Could someone do me the favour of shooting me?
Would it be considered rude to pull out my spanking-new Sedaris and read? Probably not—I am sitting at the back of the lecture hall—, but I'd be judged by my neighbours, and I am just not ready for that kind of social pressure. Not now when I am going through my people-free phase. To be fair, though, how people-free could I really be whilst sharing the same kitchen and lavatory as a friend and being too well-mannered to turn around and not answer when someone asks me something at university in their adorable Austrian accent. Did my parents have to give me a good upbringing? Why couldn’t I have had two heroin addicts as my parents, who had slightly more pressing issues than their child growing up without the respectable amount of comity?
At least, I am writing this blog post, so not everything is in vain, even though I still consider eight a.m. lectures quite unnecessary. It’s not like anyone is actually listening.
I read this interesting observation in Goldberg’s Writing Down The Bones: women, more than men, frame their sentences as questions. We seek constant validation by doing so—an affirmation what we believe is true. This made me analyse how I use language and ta-fucking-da! My sentences often embody the interrogative form. So do most of my female friends. For the past week, every time I catch myself doing that, I stop and remove the question-bit of the sentence.
Another thing women employ more than men are words like appear, seem, might, I feel, etc.—another sign of unassertiveness. Passiveness, even.
It is fascinating how a simple sentence changes if you take out a few words.
This conversation is quite redundant, isn’t it?
Now, take out the last two words.
This conversation is quite redundant.
Different, right? Now, take out one last word: quite.
This conversation is redundant.
Read that last sentence again.
And again.
Be honest. Whom did it sound like?
It sounds like a certain type of person—a certain type of man.
Doesn’t it?
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