It makes me think of a dirty egg. Or cheese. yum.
Couple things: When babies reach a month old, you call it "full month," which also means, "full moon." Werewolves must be busy shopping for clothes and have no time for angst, unlike vampires, who are really just the divas of the monster world.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, December 31, 2007
it's tricky/ it's like that and that's the way it is
I constantly have to shift. I have to figure out what is the ingrained imaginary voice that I superimpose on myself of what Should Be Happening and what is actually -- for lack of a better word(s) -- good and real.
Example in the life of my great-uncle, who retired after 39 years and 5 months as a pastor:
"served as a pastor for 39 yrs and 5 months."
vs
defying a staunchly anti-Christian father and attending seminary, inheriting a comfortable, mortgage-free home and losing it all to fraud, and then doing the only thing you know how to do until finally, at the age of 70, they force you to retire.
and for me, what Should Be Happening is that I Should know what I want in life. I Should have taken the GRE by now, I Should be well on my way to getting an advanced degree, I Should be wise enough to handle an adult relationship. Should, at this point, by now, after more than a year, understand what I can and can't ask for. Should at the very least know myself well enough to make myself stop, or should have
In any case, there will always be an idea of what Should Be Happening, like the narrator's voice in a movie, that describes to me in detail, at length, what Should Be Happening, what Would Be Happening, if I was a worthy heroine, per Miss Josephine March: "Be worthy love and love will come, / in the summer rain."
I have, of course, by now, at this point, given up on my own personal Professor Bhaer, a just reward for only such as truly good as Jo, as I Should have, and I feel I accordingly did with Mr. Northwest, after whom I promised to never angst again (ha). Again, more easily said (written, typed, printed) than done. Though I Should ...
I have not, however, learned to distinguish between the Shoulds that intrude and the Shoulds I'd actually like to have (it frustrates me to no end that you seem impervious to anything remotely as chaotic and undermining as this) and though I would of course like to be free and will no doubt loudly exclaim so over the phone to you (long-suffering, ever-patient, open-armed) I am also overwhelmingly scared of change.
I would so much rather feel like I am being held back by something than to strike out on my own and realize the then-proven truth -- that I'm yet another unremarkable pointless life. No glory to be found here, no stories will be written about me. How awful, to be swallowed by the anonymity of mediocrity. But this isn't about my (absence of) glory.
I think it's about peace and patience, and listening, and waiting and being waited for. I think it will always be hard for me and I think I will never feel free of some kind of guilt, but I also think I can turn it off sometimes, and be still.
Example in the life of my great-uncle, who retired after 39 years and 5 months as a pastor:
"served as a pastor for 39 yrs and 5 months."
vs
defying a staunchly anti-Christian father and attending seminary, inheriting a comfortable, mortgage-free home and losing it all to fraud, and then doing the only thing you know how to do until finally, at the age of 70, they force you to retire.
and for me, what Should Be Happening is that I Should know what I want in life. I Should have taken the GRE by now, I Should be well on my way to getting an advanced degree, I Should be wise enough to handle an adult relationship. Should, at this point, by now, after more than a year, understand what I can and can't ask for. Should at the very least know myself well enough to make myself stop, or should have
In any case, there will always be an idea of what Should Be Happening, like the narrator's voice in a movie, that describes to me in detail, at length, what Should Be Happening, what Would Be Happening, if I was a worthy heroine, per Miss Josephine March: "Be worthy love and love will come, / in the summer rain."
I have, of course, by now, at this point, given up on my own personal Professor Bhaer, a just reward for only such as truly good as Jo, as I Should have, and I feel I accordingly did with Mr. Northwest, after whom I promised to never angst again (ha). Again, more easily said (written, typed, printed) than done. Though I Should ...
I have not, however, learned to distinguish between the Shoulds that intrude and the Shoulds I'd actually like to have (it frustrates me to no end that you seem impervious to anything remotely as chaotic and undermining as this) and though I would of course like to be free and will no doubt loudly exclaim so over the phone to you (long-suffering, ever-patient, open-armed) I am also overwhelmingly scared of change.
I would so much rather feel like I am being held back by something than to strike out on my own and realize the then-proven truth -- that I'm yet another unremarkable pointless life. No glory to be found here, no stories will be written about me. How awful, to be swallowed by the anonymity of mediocrity. But this isn't about my (absence of) glory.
I think it's about peace and patience, and listening, and waiting and being waited for. I think it will always be hard for me and I think I will never feel free of some kind of guilt, but I also think I can turn it off sometimes, and be still.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
it's raining
I woke up this morning to a total silence that I'm not used to, living on Bundy. It's so quiet here before dawn. And partly it's the way my mom had our windows made -- airtight because the wind used to blow dust everywhere and it bugged the hell out of her. But it is so quiet and only when I go downstairs to talk to my grandpa do I realize that it is pouring out.
Thankfully today I can be a hemit and laze about the house. I've got laundry to do of course, and Jocelyn's friend is home, decidedly ill, as is my grandpa, Mr. Simon Lin.
Since my late grandmother, Miss Pearl, was so anti-social in her last days, poor Mr. Simon Lin had been cooped up at home, partially to keep Miss Pearl company and mostly to spare her the anxiety of what my common sense-free grandfather might say or do in front of others. Bound at home, gradually the seculsion was adopted and now Mr. Simon Lin also stays home all day. Mr. Simon Lin has always been industrious, but he's made quite a schedule for himself, to keep himself busy.
The first thing Mr. Simon Lin does in the mornings is read from his daily devotional and then his assigned Bible passage. He does this sitting at his desk, hunched over, sort of with his head at an angle, as if he was checking to be sure God is watching him as he devotes. He has ear hairs that stick up straight out of his ears and I wonder if they inhibit his devout thoughts on their way to God's ears. Breakfast of bland-but-nutrirional is taken only after Mr. Simon Lin concludes his morning study.
I have showered and dressed only to create a semblance of livliness and also because my mother has brought on a small Indonesian woman named Uni to help take care of my grandfather. I don't know her but I know that she has hidden the rubber bands in our kitchen such that no one, including herself, can find them anymore. I also know that her predecessor stole from us liberally. I'm not sure who to criticize, as no one misses the vitamins and chocolate the stupid cow stole.
Anyway, the weather and my early morning visit to my grandfather, interrupting his morning devotional exercise, has made me want to write, so here it is.
Thankfully today I can be a hemit and laze about the house. I've got laundry to do of course, and Jocelyn's friend is home, decidedly ill, as is my grandpa, Mr. Simon Lin.
Since my late grandmother, Miss Pearl, was so anti-social in her last days, poor Mr. Simon Lin had been cooped up at home, partially to keep Miss Pearl company and mostly to spare her the anxiety of what my common sense-free grandfather might say or do in front of others. Bound at home, gradually the seculsion was adopted and now Mr. Simon Lin also stays home all day. Mr. Simon Lin has always been industrious, but he's made quite a schedule for himself, to keep himself busy.
The first thing Mr. Simon Lin does in the mornings is read from his daily devotional and then his assigned Bible passage. He does this sitting at his desk, hunched over, sort of with his head at an angle, as if he was checking to be sure God is watching him as he devotes. He has ear hairs that stick up straight out of his ears and I wonder if they inhibit his devout thoughts on their way to God's ears. Breakfast of bland-but-nutrirional is taken only after Mr. Simon Lin concludes his morning study.
I have showered and dressed only to create a semblance of livliness and also because my mother has brought on a small Indonesian woman named Uni to help take care of my grandfather. I don't know her but I know that she has hidden the rubber bands in our kitchen such that no one, including herself, can find them anymore. I also know that her predecessor stole from us liberally. I'm not sure who to criticize, as no one misses the vitamins and chocolate the stupid cow stole.
Anyway, the weather and my early morning visit to my grandfather, interrupting his morning devotional exercise, has made me want to write, so here it is.
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