This blog is for random mushings on life. Okay, less profound, random mushings on my life.
Find my craft blog at scitchetknits.tumblr.com
I'm 31. I have a BA in Astronomy-Physics from Colgate University.
I have an MS in Physics from New Mexico Institute of Mining and
Technology. Now I teach developmental mathematics at a community
college. I've been married four years and my husband is similarly nerdy.
He, at least, has a nerdy job. We've got three dogs, two cats, and a
plethora of fish and aquatic creatures. I like to knit, and garden, and
read fantasy and scifi.
Email and Google+
I do not have a twitter and I do not text. My phone is for talking.
I know, I am very anti-phone technology for a nerdy 31 year old. My
friends and my brother keep chastising me. I'll tell you what I tell
I have a craft blog over at scitchetknits.tumblr.com
You can ask me questions at scitchet.tumblr.com/ask
I resist calling any of my bad sexual experiences rape, at least in part because their impact on my sanity and happiness was negligible in the long term. Though feminists have a more then decade-long history of critiquing the way some women “never call it rape,” their efforts to define rape as a profound internal crisis exacerbate this problem. With that definition in place, my rapes are not serious enough to count. To call it rape seems too self-pitying, too histrionic. It feels like the entry card to a club in which I have no place, a group populated by PTSD sufferers and girls who cry themselves to sleep at night. It automatically implies a level of emotional damage that did not take place.