D.Katie Powell Art

I  journal and do morning stream of consciousness exercises, and
I’m again participating in Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday. 
I write to a timer, 15-20 minutes, no editing except spelling, and of course I add my art!
You can do it too!
The Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “weigh/way/whey.” Use one, use ’em all, bonus points if you do that last thing. Enjoy!”

I watched “Feminists: What were they thinking?” last night on Netflix.  It took me way back to my days in college and as a young architect.  I was a feminist, raised by a feminist, though I was too busy trying to keep my head above water to join in any cause.

I think the worst were the men who wanted to be cool so they acted like they were on board, but they were not. Michael H., a perfect example. Never acknowledged me as a businessperson. He got his job and intro to teaching in the University system (UCLA) through me bringing him into the department. And he fucked me over. Used me to get ahead then dropped me as if not good enough.  I was good enough for him to accept my introductions, good enough for him to accept my hand-ups to projects, just not good enough to be seen as an equal.  He was no friend, and I was stupid. Friends have your back. He was a good old boy prick with a PC “feminist is okay” exterior, a consummate game player.  Just like his philanderer father, Mick, he wanted to play in the sexual energy
but not have to deal with the fallout from women who would not react like Mom. She would bash her own head in; I wanted to bash his head in.
Different times, different kinds of women.

Rocky was a better, asked what was I doing when I was working during the recession. I was happy to talk to my best buddies, and Rocky at least gave me credit. But really, architects, ALL OF THEM, were good old boys.

Remembering USC professors who did not take me seriously, and the few who did (Ed Niles, Pierre Koenig, Stephanos Polyzoides). The fucking men who would say things to me they would never say to a man. If a man’s drawings were incomplete after days of no sleep, they discussed what the man had on the boards. But with me, especially with me because I was pretty, they asked me if I was busy doing my nails or getting my hair done. I was left speechless, jaw dropping speechless.  I had not been treated like a second class citizen often in my family. Nevermind that I had done everything to not look pretty, hair in a tight bun, wearing men’s jeans and earth shoes, with nothing but a little mascara. I was just a girl going after her MRS degree, and they were hitting on me but not giving me good grades because I didn’t sleep with them.

I am stopping.  My image ended so I will too.
You can bet I will be weighing in again, because we are being taken back to
the 50’s and 60’s by the current push to keep women down.

For the rules, go to Linda’s blog;  feel free to join the fun!