Until we find a place for their stories, we will not see change.

I've been working on various other personal statements today - mostly to take a break from studying for the LSAT - its killing me. I miss writing. I'll post a couple of other ones tomorrow. Pablo read the one below and pointed out that i didn't make the connection between accepting my identity and my motivation toward activism. I should talk more about a specific experience in scholars, I suppose. I mean, the whole idea of the "personal statement" is rather self serving. What I don't want to write (and what law schools don't want to see is) "Why I want to become a lawyer" or "This is how I want to change the world" or "What I did during my time abroad" --- I want to write something provocative, something that pushes my boundries - but, what really does that? Ugh. Maybe I should stick to the LSAT. I take another diagnostic this Saturday. Hopefully I'll get my 170 and relax.

So, I applied for graduation. Wow. I can't believe I really am entering my last semester. Very surreal.

I'm also narrowing down which law schools to apply to. Here's my list:

Columbia
NYU
Fordham
Brooklyn
Harvard
Yale
BU
Georgetown
Berkley (maybe)

as you can see, I didn't really allow myself too many "safety" schools as of yet. Once I take the LSAT that list might change. In the meantime, why sell myself short just yet?

I've spent the night cleaning up mouse shit with Pablo. How romantic. There was a lot!!! Totally repulsive.

We still don't know where they get in. We cleaned up and are setting traps.

One of the worst feelings in the world is going to bed and dreadfully waiting for the awful "SNAP" in the middle of the night. The actual noise isn't as bad as the anticipation. It's horrible.

Sweet dreams...

Ugh, I can't even write this entry without getting all grossed out - but I will.

We. have.... mice.

That's right, mice. Now, some of you might know my plight with another furry friend a few months ago. Quick recap: I got up one morning, walked to the fridge to get some water - when a little ball of fur scampered across the kitchen and under the fridge. We set some traps. Caught the mouse. Filled the hole behind the fridge where it must have come in. Thought it was just a one time thing.

But no. No no no.

I wondered what I was hearing during the night when Maya was here and why she kept getting up and sniffing the closet and our desk. Now I know.

Now, I'm fully aware that I live in New York City - and that mice come with the territory. I should be happy its just mice and not their larger cousin. I know that. But, when they invade your apartment - you're cute little apartment that you pride yourself on being a cozy clean home - I feel violated. "Not myyy apartment" I want to say to all those people who tell me its just a matter of time.

Well, that time has come. I haven't actually seen the mouse (or mice) yet. But they've left plenty of evidence. Besides the trails of poop that we found in the closet (gross!!) and behind the desk and in the kitchen--- these little shits are LOUD! And I mean loud. Last night I was in a dead sleep when their scurrying woke me up. My first reaction was to shake Pablo - so he in turn jumped out of bed and ran to turn the lights on. But of course, by then, it was too late. The mouse had outsmarted us, and was already back in the walls somewhere. He woke us up an hour later - this time sounding like he was doing an obstacle course in our kitchen. I can imagine him, zigzagging through the pans in the broiler --- it makes me shudder.

This morning we inspected the entire apartment, and, lo and behold, there were little droppings everywhere. At first glance, they don't look like poop - more like little specks of dirt --- don't let their innocent disguise fool you. It's shit. No way around that.

I don't like the idea of sharing my apartment with a rodent. I have nothing against them, they're kind of cute - but they need to find their own home. I'm hoping that now that Maya's gone (and her food is gone as well) - they'll realize they'res nothing in our apartment for them, and they should go back to the neighbors house.

Until then, all I can think about is a little mouse getting too comfy in my clogs.

Separation Anxiety, part 2

So, today is the last day we have with Maya. Pablo's parents get back from Mexico tonight and Maya is going home. I have to say, the past week and a half have been a great learning experience for the both of us. I personally have never had a dog, so learning how to walk her, pick up poop, when to feed her, etc was enough in and of itself - but the overarching theme of the week was responsibility. I've never in my whole life been responsible for the health and well being of another living thing - other than the random fish or hermit crabs I had as a child, which my parents would take care of. But having Maya in the apartment this week made me realize what true responsibility is.

Throughout the time she's been with us, various people have joked and said that we sounded like new parents - at first scared to leave her alone, overly aware of her every move, not knowing how to take care of her best. I guess on some level we were - and have learned the joy that is taking care of something and getting its appreciation. Obviously, having children of one's own and having a dog are two very different things - but on some level they do share similarities. What I realized was that being responsible for someone can be very rewarding - it's something that, when you're ready for and truly desire it - brings such feelings of joy. But, I can also imagine the resentment and disdain I would feel if I were forced to be responsible for the well being of someone else if I wasn't ready or able.

We all know I'm pro-choice. We all know that I advocate "every child a wanted child" - but it wasn't until this week that I really understood why - personally. I can't imagine taking care of a dog if I don't have the time, energy or resources -- how on earth would I take care of a child? And, while I know this is a very very generalized argument that doesn't fully translate - I also know that, on some level, it resonates within me - and I understand.

I firmly believe that, at the heart of it all, it all comes down to responsibility - though not necessarily accountability. Until a woman chooses to have a child - and actually does - she is responsible for her own body first and foremost. If and when she chooses to have a child, and when she does - then she becomes responsible for the life and well being of that child - but not before.

My newest purchase!

I just got it in the mail and I'm hooked! I've always wanted a "professional" planner - complete with the cheesy pages, and now I have it! I've spent the whole morning putting it together, reading about setting goals, prioritizing lists, etc. I really hope this will keep me organized. I'm working on managing my time more efficiently - so hopefully having it all in something sleek and put together will keep me on the right track.

Ok, so I'm a big dork. Sorry.

I've been musing lately about my roots - my background. Many people ask me, "How did a small town Texas girl like you end up in New York City?" What many of them mean by this question - I know because I hear it in their tone, in the slight inflection of the words is, "How did a good little Christian girl like you end up in a city full of sin?" And I'm not kidding here.

Yes, I had humble beginnings. Growing up in Grand Prairie, TX is the single most influencing aspect of my life, although I didn't realize it until I moved here. Unlike many of my liberal friends who were raised by likeminded parents, I was raised in the middle of the Bible Belt - and attended a Southern Baptish Church for most of my life. What I'm most thankful for is my parent's divorce. Not because they had a horrible marriage that I found myself in the middle of - but because through their divorce I had the chance to see my mother make it on her own. My mother, conservative in her own ways, is and always has been a pillar of strength in my life. My dad didn't run out of the picture, I still had and do have a relationship with him - albeit strained at times. But, there was something about living in a home solely with my mother from the time I was 7 until I moved to NYC. I saw her going to work every day - in her suits and high heels. I remember wanting so desperately to have a career like her. I heard her conversations with girlfriends about men - she was always giving advice - and I remember being so thankful that she never allowed a man to come between us. She never let a man define her. She always gave me what I needed and wanted. And, when it was time for me to go to college - she found a way (with a little help from my grandparents and a hefty scholarship) to foot 45,000 a year bill to NYU. I truly believe that the true female strength I saw in her outshined any sexist sermon I heard from a pulpit, any conservative politics I heard from my peers, and any demeaning messages I was told from the boys in my life. I realize how much she sacrificed for me, how lonely her nights must have been, and how helpless she must have felt when bills were due - but I'm so thankful for it. If my parents never had divorced - while I may have seen a functional marriage - I wouldn't have seen the independent woman I so desperately needed to see. I needed her so much because I knew, deep down inside me, was a wild woman like that. Without my mother shining light on her - I may have never explored the own depths within me. So, thanks mom. Not only for all the things you gave me - but for finding the strength within yourself to be the woman I want to be.

Without her influence I might have never found the courage to leave the comfortable surroundings of home and move to a place I knew I needed to be. Without her I might not have scoffed when a preacher told me I could never be a minister, but could be a "preacher's wife." Without her I might have thought I needed a man or a child to complete me and rushed into a lifestyle I wasn't ready for. Without her I might have been a little quieter, a little more self conscious, or a little less competitive. I might have settled. I'm so glad I didn't. I just hope she knows...