That's the song of the week. The one that's always on when I turn on the radio. The one that I'm humming as I walk up the steps to get to my flat. The one that this week I love, and next week will become a terror to my inner heartstrings from overdose. It's by Train, in case you're not familiar and wish to look it up. However, I'm too lazy to provide a link here for you.
So, a muse:
LA's version of christmas lights
brakelights and headlights as far as the eye can see
flashing white and red, in long clumpy strings, wending their way imperfectly across the landscape
onramp meters add occasional pepperings of red and green staccato, in exclamation points of color not quite on the beaten path
like jingle bells being shaken, cars move and brake in an awkward jumble of squeaky breaks and balding tires - an odd cacophony for unison.
A few measures of this symphony:
Signal, move, brake. Brake, tense, brake. Signal, fumes, hold. Dart left, brake, swerve. Pull hair. Tap wheel, turn dial. Wince, turn dial. Grumble, roll eyes (at neighbor using cell phone). Brake. Battle nervous tic. Brake, gun engine, brake. Signal, move. Dart right. Watch mirror. Brake.
the rhythm of the dance is never quite in sync, but it gets the job done
later, rather than sooner, the cars graduate from the year-round lighting masterpiece and move make the exit...some leaving tire tracks, others delicately extricating themselves with unbelievable panache.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
the Sound of Silence
silence like a cancer grows/people talking without speaking/people listening without hearing/people writing songs that voices never share/ and no one dares/ disturb the sound of silence
I came up with a great phrase today: soliloquy of silence.
That, I do believe, says it all. At least, all for today.
I came up with a great phrase today: soliloquy of silence.
That, I do believe, says it all. At least, all for today.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Homeward Bound
For two weeks, I was on Cold Mountain terrain. I had a warm bed, plenty of drink, and good company to take away the cold and make it rosy and glowing.
I'd like to point out that being with people is hard. It takes energy and perseverance and understanding. It is waiting with (or without) sniping when the other person is finally ready to go. It's about compromise. It's trying and frustrating and makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes...or just go lose yourself in a good book or on a solitary stroll.
The solitary times are the reflections, the idea builders, the trying to figure out who you are changes. It's the quiet affirmations with the wind in your hair, the furious journal writing, the talking to God and feeling your soul grow times. They're the times when you beat yourself up the most and have the moments of clarity that give you direction. They're the times when you ponder status quo and decide to change. When songs of the heart steal through your veins and beat a tattoo on your conscience.
And, don't forget: it's the times with people that you remember. The lazy afternoon car rides, the watching movies, the playing games, the quoting books, the squabbling over spaghetti leftovers, the arguments that make you reaffirm those beliefs that you decided to uphold in the solitary moments.
We all need both. Just when I think I prefer solitude to waiting in the cold car for the last straggler family member, I think, "where would I be without this person, who has loved me and uplifted me...Who has contributed to my crankiness and who has done my share when I wasn't able to? Who woke me up with the exuberance of the morning and of loudly squawking when I wasn't willing to share?"
I'd be alone, and all the quiet walks and soul-piercing moments can't begin to compare to the joy of belonging, of being absolutely sure of another being's love for you - that arms are open, waiting to hug you, and that there is always someone rooting for you - on your side.
To be alone is absolutely required sometimes to keep the sanity alive. But I can't think of a worse fate than to be in silent solitude forever.
I'd like to point out that being with people is hard. It takes energy and perseverance and understanding. It is waiting with (or without) sniping when the other person is finally ready to go. It's about compromise. It's trying and frustrating and makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes...or just go lose yourself in a good book or on a solitary stroll.
The solitary times are the reflections, the idea builders, the trying to figure out who you are changes. It's the quiet affirmations with the wind in your hair, the furious journal writing, the talking to God and feeling your soul grow times. They're the times when you beat yourself up the most and have the moments of clarity that give you direction. They're the times when you ponder status quo and decide to change. When songs of the heart steal through your veins and beat a tattoo on your conscience.
And, don't forget: it's the times with people that you remember. The lazy afternoon car rides, the watching movies, the playing games, the quoting books, the squabbling over spaghetti leftovers, the arguments that make you reaffirm those beliefs that you decided to uphold in the solitary moments.
We all need both. Just when I think I prefer solitude to waiting in the cold car for the last straggler family member, I think, "where would I be without this person, who has loved me and uplifted me...Who has contributed to my crankiness and who has done my share when I wasn't able to? Who woke me up with the exuberance of the morning and of loudly squawking when I wasn't willing to share?"
I'd be alone, and all the quiet walks and soul-piercing moments can't begin to compare to the joy of belonging, of being absolutely sure of another being's love for you - that arms are open, waiting to hug you, and that there is always someone rooting for you - on your side.
To be alone is absolutely required sometimes to keep the sanity alive. But I can't think of a worse fate than to be in silent solitude forever.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
Well, I have a red nose, so I'm halfway there. Sheesh, it is so COLD in my apartment! Seriously, I have three shirts, a sweater, and slippers on and I am still a little icicle!
Anyway, what prompted this post was that I heard this awful rendition of "Rudolph" this year. Or is it Rudolf? Never sure. The point is that I heard the song, and it reminded me of the days when my sibs and I were the only people who said "like toothpaste" at the end of the song instead of "like Columbus." Columbus? Please. Toothpaste is *so* much better than tobacco.
Regardless, it occurred to me that the song totally reinforces all the negative things about being a little kid, and yet a lot of little kids really like that song. How ironic! I mean, if you were a sad scrawny reindeer who did not conform to the 'norm' and who got bullied, emotionally abused, and ostracized, and then an imaginary fat man wanted to exploit your natural assets (the red bulb of a nose that is apparently neon in fluorescence), how would you react? And then when all the two-faced snobbery 'deer fell upon you in fake adoration, would you fall for the flattery or be suspicious, thinking, gosh, ten minutes ago, you all hated me and were making my life miserable, and now you want to make all nicey-nice and pretend we're best buddies? *I think not.*
So. I love Christmas carols and songs. Not all, but most. So this Christmas, sing away, loud and clear. Even if you do choose to sing about Rudolph.
Anyway, what prompted this post was that I heard this awful rendition of "Rudolph" this year. Or is it Rudolf? Never sure. The point is that I heard the song, and it reminded me of the days when my sibs and I were the only people who said "like toothpaste" at the end of the song instead of "like Columbus." Columbus? Please. Toothpaste is *so* much better than tobacco.
Regardless, it occurred to me that the song totally reinforces all the negative things about being a little kid, and yet a lot of little kids really like that song. How ironic! I mean, if you were a sad scrawny reindeer who did not conform to the 'norm' and who got bullied, emotionally abused, and ostracized, and then an imaginary fat man wanted to exploit your natural assets (the red bulb of a nose that is apparently neon in fluorescence), how would you react? And then when all the two-faced snobbery 'deer fell upon you in fake adoration, would you fall for the flattery or be suspicious, thinking, gosh, ten minutes ago, you all hated me and were making my life miserable, and now you want to make all nicey-nice and pretend we're best buddies? *I think not.*
So. I love Christmas carols and songs. Not all, but most. So this Christmas, sing away, loud and clear. Even if you do choose to sing about Rudolph.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
SSA
i kid you not. these are the first 1o acronyms to pop into mind.
silent smelly assassin
soprano soprano alto
silver salient agate
scrawny studmuffin abroad
sill sagging ajar
story strident audience
sleepy silly audio
salty sassy almond
scrunch sulk away
saddle sable appaloosa
silent smelly assassin
soprano soprano alto
silver salient agate
scrawny studmuffin abroad
sill sagging ajar
story strident audience
sleepy silly audio
salty sassy almond
scrunch sulk away
saddle sable appaloosa
Saturday, December 5, 2009
On Garbage Cans
WARNING: THIS MAY BE TMI FOR YOU. If you are easily offended, please feel free to skip this post.
Garbage cans have many uses, the primary one being for garbage. Usually, garbage cans are made of metal or plastic and can vary from tiny (usually at least 8" high though, and at least 6" around) to huge (dumpster, anyone?)
Usually, I use garbage cans for trash. However, once I had to use them as a coordination lesson, as I was throwing a bag of garbage in the industrial sized bin downstairs and somehow my keys got ripped off my fingers and flew into the bin. Several spiders crawling over me, a near-panic attack, and several car alarms later (all false, as I tried desperately to use a broom handle to lever my keys up and out of the bin, and accidentally pushed the car alarm with the head of the broomstick instead of getting the broomstick to fit within the keyring), I successfully retrieved them.
Garbage cans also have other uses, as well. Unfortunately, sometimes they serve as the receptacle for something else - not nearly as pleasant as trash. Like today, for example, I was trying out makeup at a store with a friend. She's a spa technician/artist by trade, and she was giving me a free makeup consulation. Later, I'll have to show you what she did to my eyes. Wowser! I started feeling lightheaded, so I just sat down on the floor. She was working on my eyes, and I was having a hard time concentrating on what she was telling me about how to smoke my eyes. I bought a few pieces, and on the way to the register I felt like leaning over and putting my head between my knees. I was grateful for the excuse to bend over to sign the credit card release.
We exited the store and had not gone twenty steps before I said I felt a little sick and I needed to find a garbage can. There are nicely lined garbage cans everywhere, as it is a mall, but I couldn't see any. Only a poor unlined garbage can with a lot of Pepsi drinks in it. I had my eye on it, thinking maybe I could make it to the restroom. Nope. I'd walked all of three steps past it when I turned around and grabbed it. I'll leave the graphic stuff out...except I will say that due to Mom's training when I was a kid, I am very neat about such things. And I hardly disturbed my makeup with eye-watering, either. Amazing!
So the point of all this is that I am very. Very. VERY grateful for garbage cans. In all shapes and sizes, lined and unlined. For the things in them? Not so much, usually. But yes. Garbage cans are great. May they prosper in the land.
Garbage cans have many uses, the primary one being for garbage. Usually, garbage cans are made of metal or plastic and can vary from tiny (usually at least 8" high though, and at least 6" around) to huge (dumpster, anyone?)
Usually, I use garbage cans for trash. However, once I had to use them as a coordination lesson, as I was throwing a bag of garbage in the industrial sized bin downstairs and somehow my keys got ripped off my fingers and flew into the bin. Several spiders crawling over me, a near-panic attack, and several car alarms later (all false, as I tried desperately to use a broom handle to lever my keys up and out of the bin, and accidentally pushed the car alarm with the head of the broomstick instead of getting the broomstick to fit within the keyring), I successfully retrieved them.
Garbage cans also have other uses, as well. Unfortunately, sometimes they serve as the receptacle for something else - not nearly as pleasant as trash. Like today, for example, I was trying out makeup at a store with a friend. She's a spa technician/artist by trade, and she was giving me a free makeup consulation. Later, I'll have to show you what she did to my eyes. Wowser! I started feeling lightheaded, so I just sat down on the floor. She was working on my eyes, and I was having a hard time concentrating on what she was telling me about how to smoke my eyes. I bought a few pieces, and on the way to the register I felt like leaning over and putting my head between my knees. I was grateful for the excuse to bend over to sign the credit card release.
We exited the store and had not gone twenty steps before I said I felt a little sick and I needed to find a garbage can. There are nicely lined garbage cans everywhere, as it is a mall, but I couldn't see any. Only a poor unlined garbage can with a lot of Pepsi drinks in it. I had my eye on it, thinking maybe I could make it to the restroom. Nope. I'd walked all of three steps past it when I turned around and grabbed it. I'll leave the graphic stuff out...except I will say that due to Mom's training when I was a kid, I am very neat about such things. And I hardly disturbed my makeup with eye-watering, either. Amazing!
So the point of all this is that I am very. Very. VERY grateful for garbage cans. In all shapes and sizes, lined and unlined. For the things in them? Not so much, usually. But yes. Garbage cans are great. May they prosper in the land.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Dysphemisms
I suppose our family's Thanksgiving fare is as run-of-the-mill as anything else...except perhaps the plethora of pickles. ;) (Here's to us, fellow pickle princesses (and the odd prince)!)
The post-dinner conversations, however, are another story entirely. Other than the odd hockey reference, the conversation is dominated by determining how to start to attack the discombobulation that is our immigration system (no elaboration is necessary), and what game we are going to play next (in this case, Ticket to Ride - Europe).
So this Thanksgiving, the conversation inevitably turned to music, and we were musing about how although, admittedly, the Black-Eyed Peas have some serious beats going, their lyrics are possibly the lamest ever. For example, using "lovely lady lumps" as a descriptor for female secondary sex characteristics? Please! What is more unattractive than a "lump?" (Have you ever heard of anything less appealing? Or heard a "lump" being referred to as anything positive? Lumps are too-large cottage cheese curds. Lumps are cancer tumors. Lumps are proverbial peas in the proverbial mattress of the Princess. Lumps are uncomfortable!!!!!)
Moving on....we were talking about euphemisms, and how my friend Mikey was always talking about how everybody used euphemisms, and I always teased him that his euphemism was the actual word, euphemism. And then the conversation turned to dysphemisms, which I had to be introduced to, as I was (I am ashamed to admit - sometimes my self-education has rather large holes in it which I have determined to begin afresh to fill in, but that is another story for another blog post). Being the people that we are, we rarely use dysphemisms in our day-to-day speech.
Being the applicator of knowledge that I am (in the hopes of retaining as much as possible), I was trying to figure out when I would ever be party to a dysphemism, and then, it hit me. My eyes lit up, and my finger went up in the air in an "aha!" moment. "I know! LUMPS!"
She can be taught!!!
The post-dinner conversations, however, are another story entirely. Other than the odd hockey reference, the conversation is dominated by determining how to start to attack the discombobulation that is our immigration system (no elaboration is necessary), and what game we are going to play next (in this case, Ticket to Ride - Europe).
So this Thanksgiving, the conversation inevitably turned to music, and we were musing about how although, admittedly, the Black-Eyed Peas have some serious beats going, their lyrics are possibly the lamest ever. For example, using "lovely lady lumps" as a descriptor for female secondary sex characteristics? Please! What is more unattractive than a "lump?" (Have you ever heard of anything less appealing? Or heard a "lump" being referred to as anything positive? Lumps are too-large cottage cheese curds. Lumps are cancer tumors. Lumps are proverbial peas in the proverbial mattress of the Princess. Lumps are uncomfortable!!!!!)
Moving on....we were talking about euphemisms, and how my friend Mikey was always talking about how everybody used euphemisms, and I always teased him that his euphemism was the actual word, euphemism. And then the conversation turned to dysphemisms, which I had to be introduced to, as I was (I am ashamed to admit - sometimes my self-education has rather large holes in it which I have determined to begin afresh to fill in, but that is another story for another blog post). Being the people that we are, we rarely use dysphemisms in our day-to-day speech.
Being the applicator of knowledge that I am (in the hopes of retaining as much as possible), I was trying to figure out when I would ever be party to a dysphemism, and then, it hit me. My eyes lit up, and my finger went up in the air in an "aha!" moment. "I know! LUMPS!"
She can be taught!!!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Because I Love You (a poem for two voices)
Because I love you, Because I love you,
I wash the dirty laundry
Fold it neatly Fold you neatly
in my arms when you’re sad
Because you love me Because you love me
You buy apple beer
So I can enjoy the
Pop, foam
Twist, fizz
Of its charming flavor
Because I love you Because I love you
I look for bargain airfare
I try seafood
I offer to drive
I tolerate your music
I make you fresh-squeezed orange juice
I do the dishes, with water steaming
Hot Hot
Tamales are your favorite
Lemon tea cakes are your weakness
I know chips and salsa are your staple
I know spaghetti is your comfort
Because you love me Because you love me
You iron your own shirts
You pay your share of the bills
And mine And mine
Because I don’t like to Because I don’t like to
Because I love you Because I love you
I reset my hug timer
I open my arms
So there’s no excuse So there’s no excuse
For me not to say
For me not to echo
That I love you, too. That I love you, too.
I wash the dirty laundry
Fold it neatly Fold you neatly
in my arms when you’re sad
Because you love me Because you love me
You buy apple beer
So I can enjoy the
Pop, foam
Twist, fizz
Of its charming flavor
Because I love you Because I love you
I look for bargain airfare
I try seafood
I offer to drive
I tolerate your music
I make you fresh-squeezed orange juice
I do the dishes, with water steaming
Hot Hot
Tamales are your favorite
Lemon tea cakes are your weakness
I know chips and salsa are your staple
I know spaghetti is your comfort
Because you love me Because you love me
You iron your own shirts
You pay your share of the bills
And mine And mine
Because I don’t like to Because I don’t like to
Because I love you Because I love you
I reset my hug timer
I open my arms
So there’s no excuse So there’s no excuse
For me not to say
For me not to echo
That I love you, too. That I love you, too.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
An Encounter with Sid the Kid
One traffic laden journey. $85 plus shipping/processing. A mile walk to the Staples Center. Opening my bag for security. All these things climaxed in one great adventure: an encounter with Sid the Kid's Pittsburgh Penguins. Look at how close we were!
So I didn't really meet them in person. But my eyes were totally star-crossed, so I started down the steps before the usher told me I had to wait for the next whistle (we were late, due to various factors). My eyes
were peeled for the 87 jersey. I saw 44 (Orpik) first, and jumped a little in excitement, which made the usher laugh. "Look, there he is! There's my man," I said, as I saw 87 skate toward me. He wasn't more than 100 feet away. "Does he know he's your man?" S asked, teasingly. "He will now, if he knows what's good for him," I replied.The whistle blew, and like a horse out of the starting gate, I took the stairs two at a time. A face-off was about to take place. There he was.
Not even thirty feet away!!!! The cold of the arena made me shiver, but I was laughing in excitement. Finally, I got to see the Pens in action!Of course, I was momentarily saddened by the thought that two of my four favorites were out for the count due to a broken wrist (#55, Gonchar) and a strained shoulder (#71, Malkin). waaaah. Oh well. It was still a great great game. When we got there, it was tied 1-1. Then, late in the second period, my second-favorite defenseman, Orpik, scored a goal. It was like watc
hing it in slow motion, the puck gently drifting past all the players, skittering into the net. I think I'll always remember it. It was GREAT. Of course, then the Kings promptly scored 4 goals in retaliation, two in quick succession. Poor Fleury. He never really recovered from the first one and then there they were again, in his face. I could tell they were going to score before the puck actually went to the back of the net. It was like watching a flock of ravenous wolves descend on the fat piglet. (Fleury only resembles a fat piglet because of all his gear, though. Man, that guy is flexible!!!!)Fleury = goalie = 29
Crosby = 87 = captain, youngest ever appointed at the time, hailed as the "next Great One." Basically, the kid's a whining scoring machine, and the poster boy of hockey.
Staal = 11 = the best fourth-liner around, he really should get a pay raise, and probably will after the next season, when he (unfortunately for Pens fans) will likely switch teams. As long as it's not the Red Wings he defects to, I think I'll be okay.
In short, although 'we' lost, it was a great game. I practically couldn't talk the next day from all the shouting I did. Luckily, there were loads of Pens fans there too, so I didn't get yelled at for screaming at all the 'wrong' times. I was thinking, hmmm, I could really dig this. And then I remembered that I'd have to move to Pittsburgh if I wanted to see my Pens on a regular basis, instead of every five years or so. Which of course killed my enthusiasm immediately. So don't worry, I'm not in line (yet) for next year's season tickets.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
At the Palace, by the lake
Last weekend I went to San Francisco. I survived two plane trips without getting H1N1 (yay!) and managed the Muni in Monday rush-hour with luggage. Power to the commuter!
On Saturday we (N & I) went to Santa Rosa to a wedding reception. It was a beautiful fall day - I didn't even need a jacket! It was for a mutual friend of ours whose pheromone experiment finally came to fruition, in a rather flaming hurry. She was a beautiful bride and we got "their" story from both sides. Unfortunately, I got sunburnt on the car trip as well. :(
Then after an interesting discussion on the merits of the production and marketing of p
op religious music (of which we found few), we alit at the Palace of Fine Art. Don't ask me where it is, because I don't know. But I know it's not downtown or in the Mission. Anyway, we walked about before the hula show we had tickets for. It was just a bit windy, and the light of the sun setting made for some really great picture op
portunities. We even saw more animals - some I'd never seen before in real life, like a bittern (which N hadn't seen either) and an egret. Up close! See how close:
The Palace was lit up. The moon seemed very close in person, but somehow it did not seem so close through the lens of the camera. It looks kind of like the Great Pumpkin, all lit up, does it not? Perhaps a bit later I'll show you the bittern and a series of me along the lake and against the Palace walls.
On Saturday we (N & I) went to Santa Rosa to a wedding reception. It was a beautiful fall day - I didn't even need a jacket! It was for a mutual friend of ours whose pheromone experiment finally came to fruition, in a rather flaming hurry. She was a beautiful bride and we got "their" story from both sides. Unfortunately, I got sunburnt on the car trip as well. :(
Then after an interesting discussion on the merits of the production and marketing of p
op religious music (of which we found few), we alit at the Palace of Fine Art. Don't ask me where it is, because I don't know. But I know it's not downtown or in the Mission. Anyway, we walked about before the hula show we had tickets for. It was just a bit windy, and the light of the sun setting made for some really great picture op
portunities. We even saw more animals - some I'd never seen before in real life, like a bittern (which N hadn't seen either) and an egret. Up close! See how close:The Palace was lit up. The moon seemed very close in person, but somehow it did not seem so close through the lens of the camera. It looks kind of like the Great Pumpkin, all lit up, does it not? Perhaps a bit later I'll show you the bittern and a series of me along the lake and against the Palace walls.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
What is this a picture of?
So I have a question. If it's not a star, and it's not a white dot, and it's not a brownish background, what is it?V-k and I came up with some options on our most recent collaboration (rather, she visited me, and we had a par-tay).
a. tiny spaceships with antennae
b. funky baseball caps
c. random single boots tromping around on stick-legs, in a below-the-knee view
d. personalized pickaxes
What do you think it is? I know what I thought it was. And it wasn't the real answer anyway. But it just made me think of "The Treachery of Images: or, This is Not a Pipe." See right.
It's like those pictures that are really weird and psychologists ask you if you see an old lady or a young lady, or one pyramid or five triangles, or some such nonsense. Images are images, pipes are pipes. But every person's interpretation of the pipe is different. So let me enjoy my non-smoking pipe, and I'll leave you alone about yours.
Lastly, a true image for you: remember, sibs, those days when we played Labyrinth? And there was the lizard, that V-k bit forever ago, so we always knew who had what. And remember how the blue scarab beetle was cursed, courtesy of J? One time it took her like six or seven turns just to get the darned thing. The board kept on changing. I remember that card vividly still: the bright blue beetle with its gold clawed legs.
The long and the short of this is that when V-k and I went to see the sharks....which, by the way, we touched one over six feet long. It was a baby. o.O Anyway, we saw sharks and flat fish with only one eye and saw playful rays and touched sea cucumbers and anemones and urchins and the like. Oh! And we saw a REALLY cool octopus, but that is for another post. This post is not about suckers. This is about scarabs. And images. So I thought I'd post an image of a beetle. Sadly, it is not a scarab, but it is about as big as the card on which the original cursed scarab was found. Since this beetle is not a scarab, I am not cursed. Just wanted to point that out. Now I'll get the point and po
st what you've all been wanting to see all week: a gigantic flying beetle. Yay!I will say that at first, when we spied it, I thought it was a hummingbird. V-k assured me it was a hummingbird moth. I thought it looked too shiny, and its iridescence was more like a hummingbird. But then, V-k argued, it was too small. I had to agree. It wasn't until a split second before the bug landed that I realized that it was indeed a beetle of most gargantuan proportions. And then I just HAD to take a picture.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Octoberween
What's on board for this month:
1. I am getting a washer/dryer, probably next week.
2. I am going to experience jury duty for the first time.
3. I am going to take an accounting midterm. And do my darnedest to pass.
4. I am going to go to San Francisco to teach the senior analyst who makes twice as much as I do how to do his job.
5. Having a job interview. (No, I did not get said job.)
6. Watching Season 8 of Smallville, season 5 of Bones, season 2 of Saiunkoku Monogatari, and trying out Friday Night Lights. Ah, Tim Riggins, every good girl loves a bad boy.
7. Not being happy with the fact of human nature that people lie.
8. Lots of people getting married. Weird, because October is not really a month that I picture with marriage, but I suppose the beautiful fall colors could really make for some gorgeous pictures.
9. A random visit to the Happiness Hotel. (Don't get the reference? It's okay, you can still sneak out in the middle of the night anyway. It's a 'very popular choice.')
1. I am getting a washer/dryer, probably next week.
2. I am going to experience jury duty for the first time.
3. I am going to take an accounting midterm. And do my darnedest to pass.
4. I am going to go to San Francisco to teach the senior analyst who makes twice as much as I do how to do his job.
5. Having a job interview. (No, I did not get said job.)
6. Watching Season 8 of Smallville, season 5 of Bones, season 2 of Saiunkoku Monogatari, and trying out Friday Night Lights. Ah, Tim Riggins, every good girl loves a bad boy.
7. Not being happy with the fact of human nature that people lie.
8. Lots of people getting married. Weird, because October is not really a month that I picture with marriage, but I suppose the beautiful fall colors could really make for some gorgeous pictures.
9. A random visit to the Happiness Hotel. (Don't get the reference? It's okay, you can still sneak out in the middle of the night anyway. It's a 'very popular choice.')
Saturday, September 26, 2009
better
I've been thinking lately (dangerous, I know) about the experience of having something that you took for granted and then losing it. Is it better to have not known it at all, so you wouldn't have to deal with the pain and loss? Would it always hang in the air, a maybe bitter, sometimes desperate, often humbling reminder? Or is the body capable of adapting, but the mind and heart are just not willing?
An example: You're 23. You're young and pretty (or handsome, as the case may be) and all appears as it should be. You have friends, you laugh, you mostly love life. Sure, you have your days, but life is good to you so you roll with the punches.
Then, you're on the way to eat dinner with some friends and a semi-truck hits you. You nearly die, and because you were crushed inside your car you will be quadriplegic and be forced to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.
Your body adapts. You work through the pain. You learn how to use your arms, which were useless sticks of wood before, and you become strong and can fully function. So, one day, the movies come on and Chariots of Fire is playing, and you're having kind of an iffy day emotionally anyway, and you see all these sprightly lads running about. You can almost feel the wind in your hair and the burn of your lungs and hear the thud of your feet hitting pavement.
So, do you glory that you once had those days, of running free in the wind? Are you grateful for the chance you had to spread your wings, and fly? Or are you disgruntled, changing the TV channel so that you don't have to remember the pain, or feel the sadness that you will never be able to run again? Are you happy for the other people who can still run, or do you wish they all had even just a moment when they were bound to the chair, as you are, to make them see perspective? Are you angry at God? Do you despair and want to throw things? Do you ever wish that you had never known the joy of running down the proverbial lane, because you miss it so much you think you can't even take it for just one more minute?
Almost everyone I know has had a great loss. It may not be their loss, personally - but one from a close friend, family member, or significant other. Is the loss easier to bear if it didn't happen to you, so you don't have to feel the pain? Or is being the one who has to watch the other person battle through the pain harder than having the pain in the first place?
So. Is it better to experience the loss, and chalk it up to life's experience tab, or is it better to never have known the joy in the first place?
An example: You're 23. You're young and pretty (or handsome, as the case may be) and all appears as it should be. You have friends, you laugh, you mostly love life. Sure, you have your days, but life is good to you so you roll with the punches.
Then, you're on the way to eat dinner with some friends and a semi-truck hits you. You nearly die, and because you were crushed inside your car you will be quadriplegic and be forced to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.
Your body adapts. You work through the pain. You learn how to use your arms, which were useless sticks of wood before, and you become strong and can fully function. So, one day, the movies come on and Chariots of Fire is playing, and you're having kind of an iffy day emotionally anyway, and you see all these sprightly lads running about. You can almost feel the wind in your hair and the burn of your lungs and hear the thud of your feet hitting pavement.
So, do you glory that you once had those days, of running free in the wind? Are you grateful for the chance you had to spread your wings, and fly? Or are you disgruntled, changing the TV channel so that you don't have to remember the pain, or feel the sadness that you will never be able to run again? Are you happy for the other people who can still run, or do you wish they all had even just a moment when they were bound to the chair, as you are, to make them see perspective? Are you angry at God? Do you despair and want to throw things? Do you ever wish that you had never known the joy of running down the proverbial lane, because you miss it so much you think you can't even take it for just one more minute?
Almost everyone I know has had a great loss. It may not be their loss, personally - but one from a close friend, family member, or significant other. Is the loss easier to bear if it didn't happen to you, so you don't have to feel the pain? Or is being the one who has to watch the other person battle through the pain harder than having the pain in the first place?
So. Is it better to experience the loss, and chalk it up to life's experience tab, or is it better to never have known the joy in the first place?
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