Picasso May Have Been On To Something

My seven year old just named his thumb Bobby.  If all goes well, Bobby will still be with us in the morning.  Just another brilliant tactic to get him to stop sucking his thumb.  Bobby is really nothing more than a happy face drawn on his left thumb.  If Bobby hasn't vanished by morning, we will be able to progress into some very expensive orthodontics.  If he is wiped out in the night, then we may have to go the route of the British and consider a mouth where one has all of one's teeth 'tolerable' despite the fact of the order or arrangement. 

This brings me to another thought; why do we long for symmetry?  Or better still, why do we find symmetry attractive, when it is so rarely found on its own?  I read once that when we find someone attractive, like a movie star, the reason has more to do with the symmetry of their features than the perfection of them.  Eyes don't need to be stunning, noses can me a bit large as long as all the features are perfectly symmetrical.  Something in our brain registers this as pleasant.  This is really quite a shame, I mean life would be so much simpler if we all saw the world as Picasso.  Granted, I believe his perspective was caused by a some awful sexually transmitted disease, but still how nice to see beauty in the bizarre or distorted.  Things would be quite reversed.  Instead of everyone trying to line things up perfectly, so they can be socially acceptable, most of us would be Adonises and the few that remained would be desperately trying to find ways to distort their evenness.  Which then brings up the idea that we feel the need to change to be accepted.  And, finally why do we want to be accepted based on our outward appearance? 

Actually, at this point in my life I don't want to be accepted at all.  Because, with acceptance comes responsibility and I have more than my share of that at the moment.  I can't change my now symmetrical teeth, but I can at least maintain my Picassoesque personality, in hopes that the asymmetricalness of it all continues to keep the world at bay.

Who Am I?

No worries all, I haven't had an identity crisis.  I've just been thinking about how I am drawn to so many different things.  Humor and light hearted nonsense are always my first picks and when there is nothing else a little bit of seriousness works its way in.  I always seem to resist the 'serious' things in life.  Serious books, movies, relationships and conversations are always put off as long as possible.  Yet, when I finally yield they feed me like nothing else.  Humor always makes me smile, something I don't do enough.  Nonsense, is a gift I am always waiting to receive.  But, they are not sustaining, not like the 'serious' in my life.  So why do I avoid it at all costs?  It's like being faced with a jar of colorful jellybeans and one of carrots and celery that are just as colorful and being drawn to the jelly beans.  A wise person may choose the veggies, but not after much debate.  The things that we truly need are often the very things we avoid.  Or at least that's how it appears in my life. 

Here's the part that I don't have an answer for.  If every time I read or view some deep bit of wisdom with a little dose of heaviness, I come away saner and maybe even, dare I say, a little wiser why do I make it my last call?  The last thing I choose.  When all humor is exhausted and nonsense worth my time can't be found, then and only then do I pick up that which I really need. 

Not to say humor and nonsense aren't important, but some how when they have passed they seem fleeting and I feel a bit empty.  But deep serious always gives me plenty to chew on long after it's first taste. 

Quiet Time with Cary Grant

Why do I like to be alone?  If I was alone all the time, would this be something I crave?  Both questions are rhetorical.  In fact, both are really one.  I crave being alone, because I rarely am.  But, there is a part of me that wants to delve deeper, shocking I know.  I am usually such a shallow creature.  This time, my mind seems to want to wander and explore the idea of how much of my feelings are nature and how much are nurture? 

I spent much of my youth alone and a bit on the outside.  I'm sure if you were to get a hold of my journals from those days, they would weave quite a tale of misery.  But truth be told, I enjoyed my quiet days and nights in which I could reflect on the meaning behind R.E.M.'s lyrics or watch spellbound as Cary Grant charmed his way into the hearts of Irene Dunne, Katherine Hepburn, & even myself.  I thrived in my alternate universe.  One in which I made all the choices and didn't have to worry about what I said and it's ramifications.  In essence, it created this being that I am now, this person of deep self analysis.  I must say that this little trail really leaves me no closer to an answer for the whole nature and nurture quandary.  But, I guess it doesn't really matter, because suddenly all I want to do is put in 'My Favorite Wife' and listen to some 90's grunge.  I'll have to finish this debate later, although perhaps maybe I have just given all of us my answer.

Failure Is An Option

I have decided to let everyone in on a little secret.  I am really not that brilliant.  I remember in the 5th grade overhearing a discussion between two of my three teachers.  I, apparently, was failing spelling.  Part of me shudders even now to admit this.  One teacher adored me and the other had an odd dislike for me.  The one wanted to pad my grade to make it passing, since she was sure I would improve.  The other very clearly made it known that I should get the grade I had earned.  Needless to say, come report card time, I had a passing grade.  I am almost ashamed to admit this, as it is a fault, even if it was in the past.  For some reason or another, spelling has never been a strong point of mine.  Thanks to spell check, most of the time, I can pass myself off as nearly flawless in an area that I was at one time deemed a failure. 

In fact, I think I try very hard to create 'spell checks' in many areas of my life.  Little buffers to hide my flaws from others.  The strange thing is that occasionally, just like when spell check doesn't correct a word because, in fact, it is really a word just not the one I wanted, I end up exposing my lack of brilliance.  Honestly, these are humbling times and quite hard to look at.  Especially, when I can't remember which rug I've brushed them under.  It seems lately imperfections and idiosyncrasies are coming out more often, and I have a theory as to why.  I think I am trying to free myself.  Brilliance is a lonely prison at times, but fake brilliance is a long term stay in an insane asylum. 

So, let it be known I am nothing more than an average person with a dependency on a spell check or two.  Feel free to pad my failing grade, just don't let me overhear the conversation, it might give me a complex.

Screaming Babies and Wives

Well, I have decided to push on for the time being with or without the Russians. 

I am exhausted.  Most people in my state would be either sleeping or mindlessly watching television, however as I have stated before, I am not most people.  So, a blog entry it is.  I have always empathized with tired grumpy children and exhausted screaming babies.  This is mostly because I tend to react in a very similar fashion when I am tired.  This has always been.  So, why doesn't my husband leave me alone when he knows I am tired?  Even after 16 years of me snapping at him, he still provokes me to become an evil version of myself, with awful antagonising questions like,  "What is the cost of shipping on the chair you want to order?" or "Do you want to watch a movie?"  How is one supposed to respond to such bait. 

Now at this point, you may be wondering if I am assuming that my husband knows I am tired.  Or more to the point, have I told him that I am tired.  The answer is no to the first and yes to the second.  He was informed before he even entered the house this evening and in case his processing disorder was in full effect, I was wearing my pajamas and robe during dinner as a visual aid. 

Okay, so I know that he hasn't done anything wrong, not really.  But, everything feels wrong.  Every person that wants something from me provokes a wrath very similar to that of an overtired child throwing a tantrum in the middle of a store because their mother had to 'hit' one more sale.  Even if that something is just a simple question.  So, there it is all laid out nice for all to read, I am mean when I am tired.  I just don't have people staring at me in sympathy saying, "She's just tired, someone needs to put her to bed."  Perhaps, I should consider getting one of those medical warning bracelets or something, that says just that.  It may just save a life and possibly my marriage.

Death of a Blog

I am beginning to question the validity of my having a blog.  I truly find myself in a catch 22.  It goes against every fiber of my being to 'brag' about my blog and invite people to read utter nonsense about me.  However, if I continue on in the vein in which things are going, there will soon be no reason to continue, at least in such a public manner.  I actually heard crickets chirping the last few times I clicked  publish.  Things have hit such a low that the Russians are no longer visiting.  I once had some grand illusion that my writing was something that someone other than myself would want to read.  I must say this blog attempt has placed me back in reality and I am now considering developing new talents in the areas of homemade cleaning products and basket weaving.  I can see my booth at the farmer's market now, perhaps it may even be blog worthy, but alas not by me.

I am not saddened by these thoughts, but just questioning the use of my time and 'talents'.  I grew up with a great love for creative gifts and a deep respect for people that had them.  Anyone with an overbearing Asian or in my case Western mother can memorize facts and get a degree from an Ivy League school, but only those with a true creative gift can live a life of passion.  At least this is how I have always felt.  I spent most of my adolescence and a great deal of my adult life believing that I had a 'gift' and that it was only because of fear that I had never reached my potential. 

I no longer believe this to be true.  I do feel that I am a creative person and this will never change, but gifted I am not.  At least not by the world's standards.  Every day, I choose to approach things in a unique way and I know that this perspective, which I graciously share with my family each day, is a gift they receive with gratitude.  I wasn't meant to shine for the world, but for those that I treasure most.  So, there is no sadness for a dream brought to its end, but a joy for a reality that I can live with.

We Only Get One Blip

I should be off starting dinner.  But, I have found myself drawn to write down something . . . anything. So, I will discuss my latest thoughts.  I'll spare everyone my latest rantings on the poisoning of our food supply and move on to something more meditative:  Time. 

Years ago, at the age of twelve, I was diagnosed by one Dr. Salcedo as a Neurotic.  He explained to my mother that this simply meant that I couldn't live in the present that my thoughts were constantly moving to the future.  What's wrong with being future oriented?  I mean, we all need goals to reach for right?  Well, nothing unless your thoughts revolve around worry, which mine often do.  So, consequently I have always been drawn to anything related to time.  Lately, my thoughts have drifted to finding ways to live in the moment or in essence how to slow time.  This is the exact opposite of my nature and yet I am fascinated at the possibility of being able live in such a manner.  Each person's life is simply a blip on the universe's scale.  Why would anyone in their right mind want to speed up the only blip they get? 

I am not fool enough to believe that life equals happiness, but it can be a joy to live.  How does one live with joy?  Well, I don't think I have yet read enough articles on the subject to convince my brain that there is an answer.  But, I am beginning to slowly grasp the need to breathe in each moment.  Even the unpleasant ones.  Only by being awake to each thing that happens to us do we feel time.  If we walk around numb to all that is happening, a day and a lifetime seem like one.  I want my lifetime to be something that I not only lived but felt.