When I was five

When I was five, I found my little sister in a frothy heap on the floor. Her eyes had wiped themselves blank. Her lips were emitting a steady stream of small bubbles. Her face was slick with wetness. She looked like she was keeping a secret from me, which I did not like.

An ambulance came and scooped up my sister’s nonresponsive body and deposited her at the local hospital, where my parents stood watch over her bed, day and night, like a pair of frozen gargoyles.

After that night, my parents sent me to live with the neighbors for a month. I ate marshmallow cereal for dinner almost every night, which I liked very much. I also ate macaroni and cheese, which I did not like at all.

emptiness, consumer goods, and what it means to me

Another thing that I've wanted to write about since yesterday and the week before and the months and years even before that is my quickening, hardening sense of "what matters to me" and how I felt/feel about minimalism, consumerism, materialism. All the "-isms". I was reminded of this a few weeks in a row when I went on small trips to Los Angeles and Las Vegas. What better way to drive home these lessons than visiting Shangri-LA and Sin City?

Which is this: somewhere along the line, I realized that material possessions only bought me a fleeting satisfaction and that after I had purchased and sullied the product by making it mine; after caps had been opened and tags cut off with fierce, impatient snips; after shoes had been worn in and the clothes had taken up residence in my closet, I ceased to notice any of it anymore. I wanted off the consumer hamster wheel – or, at the very least, I wanted to slow down the spin.

Somewhere along the way, instant gratification no longer felt gratifying.

Even now, when something shiny catches my eye, I am filled with a sudden rush of want, but on its heels, a practical voice dismisses the feeling. Because I really don’t need it. I don’t even really want it.

traffic and The Best Thing I've Seen All Day

Yesterday, I was driving to the gym after work and found myself caught in the usual parade of rush-hour traffic. I've noticed that many of my fellow drivers wear varying imitations of the same expression. They appear a little tired or frazzled or annoyed at something or someone. They look like they are planning the dinner menu or worrying over their children or plotting out the rest of their night. Sometimes they are fidgeting in their seats and their brows are furrowed and their arms spill over the windows.

Anyway, yesterday, I noticed that the driver behind me was sporting a gigantic, curling mustache and smoking from a pipe and looking very pleased with himself. For some unknown reason, it was all very sweet and silly and wonderful. The sight of him sent a grin straight into my heart. It really, really made my day.

Friday ruminations

"Why is Russian water a she, and why does she become a he once you have dipped a tea bag into her?"

fruition

I have new respect for the writing process. Last Sunday, I sat down in a fabulous little "European" cafe to write my entry and... nothing. I stared at the keyboard blinker for a few hours and listened to Edith Piaf singing and nibbled on a blueberry pastry and thought a little bit and erased a lot of ideas.

Then I wrote two sentences.

And then I was done and went home and was in a very bad mood. :(

Keep Calm and Carry On

I did something absolutely terrifying a few days ago. Something that makes my skin crawl and my neck burn and my stomach plummet to my toes.

I went to a local karaoke bar and serenaded a roomful of strangers while stone cold sober.

[Ok, insert laugh here.]

It wasn't the most graceful performance and the song seemed to stretch out a lot longer than usual (a Disney song, which made the whole experience even worse) and my hands transformed into granite blocks as soon as I reached out to grab the mic, but it was the first time I've sang solo in front of more than two people. Afterwards, my face was slick with embarrassment and my hair felt wilted. Somewhere out there, Walt Disney was turning in his grave and stuffing a fresh pair of ear plugs into his head.

Still, I am glad that I did it. I spend so much time observing others and avoiding the spotlight that it's kind of refreshing to change it up.

Although now I am aware that shower acoustics cannot prepare one for singing on a stage.

seven days in Tibet

I started planning out Tibet/Hong Kong?/Nepal? last night and my head started buzzing like I was strung out on caffeine and sugar cookies. I was excited, almost too excited to sleep.