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tangentown
May. 27th, 2009 09:39 pmThe heat has been vicious. I joke that if you were on a suicide mission you could stand outside in the full sunshine for about 30minutes and get totally dead. Texas in summer is not unlike living in the belly of a dragon. It's hard to imagine the source of life feels like a blowtorch on the back of your neck. It tries to rain, but the drops evaporate almost before they hit the ground.
Does every job have that one louder snobby person with rifuckindiculous views and can't stand for anyone to be funny or smart besides him/her? I am noticing a pattern. Otherwise I am enjoying my job.
There are flowers in every room of my house now like someone is so in love with me. Yesterday I went home smelling like carnations. Saturday I salvaged wilted rose blossoms to add to the loose bucket, a giant plastic bin of colored petals, enough to fill a feather pillow and was tempted to bury my face in it. Today I wired top-heavy daisies to stand up straight and proud.
Sunday night I watched a documentary following a group of children growing up in the brothels of India. At the end, the credits typically announced the eventuality of each child, whether they went on to greatness or fell by the wayside. About half of them did not get out of the brothels, even after being helped into boarding schools by privileged wealth, hoopjumping and stringpulling. Despite the opportunities they were given to escape a life of scrimping and hustling, they went back to their destitute families to help pay the rent, raise their smaller siblings, care for the ailing grandparents.
Tangentially I thought about captive whales in amusement parks, and how I've heard others explain that it's ok they are trapped for our amusement, because it's the only environment they have ever known. They are unaware of what they are missing, and so have nothing to long for.
Then I thought that just because cetaceans can detect sound up to a 100 miles away, it doesn't mean the ocean dwelling whales could have somehow divulged to them stories from beyond the tank of great subterranean mountains, shipwreck remains, constellations of starfish shining in vast coral fields.
Caged birds can sometimes see other birds outside, who wave their freshly caught worms tauntingly. Maybe they even say things to the captive birds like "Do you know why the free bird sings? Cause she's fuckin free." But if the caged bird ever got free, he might be too weak of wing to evade predators, unable to hunt for food, shunned by other birds and long for regular meals and the safety of his cage.
Then I thought of those born with every opportunity, every safety net available, every helping hand to achieve whatever their hearts desire and they do nothing. We follow them around with cameras too, and auction their chihuahua's thong.
Then I thought of how knowledge is torture, among other things. But why do ppl read the news? I don't know, maybe the heat is getting to me.
In other news, my son wants badly to straighten his hair. He hates his curls. But, but they are so pretty and he doesn't agree and asks me if I will let him change it every other day and it makes me sad, because I don't want him to be upset with his appearance. He's even saved his money to get it done. I could cry. I know it's customary that a child come to a place where he does not love about himself the things his mother adores, but pleeeease not the curls!
Does every job have that one louder snobby person with rifuckindiculous views and can't stand for anyone to be funny or smart besides him/her? I am noticing a pattern. Otherwise I am enjoying my job.
There are flowers in every room of my house now like someone is so in love with me. Yesterday I went home smelling like carnations. Saturday I salvaged wilted rose blossoms to add to the loose bucket, a giant plastic bin of colored petals, enough to fill a feather pillow and was tempted to bury my face in it. Today I wired top-heavy daisies to stand up straight and proud.
Sunday night I watched a documentary following a group of children growing up in the brothels of India. At the end, the credits typically announced the eventuality of each child, whether they went on to greatness or fell by the wayside. About half of them did not get out of the brothels, even after being helped into boarding schools by privileged wealth, hoopjumping and stringpulling. Despite the opportunities they were given to escape a life of scrimping and hustling, they went back to their destitute families to help pay the rent, raise their smaller siblings, care for the ailing grandparents.
Tangentially I thought about captive whales in amusement parks, and how I've heard others explain that it's ok they are trapped for our amusement, because it's the only environment they have ever known. They are unaware of what they are missing, and so have nothing to long for.
Then I thought that just because cetaceans can detect sound up to a 100 miles away, it doesn't mean the ocean dwelling whales could have somehow divulged to them stories from beyond the tank of great subterranean mountains, shipwreck remains, constellations of starfish shining in vast coral fields.
Caged birds can sometimes see other birds outside, who wave their freshly caught worms tauntingly. Maybe they even say things to the captive birds like "Do you know why the free bird sings? Cause she's fuckin free." But if the caged bird ever got free, he might be too weak of wing to evade predators, unable to hunt for food, shunned by other birds and long for regular meals and the safety of his cage.
Then I thought of those born with every opportunity, every safety net available, every helping hand to achieve whatever their hearts desire and they do nothing. We follow them around with cameras too, and auction their chihuahua's thong.
Then I thought of how knowledge is torture, among other things. But why do ppl read the news? I don't know, maybe the heat is getting to me.
In other news, my son wants badly to straighten his hair. He hates his curls. But, but they are so pretty and he doesn't agree and asks me if I will let him change it every other day and it makes me sad, because I don't want him to be upset with his appearance. He's even saved his money to get it done. I could cry. I know it's customary that a child come to a place where he does not love about himself the things his mother adores, but pleeeease not the curls!
