That Darn Cloister!
I think back on the night I chose that name sometimes. I was a very troubled working mom then. And, well, I still am.
I was coming from a meeting the other day, running crazy from one spot to another and thinking about how soft I am, a little afraid of my boss, worried that my performance would be sub-par again. Ah, ruminations on my careerly flibberty-gibbetness. I am a sexist twit. (or is that an 'a'?) I have always really felt that when it comes to work I don't know the concept of doing a woman's job. I instead to do a skirt-sporting, derivative version of a man's performance. I won't hide my measure of shame for that.
You know I come from a pretty soft space, terrified of(or otherwise distanced from) being one of the womyn. Being a mother has troubled that. I found in being a mother a fierceness and a duty so all-consuming it should be a highway to productivity and success. And, yet it suggests some other way, filled with an inexhaustible supply of authority, control, strength and intelligence, but only in that space apart.
What a rip.