Category Archives: Why I’m Not a Writer

Learning to drive a stick with Mom

“Come on, Jenny, get it into first gear! Ok, now let it out. NOW! Now go! Come on Jenny, GET IN THERE!”–my mother teaching me to drive her stick shift as I am supposed to take a left from top of a small hill with a good flow of traffic coming steadily downstream that doesn’t even have a traffic light

This scenario is probably the ultimate metaphor for my entire life. All the world is the traffic, going at it’s normal pace which is somehow too fast and completely intimidating to me.  I feel safer on the sideline–as a parallel player.

And furthermore, I’m not one who can just simply jump to second gear and risk my tranny to catch up to everyone at full highway speed in 3 seconds or less. I’m one of those who needs to feel the gear catch, let it out slowly, making the transition as smooth as possible. And that’s ok if I miss out on some things. I languor in others, so to me it’s worth it.

Although sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I were more normal. Maybe I have wasted all these years taking months or years others would have done in weeks or days, being afraid of a normal life with a house, a family and a cushy job.

Unlike so many of what I consider my linguistically inclined peers, this is the story of my life. Transitioning in and out of careers, places, relationships and situations into the least bumpy version of it as possible is, above all, why I’m not a writer.


My Golf Story

My Golf Story

October 12, 2009 at 9:17am

My significant other and I took his15-year-old son and his son’s best friend to practice shooting balls into the tree-lined grass a few weeks ago. You know, I’m not a golfer; none of us really are, but Duane is very practiced and methodological. He’s good. He shoots these beautiful balls far and wide to literally disappear into the white background of the sky and clouds. He tries to instruct me so that I can shoot, too, although, you know I really couldn’t care a flying fig… or even a brazil nut. I see it that not caring is better than frustrating myself with my poor eye-hand coordination and depth perception. Besides, I measure my success in other ways… 

So of course I’m trying to humor him and at the same time keep myself entertained so I don’t get bored. Using the golf club as a Rockette stick and Mary Poppin’s umbrella already done and old, I set myself to deciding that I’m going to try to hit the ball like he does. I want MY ball to do that, too; to look like a large fleck of snow that disappears mid-fall. He gives me a club that looks like it has an engorged tumor on its heel and says I’ll get the ball to fly best with that one. 

I try this angle and that angle, only twisting myself around and completely missing the ball. He tells me how to stand and swing, and it seems wrong, disjointed, and uncomfortable. That CAN’T be right. I use my equally weak skill of geometrical analysis and carefully place the golf club just so. I miss the ball completely again. Duane is somewhat patiently waiting for his turn, but I want to bond with my space. I tell him to not mind me; there’s a pod thing open next to mine. You play yours and I’ll play mine… 

With him off my shoulder, I proceed to have more fun and not be afraid to try new things. I’m just blindly swinging many so we can finish and go on to see a movie or something more exciting. Only a few balls left, with most of mine just a few feet from where we are standing. How pathetic. He says we’re not allowed to reach over into the grass to re-do a swing… 

I hear myself repeating a rendition of “Edelweiss” over and over: “♪♫small and white may you fly so high, into the sky forever. ♪ Edelweiss, ball so nice, soon you’ll be in the air, the air… ♫” My body is swaying with the flow of the beautiful song, and my stick is, too. My entire energy is soaring with the song and the sky. I swing looking at the clouds, and my gaze moves poetically towards my stick, my body, gaze and club moving like a slow but wide pendulum. I swing it high, then low, then wide, my refrain caressing my whole pod area like a low, soft wind. “♫soft and white, it’s not night… ♪” Duane’s finished now, lips turned up into helpless disgruntlement behind me. His teenage son and friend are looking at me with that impassive “we’re done, crazy lady” look. But I continue nonplussed. I feel the melody envelop my soul, the stick, the ball, the sky. “♪small not wide, ♫ ball so nigh…” I am one with my motion, completely emulating the feeling I have, overcome with Julie Andrews’ heartfeltness. I feel my Grandma Perron’s presence. I care less about where the ball goes and more that I enjoy this one last turn. I want to savor it like a fine mousse covered with ganache splinters. And then I finally let it hit. It’s a bird. It’s a flying lunch milk. No. It’s my golf ball. And I see it for a split second in front of the green of a tree, then it disappears into the paper- colored sky. And it’s beautiful. Just the way I wanted it, just the way the song makes me feel. I feel a gasp seep out of my slightly curled lips and my eyes widen in an emotional awakening. A mist comes over them. The song, my swing, my spirit and the ball are in a beautifully synchronized decrescendo. I am clemped up. I stare yonder for a pregnant moment, then turn towards Duane and the teenagers in awe. Wow, look at that! “Did you see that?” 

The teenagers take a step after Duane, club thing swung over his shoulder. In an almost Clark Griswold voice, he announces “Yup, ya ready?” I grab my empty plastic bucket. “Let’s go.” I gingerly followed in step, traipsing over the melody, my face frozen in wistfulness. 

I believe the moral to this story is that if we completely emulate what we want, we will have success. I will keep experimenting with this theory and keep you updated.


Chicago ’93: A Direct Excerpt from my Journal (re-edited a bit)

Chicago ’93: A Direct Excerpt from my Journal

posted in Facebook July 10, 2010 at 6:16pm

Monday, August 2, 1993 9am

I got back from Chicago last night. I didn’t get home till 10.   Anyway, we ended up bringing the car back a little late and charged $11 for it. I almost forgot my house key and I left toll change in the ashtray. But… here’s the recap. 

Wednesday night: drove with Kevin to the airport, got the car. I’ve never rented a car in my life so I really didn’t know what to do. So he went with me in the bus then he drove out so they wouldn’t know what we’re up to. Then I was on my way. I was a little nervous; I hadn’t driven since like New York! (I wish I got a Hard Rock tee in New York and a Planet Hollywood). But I stopped at Target and got travel size things, stopped at home, loaded up the car, failed to think to bring my journal like a dumbshit, so here I am. It’s a beautiful day out! So I accidentally opened the hood, thinking it was the trunk. I left my water in their cooler! Lessee… gotta go downtown post office and Rainbow. Pay rent. I was running late, but I got to Cheryl and Colleen’s before 10pm, and we ended up waiting till 11pm for Cheryl to get home so we could go to Haskell’s. Dana came out and now I’m not as wary about him as I was when we were conversing on the phone for a long time. I think he just wants to be friends with his girlfriend’s friends cuz he seemed to be pretty familiar with the guys. I sang When Will I Be Loved and kicked to New York, NY, and did another When I’m 64 with Prill. I kept calling her Prill the whole trip, and it was hard to call her Cheryl when we were with Mike. We got home around 12:45, but Colleen and Dana were up all night eating soup so I don’t think I got to sleep till like 2:30am. 

So we got up around 7:30 and packed, loaded up the car, and Cheryl drove to pick up Lisa. We got the wrong house first and a guy was putzing in his garage and saw us like we were part of the scenery and kept putzing till I craned my head out of the window and asked him if his house was Lisa’s address-it wasn’t and as we were turning around in his driveway and going up the road he drove past us and waved.

So Cheryl drove first half, then we stopped in Wisconsin for gas and Dairy Queen, even though we were stuffing our faces with junk food and Pringles between making the cassette intinerary. They were playing stuff and I was totally giving in, not saying anything cuz it wouldn’t’ve been fair if I hogged all the decision making for the music. But I totally blew up on the way back, verbalizing my opinion on Singles. Then I drove all the way into the city, we parked, and went to the train station where Lisa was meeting her fiancé, Scott. His train was supposed to come in at 6:30, and we got there about 5. (We left from her place between 8:30 and 9am) So we parked the car and went to the Sears tower and paid $6 to see a 5 minute long commercial for Chicago, then go to the top and look at the skyline. It was ok, maybe worth $2, but not $6! I didn’t use the lens thingys. They’re probably like a quarter for 30 seconds or something.
The city was packed with people; especially women wearing tennis shoes with their office wear. It was just like any other city, only different. It was on Lake Michigan and a river – the Hudson, I think. I think I’d really like living there. There was a train-Tram system and buses like you wouldn’t believe. Colleen was saying how the city was built and made famous by gangsters like Al Capone, Scarface, Bugsy. We noticed how old the buildings were, how a guy looked like Bill Clinton. I couldn’t believe I was there in Chicago! We went to the train station and waited and waited and finally found out his train was an hour late.  Lisa seemed depressed and anxious.  We were all singing, “isn’t it romantic” “the love train” (instead of “the Love Boat”) etc. It was sweet. The place reminded me a lot like Grand Central in NY. But it was all very suspenseful waiting for Scott. But he finally go there and they hugged; he dropped his bags. We should’ve gotten a pic; it would’ve made a neat wedding gift. So then we parted after Scott gave Cheryl directions and we found our hotel and they told us to go to Giordannos for pizza, and the Hancock for a drink. So we put them on our itinerary. Cheryl checked us into the hotel, we unpacked, and went to Bennigan’s for a drink, and talked about 70s and 80s shows and commercials the whole time. People seem to not like serving food in Chicago. DQ girl was grumpy, the hostess at Giordanno’s was. So we went back to the hotel and slept. The first night I slept with Cheryl and Colleen slept alone. 

FRIDAY: We decided to use today for sightseeing and Saturday for Six Flags, so we got up around 9ish. I didn’t take a shower cuz I took one Thursday night. I feel closer to Cheryl and Colleen. This is quite an experience. We laughed almost all the way here yesterday. So much has happened in this city; gangsters, movies. It shows in the old buildings. It kept reminding me of San José by the outdoor vendors, the craziness, the individual stores instead of malls, and busses and taxis. It reminded me of Mpls by its familiarity; same shops, banks (some), cash machines, but it reminded me of NYC by its proximity to the large body of water and the huge, many buildings.

Lots of pictures already. The aquarium, art institute, John Hancock building, Hard Rock Café, Planet Hollywood, and the pizza place were on our itinerary. We parked under the art institute and went there first and spent a good couple hours there. I was getting antsy cuz Cheryl and Colleen were spending a lifetime there and we didn’t get out till like 3:30pm. Colleen got an architecture book for Dana and Cheryl got a picture for herself. Then me and Colleen got cash, we changed a few bucks for the bus, then bussed up Michigan to Ohio, I think and went to the pizza place. Took more pictures. We got lost and confused looking for Planet Hollywood and Hard Rock Café, but we finally found them. We went to Hard Rock first and I got a black tee. Then we went to Planet Hollywood. It was neat; it had stars’ signatures and hand prints in cement tiles in the wall. It wasn’t nearly as neat at NYC, but the wait staff had really cute shirts, but they were $56. So I got a white tank. 

Now we were gonna bus back to the aquarium. So I thought we’d walk up to Lakeshore and bus from there, so we walk up there and it was weird, so I asked a lady at the hotel how to bus down there and she said to take it from Michigan, so we had to walk all the way back down there. I started walking that way and Cheryl and Colleen said I was walking the wrong way, that it was South (my word of course) and I said I remember passing it, but they didn’t, and were mad that I didn’t say anything when passing it cuz I guess they planned on taking Michigan when I thought it was verbalized that we’re taking Lakeshore. So I’m looking for that Walgreen’s—I saw 2 on Michigan cuz I needed a notebook—I forgot my journal. Never did get one, so I’m writing all in Mpls. So the hotel lady said # of blocks and the girls are going, “oh it’s been a LOT more than x blocks” and we don’t see Michigan. So I finally ask a security guard and he said x blocks that corroborated and the girls again: oh it’s been more than x blocks, I think he lied, blah blah. Well, it was one block ahead. So we finally hop on the damn bus and it passes like 5 Walgreen’s and 2 Woolworths and we get off by some stadium, thinking it was the aquarium and wasted time by walking around the wrong building. So we finally find it; right by Grant Park. Take pix. It’s 7:30 or 7 or something and closed. It was beautiful! People fishing, jogging, biking, blading right on Lake Michigan. Took more pix. Sat and bullshitted a while. Walked down Lakeshore, through Grant Park, took pix of Married with Children fountain. Real pretty. Took a pic of the girls and a statue surrounded by pink flowers; the film was at 5 pix and the camera rewound! So now I needed film AND a notebook. I should’ve bought that journal at the art institute. So we finally made it to the car and Cheryl “burned” and got us to the right side to take a left, but we had to go around the block to find the freeway entrance. So we got back, got some Wendy’s, took a shower and took a nap. Colleen was supposed to call her friend Steve, who was gonna escort us to the hot spots in Chicago. But we didn’t wake up till 11. So we ate munchies from the machine and watched Showtime. Went back to sleep. I slept with Colleen this time.

Saturday: We had intentions on leaving for Six Flags around 10am, but we didn’t wake up till 9am, got our free continental breakfast, and took sweet time getting ready. We didn’t’ get out of the hotel till a little past 11am. Traffic was awful. It took us 2-2 1/2 hours to get there. We weren’t parked till about 2 pm. 1:45 or something. So we were there till about 7:30 pm. We got on 3 rides. The Batman was a 2 hour line. The American Eagle was like 1 ½ hour, and the first and most eventful, the Shockwave was about 1 hour. The Shockwave was the most eventful ride. First, the line looked mega-long, so Colleen went to the bathroom and Cheryl got some ice cream. Well the line moved pretty fast up to the maze and they still weren’t there. So I sat on the maze and waited and waited. The guy was like “yah, you can’t do this again.” There was a gang of 4 guys-3 black and 1 Spanish in front of us. The Spanish guy was eyeing me eating Cheryl’s gargantuan ice cream/funnel cake/whip cream/strawberries. Then I made a killer bee comment and the Spanish guy laughed. Then they were—well mainly one that was wearing a tag on his head—being pretty gross. First he was convinced some chic was looking at him, then he’s checking out the scantily dressed girls and making comments like “whatsuname?” Then the Spanish guy asked if we were from Chicago and I said we were from Mpls and he asked about the drive and I said it was long and Cheryl asked what he said and I told her and she goes, ‘how did he know we were from Mpls?” and I go “cuz I told him.” This was when we were waiting for the front seat. Then moments later, after the black guy was really going off about if so and so from high school could slam dunk or something assinine, the Spanish guy told him we were from Mpls and another black guy from their 4-some said he knows people that live by 60th by a big cemetery, so I think they’re by Richfield, or by the airport (Fort Snelling). I thought he was gonna say the Lake-Nicollet Area. So then I had a cigarette lit and the mother f#$%er asked for a cig, and I said for a quarter and he’s like A QUARTER! So I finally said I’d give it for a nickel after haggling, then he handed me a quarter (30 cents) and I go “a tip!” That got a laugh. Then a minute later the ride guy told him to put it out. 

It was a fun ride. There was a part of the ride where a camera took pictures–good close-ups, but kinda fuzzy of everyone on the Shockwave and they sold the pictures for $5. So me and Cheryl each got one. It was pretty nuts trying to walk through the crowd. So I drove back which only took like 40 minutes or something. We showered, got Wendy’s again, and got ready to go out on the town. I wore my striped mini-tank dress from the Limited. So we went down the block to get gas and asked the taxi driver filling up where the best area was to go after asking at the Hampton front desk. So we kind of knew what area we were going. So we’re exiting onto the road to go to the highway and we had to turn left and there were no left turn signs and we couldn’t figure out why. So we’re sitting there and the guy behind us came up to our car and I thought he was gonna start pissing that we were just sitting there. So I “roll” down my window and he says he’s from MN and we look lost, so we told him we had bar hopping plans in the city and he told us pretty much the same thing the taxi driver said. Then he said he’d escort us to our turn off. So we start following him, then at a red light he came back again and said he didn’t have anything to do, he’ll go with us. So he asked which car we should all take and I’m like, let’s go separately; what if one of us wants to leave sooner? He said he just got off work and he was wearing shorts and a tee. So we followed him downtown and he paid for our parking. Then he said since he paid for parking, we can pay taxi. No prob. Colleen said she’d get it. We were going to Rush Street. So the taxi stops at a red light at some isolated intersection and he’s going “we can get out here and walk two blocks” and Colleen’s going “I don’t see Rush St” and I go “I don’t see a cash machine” cuz Colleen and him needed a cash machine. So we drove to Rush and Colleen didn’t tip him—she’s like “do you tip taxi drivers and I go yes, but it was too late. So Colleen’s behind him in line and he’s looking forward and she’s looking at us, mouthing “I don’t know about this guy.” Cheryl said Colleen said his name was Dwight. It was Mike. We got a good laugh from that. 

Mother’s was really packed, so we went into this pub—forgot it’s name again. Mike said he lived on 36th and Colfax and had a “special friend” that worked at the Rainbow uptown. So I took a picture of him and promised him 5x to bring it to Margaret Tues, Fri or Sat nite and say he misses her a lot. He said that sometimes you just know it with special people—you just know when you belong together. But she has a house there, and his job transferred him to Chicago. And he kept laughing that Colleen didn’t tip the taxi driver and he’s going off on it. Then, when it was my turn to buy the round I didn’t tip her cuz I figured I’d do it at the end of the nite. So he laughed at that. He’s all, “wait till I tell the guys at work.” He bought the first round and we’re all exchanging glances. Then we bought one round each, but he was buying his own drinks. Then, before we left, we were dancing to 60s tunes and UB40. It was quite fun. Cheryl put our names on the bathroom wall! It was quite evident that we were movie buffs and he didn’t see them much. But it was fun. We took tons of pix, and I showed him the cigarette in ear and nose trick that Illya taught me. 

Like a dumbshit, when we were following him, we went through a tollway and he didn’t have exact change, and on habit, I went through the manual – car with exact change lane and realized I lost him, so I pulled to the shoulder and put my emergencys on, and a cop pulled up behind me without lights flashing and just then we saw him waiting for us ahead on the shoulder and Colleen’s going, “don’t drive off with fuzz behind you”, so the cop walks to the car and asks if we were lost or what, and I said we were waiting for the guy up ahead, and he’s like “oh, sorry” (!!!) and walked back. Then I put my brights on for some reason as we entered the city—Colleen told me to to communicate, but I forgot why. So I put ‘em on, and brights were — lights were always confusing in that car and I inadvertently turned the lights off when I turned the brights off. And I didn’t want to tailgate him, so traffic came between us on the Kennedy. But going back wasn’t bad. I had been drinking but wasn’t drunk and I was going like 75 mph almost all the way home and it was a tad intimidating at that speed; I felt the speed but it was a thrill at the same time. I slept alone that night.

SUNDAY: We got up around 8-8:30, got free breakfast and got ready. Scott, the lovebird, finally called around 9:30 and gave directions. So we get on 94 West like he told us. He said they were by the O’Hare. So we’re driving for like 15 minutes and not one sign for the airport, then I’m looking at the map and saw the airport’s east of Shaumberg. So we turn around at a cornfield, then got lost and confused in the area of their hotel, and didn’t get there till around 11-11:30am. So we finally pick them up and by now Cheryl and Colleen have serious plans for Scott! So I was bitchy the whole time I drove home. Traffic, people hogging up both lanes going home, bitching about their music. Scott and Lisa I think were offended by my mouth and I feel bad. I prob’ly won’t be invited to their wedding. Tho’ it would be fun. So we reach the Twin Cities area about 6:45pm, something. So we’re on 94, planning on taking 394 West to 494 South to 7 to Cheryl’s. Well, traffic is so bad on 94 by West St. Paul/U area that I exited to go pee; I had been holding it since the large diet from Hardee’s, like 4, 5 hours. So we finally get back on 280 and 94 West and traffic was really held up, and it’s like quarter to 8. So we get to Cheryl’s, unpack, and there’s a message from Kevin. So I go park the car, come back, and he called, so I call him back. 

The only thing I left behind in the car is change in the ashtray. (Me and Ber had a system; we got exact change for each other so we had it ready for the toll). So I drive Kevin’s car, and I thought it was stuck in some funky gear cuz it was going real slow and he said the brakes were bad. But I made it to the rent-a-car return. He went in and paid and it turns out we were $70 short, plus I almost forgot the house key from the key-chain and he was pulling out with the car, so I just barely got it. They put a $11 charge for being an hour late.(9p) So Kev had to return videos he rented before 10p, so we went all the way to the Video Library by Grampa’s – Andy’s Tap. Then he drove me home and it was like 9:50p. Cheryl called to ask the price, so I called her and told her and she was shocked, too. I had had my arms full, so I dropped the bag by the stairs, with all the film, the Shockwave picture, my new tee and tank, my only sandals, my fanny pack, Visa- both, all my clothes-navy shorts, sweatshirt, tanks, groovy shorts, Lite tee, minidress, new Victoria’s Secret tan shorts, Clete’s navy pinstriped boxers that I wore to the train staion and Sears tower. My toothbrush, Trésor, make-up, trial sizes, powder, powder brush, bags from Hard Rock and Planet Hollywood. So I was tired and wanted to go to sleep and figured I’ll get the bag and unpack and clean the next day. I kept determinedly thinking “my bag’s downstairs—I need to get it” Well, it was gone the next morning. It’s Tuesday night now and it’s just gone, disappeared. I told a cop lady and she filed a report. I’m real upset; distraught. Dad’s STILL tripping way hard. I sent my film express and it was $10!! Never again.


Beginning my Last Days! June 26, 2011 at 5:10pm Owed to My Place (“Hotel Los Dominicos”, Talca Chile): It did not start with The Night of the Salmon As many would like to bet Nor did it start with the … Continue reading

It Doesn’t Matter if You’re Black or White

Some people view the world as black or white, while others look at it in shades of gray.  Many people I am quite close to are the former, whereas I pertain to the latter.  When I was younger, I let this really bother me, and come between me and those I love.  I couldn’t and didn’t want to relate to those “evil, black or white” people.  The more I searched like-minded people to cohort with, the harder time I had finding them.

In recent years, I thought I had become less obsessed with this.  I never really thought about it much anymore.  Just because of my lifestyle, I have coincidentally become surrounded by fellow shades-of-gray people; the places I work, go, shop, etc.  Some of the above mentioned important people have become more “gray” in recent years.

So in a relatively recent conversation with a black-or-whiter, it surprised me to hear that I am a judgmental “gray”.  Not having thought about it for so long, I was quick to defend myself, and ended up in a semi-altercation (it wasn’t huge).  However, this conversation got me ruminating about things, and it made me realize that in the grand scheme of things, it really doesn’t matter.  It is what it is, and it is exactly these kinds of variations that make us unique human individuals.  It’s not just in having different points of view, but more about how and why we have them.  Which glasses or prisms are we looking through, and at what angle?  I mean, I don’t think ANYBODY would say that it’s a crime to not be a Democrat OR Republican, for example.  Issues such as racism, sexism and the countless other -isms come in varying degrees and levels and should be looked at on a case-by-case basis, each opinion depending on the context and situation.

I suppose that the previous paragraph is the ultimate illustration of shades-of-gray thinking.  For the most part, I see most things that way.  However few, there are instances that I can be very black-and-white.  For example, either it’s benign or cancerous.  There’s really no middle ground.  Killing is killing, no matter who is doing it or who is the victim.  When [anybody] says no, they mean no… don’t push it.  If he’s not John Lennon, he’s not a genius, and if everybody agrees that it’s a cat, it can’t possibly be a lemur.  (Reality based on collective perception; see the movie Blow Up for an amazing realization of this concept applied.)  In a nutshell, I would be a hypocrite if I were to continue challenging black-and-white people since I have the ability myself.

So to fellow shades-of-gray readers of this blog, hello, and glad to be one with you!  To all black-and-whiteys out there, hello, and nice to meet people just a little like me.

After all, the last definition of a shades-of-grayer is that we are not the polar opposite of black-and-whiters as you black-and-whiters may believe.  Let’s all celebrate the whole color (and non-color) spectrum together!!

Lessons from The Middle School

So I had to be a hall monitor the other morning in a middle school somewhere in the nowhere part of North Carolina, smack dab between the two metro areas.  Little did I know that this place would borne me several epiphanies, one of which I will share with you here.

My mouth was agape, watching a bunch of 6th, 7th and 8th graders enter the school and follow the halls to their respective classrooms in a neat, single line that would make carpenter ants envious.  My attention was disrupted when I saw a deviant cross the path and catch up with two of her girlfriends, almost right in front of me.  “Hi Kaylee, hi Ashley.”  The concept of the one girl’s response was simply alien to me: “Oh, you’re not mad at me anymore?”  It was said in a sullen way, but the point was not lost on me.

Just a few days earlier, it seems, I was in a conversational tangle with someone important to me.  I finally exclaimed in exasperation “I really hate having to deal with this tension and everything!” 

The response?  “That’s what people do.”

Really??!!  Ugh.  I’m not used to it.  Being a primarily only child with not many friends and people that have swung in and out of my world for 40 years, this concept was completely foreign to me.  If people have to work this hard to sort things out, then what is it worth?  As much as people come and go, then why bother? Nothing is for certain, even if you CAN find a win-win solution at the end.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that the only person you can truly depend on is yourself.  Ultimately, nobody else gives a rat’s ass about you, you are just a speck of dust in the cosmos.  Buck up and get used to it.

Anyway, I didn’t believe him when he told me this during that sunny car ride, but when I saw this concept in action among 7th graders, that was my moment of epiphany:  oooohhh!  Yes, that’s what people do.  How could I misunderstand society and finally grasp it while monitoring ants marching down their graded hallways?  Is life really that uncomplicated?  You can argue and defend big theses like ‘why you think the government is or isn’t corrupt’, ‘what love is, really, if monogamy is rare among animals besides the field mouse’, et cetera et cetera, and still be friends and hang out and have other thick conversations at the end of the day?

Well hell, I wish someone told me this before!  Maybe I would have never fallen out of love years ago!!

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Wire Hangars

Wire Hangars.