The Tale of the Lost Motivation

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess. She lived in a gigantic apartment with two bedrooms, 1.5 bathrooms, and a kitchen MULTIPLE people could stand and sit in at once. It was a glorious place. "I could finally write my dissertation after two years of ambivalence and procrastination," the princess thought as she arranged her new office, straightening the picture of '90s Hillary Clinton meant to inspire hard work. Her patron (a fantastically bearded man who also happens to be her husband) suggested she stop the receptionist/administrative assistant temping she'd been doing for the last few years while unsuccessfully applying to dozens and dozens of full-time jobs to focus on writing. What an opportunity! Temping is the worst! Being a receptionist is nearly as soul-sucking as being a grocery store cashier!* Writing is the best!

The princess spent her time getting her new apartment all nice, checking many more books out of the library, and talking a big game about this dissertation proposal. She read and took notes and even came up with a possible argument and chapter ideas. "I'm going to write this proposal by Thanksgiving!" she said, thinking maybe she could actually do it. Then she got a little sidetracked sleeping until 2:00 or 3:00 p.m. everyday and helping raising a shit-ton of money for her improv theater, and then struggling to do anything besides lay under a blanket because anxiety is an asshole and does not mix well with food or productivity. Also, winter had arrived in the kingdom of Minnesota. Living in Minnesota is pretty much like living with that one chick from Frozen, but with less singing and very few magical creatures.

So the dissertation proposal has been stalled at one paragraph and now it is Thanksgiving. The princess tries not feel too bad about it because that feeds into the anxiety cycle, which is probably caused by a jealous witch's curse or something. The princess, who is now undeniably completely nocturnal, wants to get writing, for school and for fun. So perhaps a dissertation proposal will materialize by Christmas. This is the new goal. The princess also has plans to write some more vice presidential posts for this blog and to consult with The Sexy Gay Jesus on how to be more fabulous in her everyday life. At the very least, she has an unopened Frost & Glow highlighting set in the bathroom, and everyone knows that being blonder always makes one feel better.


*This is one of her patron's current jobs and one of the princess' former jobs, so she knows what she is talking about.

What I learned in school today: Marx just wanted to spread some sunshine to the proletariat

Some random guy with a bust of Karl Marx.

As you all know, I am from America. In case you are unfamiliar with America, it is the awesomest, most reddest-whitest-bluest country ever.* And it is full of delicious, delicious capitalism. However, it turns out that some of that propaganda patriotism I learned in school may have misled me about Karl Marx and communism. First of all, who could demonize somebody with such a fucking awesome beard? Second, it turns out Marxy Marx is just a big softy. Who knew!? Out of context quote from Capital: "It is, however, just this ultimate money-form of the world of commodities that actually conceals, instead of disclosing, the social character of private labour, and the social relations between the individual producers." Pretty much Karl is like, "Let's stop relating to each other through objects and money and these various abstractions that distract us from holding hand and singing 'Kumbaya' while really valuing each other's labor." But he would have said it in German. Through his sweet fucking beard. And then he would have stroked Engels' mustache before writing some more impenetrable theory. My new bearded friend Thrift Store Champion had this to say about Karl's facial hair just now: "I think he had all kinds of stuff in that beard." Probably leprechaun jewels. *Don't forget to Never Forget™ tomorrow, fellow Americans!