Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Introspective Raging
Have you ever sat and thought about your own first name? It just happened on me this morning that I realized that I am not very good at associating my name with my person sometimes. By that, I don't mean that I constantly forget to answer to my name being called. My name feels strange to me, strange, but at the same time it suits me. I wouldn't change my first name for anything, but I also couldn't tell anyone why it suits me either. It's just weird though, because when I think about my name, the image of myself isn't the first thing that automatically comes to my head. Rather, I remember drawing pictures of elves and wishing that's what my name meant; "to be elf-like or elvish," not a dumpy hobbit. One thing I really realized: I love it when people address me by my first name. It seems so strange, because it seems like something that would happen on a daily basis, but when you think about it, does it really? How many times does your name get said by anyone else in a day? Especially by people you know?
I was walking through the Meadowview yard this morning to go grease up ye old murderer of nature, and what should I almost step on, but a small glistening pile of innards. The complete eviscera of some small creature. It was like it fell from the sky, and I was more mystified than disgusted for the moment, and studied the intense colors of the once functioning (perhaps a few short moments prior even) vital organs. Bloody red membrane encasing lime green, peach gray, and turquoise or red organs, all undisturbed and perfectly formed, and definately mammalian. After completing the inspection like a dawdling four year old, I somewhat reluctantly kicked asphalt gravel over it. It's like I didn't want it to be sullied by the tacky reaction of any other human. It was like a moment of unexpected grace for the absolutely macabre, if such a thing is possible.
I realize this is all fine and disturbing to everyone else, but it was just a very odd moment that I felt like recording. I don't know what I got out of it, but maybe I'll know later.
Probably everyone on the planet knows by now that mr. pink stood me up completely, and though I raged on for a little bit, I'm back into worrywart mode again, although it admittedly took a little longer this time, because it seemed like such a sure thing. It was just so dejecting to have to find out by waiting around and doing nothing. It's like not knowing what day christmas is on, and then finding out that christmas was cancelled. What a transparent comparison, but you get my point. In the end, I just feel really sad about it, and worrisome.
At first I was all into the "he's taking me for granted" vibe, but I'm not so sure. And it's interesting, because it might be, and if it is, I'm almost thankful, because I haven't felt such a raw reactive emotion like that before. Again, demented, but good to know what it's like. I'm not out of control very often, and usually no boy would dare wrong me, so it's nice to have a little check of "you aren't that high and mighty" sometimes. It stills sucks though. This doesn't make sense, so I'll just leave it at that.
I was in a bad mood at work today. All day. I hate this crew. Eight days left, six of them cursed.
Copernicus (my betta: fish) has shown us all a new "facet" of his personality that no one saw coming. Danjo actually died last week, which was sort of traumatic for Copernicus I think. However, since he died on my grandfather's watch, my grandpa went to four pet stores with Danjo floating listlessly in a fruit bag, in attempt to do the "switcheroo" ploy, as seen on countless sitcoms. Instead, he brought home two rosy reds (?) which are apparently some sort of minnow-like goldfish. Olly Hardy, and Stan Laurel. You can guess which one Copernicus actually ingested. But, it gets better. I phoned the pet store today to ask if this behavior was normal (I've never seen a betta eat a live fish), and he basically told me that,
"No, it's not. Your fish is a psychopathic murderer. Oh hey, are you the one who had the two grandparents in buying more replacements today? I picked out the biggest tiger danjos I could find. He won't be able to eat those."
¶ 5:46 PM
I was walking through the Meadowview yard this morning to go grease up ye old murderer of nature, and what should I almost step on, but a small glistening pile of innards. The complete eviscera of some small creature. It was like it fell from the sky, and I was more mystified than disgusted for the moment, and studied the intense colors of the once functioning (perhaps a few short moments prior even) vital organs. Bloody red membrane encasing lime green, peach gray, and turquoise or red organs, all undisturbed and perfectly formed, and definately mammalian. After completing the inspection like a dawdling four year old, I somewhat reluctantly kicked asphalt gravel over it. It's like I didn't want it to be sullied by the tacky reaction of any other human. It was like a moment of unexpected grace for the absolutely macabre, if such a thing is possible.
I realize this is all fine and disturbing to everyone else, but it was just a very odd moment that I felt like recording. I don't know what I got out of it, but maybe I'll know later.
Probably everyone on the planet knows by now that mr. pink stood me up completely, and though I raged on for a little bit, I'm back into worrywart mode again, although it admittedly took a little longer this time, because it seemed like such a sure thing. It was just so dejecting to have to find out by waiting around and doing nothing. It's like not knowing what day christmas is on, and then finding out that christmas was cancelled. What a transparent comparison, but you get my point. In the end, I just feel really sad about it, and worrisome.
At first I was all into the "he's taking me for granted" vibe, but I'm not so sure. And it's interesting, because it might be, and if it is, I'm almost thankful, because I haven't felt such a raw reactive emotion like that before. Again, demented, but good to know what it's like. I'm not out of control very often, and usually no boy would dare wrong me, so it's nice to have a little check of "you aren't that high and mighty" sometimes. It stills sucks though. This doesn't make sense, so I'll just leave it at that.
I was in a bad mood at work today. All day. I hate this crew. Eight days left, six of them cursed.
Copernicus (my betta: fish) has shown us all a new "facet" of his personality that no one saw coming. Danjo actually died last week, which was sort of traumatic for Copernicus I think. However, since he died on my grandfather's watch, my grandpa went to four pet stores with Danjo floating listlessly in a fruit bag, in attempt to do the "switcheroo" ploy, as seen on countless sitcoms. Instead, he brought home two rosy reds (?) which are apparently some sort of minnow-like goldfish. Olly Hardy, and Stan Laurel. You can guess which one Copernicus actually ingested. But, it gets better. I phoned the pet store today to ask if this behavior was normal (I've never seen a betta eat a live fish), and he basically told me that,
"No, it's not. Your fish is a psychopathic murderer. Oh hey, are you the one who had the two grandparents in buying more replacements today? I picked out the biggest tiger danjos I could find. He won't be able to eat those."
¶ 5:46 PM
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It does seem weird to say my own name. It's especially weird when introducing yourself to a stranger, especially if, no matter how much you are positive you can in fact pronounce your own name, they endeavor to mispronounce it thereafter many many times after hearing you say it.
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