Trippin' down Memory Lane -- here is an exact excerpt of a journal entry I wrote at age 10:
"I've planned my future home. 5 Playrooms, 1 or 2 librareys, 1 or 2 science rooms, 1 huge kitchen, 2 family rooms, 1 music room, 1 huge patio, 1 tennis court, 1 baseball diamond, 2 huge trampolines, 1 big pool, 1 wrap around porch, 1 closed porch, 1 covered patio, 8 large bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, 2 skylights per room, 1 humungos attic with stairs, 1 art studio, 1 garden, 1 orchard, 1 backyard, 1 front yard, stables, barn, 4 hallways, front porch swing, privacy fence, 3 balconies, cat, dog, 5 Arabian horses, chickens, goats, aquarium, bird cage, 1 planetariaum, 1 museum, 1 laundry room, 1 pantry, 1 basement, terreriums. Some home, huh? My heart longs for it." I think my heart still longs for it...
Once upon a time, about the middle of last week to be precise, I went to get a tooth filled. I had a little more angst than usual, taking into account:
1) The numbing shots were having no effect on me whatsoever;
2) General Hospital was on TV, taking up my entire line of vision;
3) The assistant doing strange and ungodly things to my teeth was the same one who had to be reminded what a "molar" was last time I was there.
It is hard to relax when someone is boring holes in your body, but I think I did a pretty good job... until the fatal word escaped the dentist's lips: "Oops!" Then silence.
I suppose this kind of "Oops" isn't quite so awful as an "Oops" during major heart surgery. However, my teeth flashed before my eyes, all the brushing, all the chewing... exactly what had this dentist done to me? {{Building suspense, preparing for climax...}}
I never found out. He bolted from the room before I even had all the gauze out of my mouth, and even to this day, my tooth hurts whenever things such as liquid or solids touch it.
The End.
P.S. - To clarify something brought up in my first post... I was not insinuating that all of the lyrics I reproduce are Brit rock. In fact, none of them are yet. Although, if you wanted to pretend...
"A fingernail running down the chalkboard I thought I'd left in third grade..." (Incubus)
Today seems to be Bad Mood Day at work. I enjoy my job and co-workers (I now want to pursue a career in petroleum engineering!), but some days, irritability seeps through the air ducts, and no one is immune. If neither morals nor employers existed, I would have sung to my boss this morning, "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch!" Maybe life would be brighter if we all lived in trash cans?
My personal Bad Mood is mostly over the fact that I go back to Longview in a mere 2 weeks. I am looking forward to seeing the multitudes, having a functional kitchen, and socializing at Super Wal-Mart. However, I could easily wait... say, another decade before diving into homework and tests and reading professors' minds, not to mention work-related grievances and various social ills. College would be terrific if we didn't have to be [semi-]responsible adults at the same time.
I am off to revel in my thunderstorm-y aura. I do sincerely hope that your day is lovely; if not, give me a call and "weep with those who weep."
Listen to Delirious?'s "Mezzamorphis" and you will have a general idea of my day.
Tonight my pastor spouted forth a nugget of something that made me think:
"Forgive the people who have hurt you. It wasn't them; it was the devil working in them -- blame the devil!"
If true, that would make it much easier, much more convenient to forgive. But is it true? And is it right to transplant a grudge, even if it is onto the devil? I know people have a sin-nature; I also belive in generational curses that are beyond human power to overcome. So everytime I get upset at someone, do I need to evaluate whether it was really them or not? The thought seems both absurd and impossible. What do you all think?
"Something's happening, don't speak too soon..." (Elliot Smith)
Welcome to late-night conniptions -- Brit rock and too little A/C create the atmosphere for dreams, for thoughts, for rages against my head, for silence.