The Vagina Monologues

This was my second year participating in Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues. It was just as life-changing an experience as it was last year. Here is the monologue I performed, the final monologue of the show.


I was there when her vagina opened.
We were all there her mother, her husband and I,
and the nurse from the Ukraine with her whole hand
up there in her vagina feeling and turning with her rubber
glove as she talked casually to us--like she was turning on a loaded faucet.

I was there in the room when the contractions
made her crawl on all fours,
made unfamiliar moans leak out of her pores
and still there after hours when she just screamed suddenly
wild, her arms striking at the electric air.

I was there when her vagina changed
from a shy sexual hole
to an archeological tunnel, a sacred vessel,
a Venetian canal, a deep well with a tiny stuck child inside,
waiting to be rescued.
I saw the colors of her vagina. They changed.
Saw the bruised broken blue
the blistering tomato red
the gray pink-the dark;
saw the blood like perspiration along the edges
saw the yellow, white liquid, the shit, the clots
pushing out all the holes, pushing harder and harder,
saw through the hole, the baby's head
scratches of black hair, saw it just there behind
the bone--a hard round memory,
as the nurse from the Ukraine kept turning and turning
her slippery hand.

I was there when each of us, her mother and I,
held a leg and spread her wide pushing
with all our strength against her pushing
and her husband sternly counting, "One, two, three,"
telling her to focus, harder.
We looked into her then.
We couldn't get our eyes out of that place.

We forget the vagina
What else would explain
our lack of awe, our lack of wonder?

I was there when the doctor
reached in with Alice in Wonderland spoons
and there as her vagina became a wide operatic mouth
singing with all its strength;
first the little head, then the gray flopping arm, then the fast swimming body, swimming quickly into our weeping arms.

I was there later when I just turned and faced her vagina.
I stood and let myself see her all spread, completely exposed
mutilated, swollen and torn,
bleeding all over the doctor' s hands
who was calmly sewing her there.

I stood and her vagina suddenly
became a wide red pulsing heart.

The heart is capable of sacrifice.
So is the vagina.
The heart is able to forgive and repair.
It can change its shape to let us in.
It can expand to let us out.
So can the vagina.
It can ache for us and stretch for us, die for us
and bleed and bleed us into this difficult, wondrous world.
I was there in the room.
I remember.

reunited with my books

Okay, so I am an English major to the core: I have an eccentric fascination with books.


I love the way they feel, the way the smell, the way they look. I simply love them. They are my friends and I hate to be away from them for a long time.


Right now, I am very happy because I have just been reunited with an assortment of books. My mom brought them down for me when she and my dad came to visit on Tuesday.


Ohhhh I cannot fully express my love of books. Especially my books. I love all books. New books, old books, books that I have written in and worn down with love.


I an never spend less than an hour in a book store, and that is cutting it short. Throughout the course of my book perusing, I will pick up probably 20 books that I would REALLY REALLY love to buy, and by the end of the browsing, I have to find a quiet corner in which to sit so I can go through, round by round, and decide which books I can actually afford to purchase.


There is this girl I follow on Tumblr who just posts pictures and pictures and pictures of books. Books upon books. I almost die every time I go to her page because my heart nearly explodes with my love for books. Here is her page.

Does anyone else share this bizarre infatuation with written word?

i love my parents.

At the moment, I am failing to recall a time when I felt as loved as I did on Tuesday. I know there have been other times when I have felt the power of love, but at the moment, Tuesday is outshining them all.

I haven't been home since early January, when I returned to St. Louis a week early so that I could work. I'm going on a mission trip to New Orleans for Spring Break, so the earliest I will be back in good ol' Chicago is Easter, which falls really late this year. My dad keeps asking me when I'm coming home and I have to keep saying, "Dad, I don't know-w-w-w-w." I was fortunate that my mom could come down to see me a few weeks ago when I was in the Vagina Monologues, but it's been a long time to go without seeing my dad.

So anyway, this Tuesday was Fat Tuesday, the day to savor the taste of luxury before the 40-day season of Lent begins. I don't know how many of you know what pączkis are, but you must try them before you die. They are a Polish/Eastern European (my family hails from Poland so I always just say they are Polish, but that may very well be inaccurate) pastry, sort of like a Bismarck. Well, the only day of the year that we ever eat pączkis is on Fat Tuesday. My dad always rises to get them at four in the morning because they sell out in about a minute. Ohhhhh they are so delicious.

Last year was my first year without this delectable treat. My dad looked into having them sent to me, but the bakery near SLU was too far and delivery charges were up the wazoo. Sad day.

This was to be my second year without pączkis. I called my mom when I got out of my first class and asked her if she had had any yet. She said she was waiting until later in the day because she didn't want to eat too many and she was afraid that if she ate one she wouldn't be able to stop eating them. She asked me what my schedule was for the day, commenting "Oh, you're going from one place right to another." She is never that attentive to what my daily plans are but I didn't take much note of it.

Later that day, my dad called me when I was in the middle of my math class. He never calls me. My parents tend to let me call them when I am free so that they aren't bothering me when I am in the middle of something. I ignored his call because I was in class, and immediately afterward he called me again. Is something wrong? I worried. I worried the rest of class. Ahhh why is he calling me!?!?

I called him right after I got out of class. Dad! What's wrong? Is everything okay? He said of course, he just wanted to wish me a happy Pączki Day. Great. All that panic for nothing. But of course these phone calls are always cute. I got a similar one when it was my name's day, and had a similar panic attack.

My dad asked me where I was going and I said I was going back to my apartment. I was supposed to go to an art exhibit in the library in an hour and a half, but it was cold and rainy and I was leaning toward skipping it. How long is your walk? he asked. Hmm... my parents are strangely interested in the details today. About seven minutes. We talked for a few minutes and he asked where I was. By the clock tower. He made it clear that he was going to talk to me until I got to my apartment, which I didn't really take note of because when I used to walk to and from the Metro late at night after work, he would always talk to me until I got back to my dorm safely. The only strange thing was that this was during the day, and I was walking openly through campus.

I finally got to my apartment and my dad and I hung up. He said he'd eat a pączki for me. Those words are always so comforting. I go into my room and start getting into sweats, ready to snuggle up in my bed until I had to go to work. All the sudden there is a banging on the door. Hmmm... either my roommates invited someone over and aren't answering or Erica knows I'm in here and really wants to visit. I reluctantly got up and walked to the door. I peaked out the peep-hole but I couldn't tell who was there. I opened the door, and there are MY PARENTS, STANDING WITH BOXES AND BOXES OF Pączkis!

They drove five hours just to surprise me because they knew they wouldn't be seeing me until Easter. I was in shock (pictures to come) and couldn't wrap my head around it for some time. So sweet. So loving. I just felt how much they loved me right there. They drove five hours without knowing if they were even going to be able to spend time with me. I still can't believe how much love I felt through that action. My dad apparently planned this five months ago. So cute, haha. So cute.

I was able to cancel my meetings and someone volunteered to work my shift at the front desk, so I was able to go out to a Fat Tuesday dinner with them, and then Ash Wednesday mass and lunch with them the next day. Mmmmm did those pączkis taste good!

an ode to pubic hair--haha so fantastic

these lenten days

Hello lovely readers,

So I know it has been unbelievably long since I have posted on this blog. Buuuuuut, no worries, I have a lenten goal to post every day except for next week when I am in New Orleans on a mission trip. (I am only going on Facebook for 20 minutes a day during Lent, so of course I need something else to do during those lonely, Facebook-less hours!)

This Lent, as I give up Facebook, I am going to try to invest my time in other things--such as reading, cleaning, meeting new people, praying, dancing, etc. I hope that I'll waste less time if I'm not on Facebook so that is my Lenten challenge.

Love Love Love!

Hilary

"An Unabashed Love Letter to Ginny Weasley"

Haha here is a link to a love letter to Ginny Weasley--that little feminist!

Haha my brother is so funny

Here is one of his short films: