Repeat One Ad Infinitum

“I can’t get to sleep, I think about the implications of diving in too deep and possibly the complications. Especially at night I worry over situations I know will be alright, perhaps it’s just imagination.” Through my childhood, there was one thing for which I was highly praised: my imagination. My parents were pleased because it meant that I, as an only child, could entertain myself. But my imagination got me in trouble some times. Granted, it was never real trouble and I think it helped me, ultimately, to mature. Just as JD is haunted by Colin Hay in this (fairly genius) opening from Scrubs, there were things that haunted me. For me, they were ghosts of things to come that plagued the time when I ought to have been sleeping. I’d lay awake in my bed, covered by the quilt my mother made from pieces of lamb-patterned fabric she’d collected, staring across the room to the hanging lamps that looked just like pineapples. I loved those lamps during the day, but at night they cast odd shadows. The neighbors’ native grasses they’d planted swished eerily. But the most terrifying thing was thinking about my parents. I knew they didn’t love each other and didn’t get along and I tried for years to be OK with the idea that they were going to get divorced. I’d tell myself that it was going to be fine; I had friends with divorced parents and they got along well enough. More than fearing my parents were going to separate, the knowledge of how unwell my dad was horrified me. Just the thought of him dying made me cry. It’s these sort of things I remember when I hear this song, but there’s something in it that’s soothing and reassuring.

(Also, Lazlo Bane does a pretty decent cover featuring Colin Hay)

Selah Saterstrom reading

Thursday’s reading by Selah Saterstrom was definitely interesting. In comparison to the other two authors, she seemed a little bit less dynamic. That being said, her writing is definitely pretty solid. She had a few lines, though, that left me puzzled. “Boredom, when identified, leads to new opportunities” is one such line. It sounds good and profound, but what does it mean? Under what circumstances does identified boredom lead to opportunity. I often sit around bored, really just looking for opportunities and finding none. Perhaps I’m not looking hard enough. Or perhaps I’m looking too hard. Maybe the real trick with opportunity is not to track it down, but to recognize it when it comes to you. Admittedly, I’m spectacularly lacking in life experience, so I guess I’ll just have to see if opportunistic boredom is something that comes with age. Is it the quiet desperation that Thoreau talked about that leads to being able to shape boredom into something life changing. But what if one doesn’t want their life changed? What if they just want a little excitement, a little difference. I think that’s why women shop so much. God knows that when I feel down, there’s nothing that picks me up like a high-waisted pencil skirt and a new pair of killer stilettos. Take yesterday, for example. That self-same pencil skirt is looking super hot hanging in my closet right now, but that euphoria of possibility has, sadly, already worn off. So I’m back to boredom and out a good chunk of money. And completely lacking in motivation just like always, but after writing this I’m depressed about it as well. Where comes the point when boredom relents to something better? Wouldn’t it be lovely to find something in your life that would be truly satisfying? Jesus, talk about your aimless stream of consciousness posts.

Few and Far Between

My mother and I fight. Constantly. About everything. However, lately I've been getting this kind of vibe from her:

Whereas I've been getting this kind of vibe from my dad:


Please note my less-than-amused expression. If there was audio associated with this clip it would sound something like "OK, dad, it's 8am in New York in January and we've just gotten back from two weeks in the Caribbean putting up with your picture taking. It's not that I don't appreciate the lasting memories, but perhaps now is not the time."

Really, it's just one thing after another with these people. First they want me to do well in school and then suddenly they're curious as to why I'm not having "fun". The quotation marks are because I'm sure that my parents' definition of "fun" and mine are significantly different. Currently, my idea of "fun" would be residing somewhere else (preferably another country) and not worrying about school. Alas. Really, though, why does this whole degree thing have to be so integral to societal success. How awesome would it be if we could resurrect a 1950s society where they men were men and the women were pretty? It wouldn't be so awful...

I wonder sometimes how I would have turned out if I had parents who were a little less paranoid about my safety and success and a little more willing to let me make my own mistakes. Chances are, the mistakes I'd make wouldn't be so awful. Of course, I also wonder about how I would have turned out if I hadn't been adopted and had been raised by my birth mother. That path of wondering takes me somewhere significantly less pleasant so I tend not to wander down that one too often.

At this point in the post I'm tempted to wrap it up by charmingly relenting and conceding how much I really love my parents and I know they just want wonderful things for me. Granted, it's true. But, Jesus, I'm annoyed. Naturally, I'm ignoring all the blame that I ought to be shouldering in the examination of this annoyance. But what are blogs for, after all, if one can't be self-centered and unreasonable?

Masquerade!

Had dinner with my parents the other night after seeing Phantom of the Opera at the Orpheum. Amazing show. The Orpheum’s gorgeous house just added to the whole experience. While perusing the deserts, one of the (female) employees came up to me and told me how much she loved my glasses and hair and outfit and everything! It was a little overwhelming. She might have been hitting on me. I thanked her and sat back down. Then, as we were about to leave, I had this conversation:

Tall Scruffy Woman: I saw you earlier and just wanted to say that you look wonderful.
Cady: Thank you so much!
TSW: You know, you’re tall like me…
Cady: isn’t it great?
TSW: Yeah, but I can’t get skinny like you.
Cady(what do you say to that?): hahaha…
TSW: Got any kids?
Cady (horrified): Oh God no! I’m only 21.
TSW (in a conversational and possibly too personal tone): I got pregnant with my boy when I was 20 and had him when I was your age. And you know, he’s so tall…he’s probably about 3 inches taller than me. And he’s got this curly hair. People ask me all the time if he’s half black. He’s white as milk, but people think he’s half black!

(At this point, her totally sketchy husband/boyfriend was clearly getting impatient to go and said her name in a very “get over here, woman!” sort of tone. We all ignored him. She continued to tell me all sorts of things I didn’t care to know about her life…)

TSW: Well, I gotta go, but I just wanted to tell you how nice you look.

My mother, quite correctly, pointed out that in Council Bluffs you’re either in high school or married and having kids. Uck. What a life. There’s so much to do before getting married. If I get married. That’s a post for another day, though.