While in the library doing research, I got that familiar sense of frustration. I get it while clothes shopping or looking for cute progressive guys to flirt with. It's the frustration of knowing exactly what I want, and having no success in finding it. Clothes shopping experiences are a special kind of torture for me, as I'm trying to cover my body while attempting a modicum of personal style. Don't get me started on finding a Muslim guy who doesn't want to see me burned at the stake. Suffice to say, 'taint no easy task.

  In my reasearch, this lack of already published relevant work is almost a good thing, because it's a sign that the project I'm working on needs to be done, that I'll be creating something substanially different from what's currently available. I've plowed through texts both arcane and painfully shallow, where what I'm working on will create some sort of happy medium, a bridge between the impossibly theoretical doorstops and the fluffernutter I'm usually handed by guys who think a young American woman couldn't possibly be doing serious work.