Our hero goes to Oxford, then takes stock.

I am so tired I almost got confused between the "new post" button and the "new blog" button and put this entry onto a whole new website all of its own. I slept for about three hours last night (and not even for any interesting reasons), have been on two three-hour bus journeys, fended off three drunk street harassers on my way up and down Abingdon road, ate an incredible refried bean and nacho bake, introduced the chocolate ripple teabread (this iteration was slightly more chocolatey and less rippley) to the world at large, and have generally been enjoying the wonderful world of my undergraduate days. Ah, Oxford, with your large buildings and delicious cafes and your new graduate centre of my college. What have you done to me, and how did it only take 30 hours?

I have several things to tell you about as a result of me being in Oxford, like the story of my grand feminist awakening and the musings I had about Naomi Wolf and Andrea Dworkin and the ownership of female bodies at 4.30 in the morning when sleep turned out to not be a thing I wanted to do. After that, (or maybe before, I'm all about the suspense) I am going to tell you all about the possibility of a woman running the federal reserve, share with you my feelings about the quality of representation of women in post-2005 Doctor Who, muse on now being a member of Association of Women in Development and the interesting stuff they send me, and share my thoughts on some comic recommendations from my fabulous shop-owning friends. Unfortunately, these things are going to have to wait until I can type more than ten words without my brain literally (orig. "litarelly") shutting down (orig. "dovn") and refusing to spell (orig. "smell") even the most basif ("basic"?) of words.

It's been two weeks and fourteen posts. Tomorrow marks the halfway point, and I hope you're excited as I am for the second half of this endeavour. For now, I'm going to lovingly leave you with Vienna Teng's grandmother song, and have some long, exquisite sleep. That is my feminist recommendation for the day, all: sleep. Nothig quite like it. Nothing. Ugh.