I’m going to start updating soon.
Look forward to hearing about:
Why exercise makes me angry
How much I’m looking forward to a bagel
And other mundane facts of life
OMG, my two favourite things, Kitties and Cherry blossoms.
There is a measure of happiness in this city. It is quantified by success. Everyone leads big lives, but I don’t see a lust for life. The first thing everyone asks, “So what do you do?” And like a robot, I speak my programmed response of ” I work at this and that, doing blah blah.”
So here is what I do. I stay up late looking at things on the internet, reading pieces of people’s lives and learning about historical figures. I knit about about four lines of a scarf before I stop and forget about it. I make a great chicken liver pate, but my cheddar souffle is just alright. I try and draw, and dread taking a shower, because it isn’t actually a shower, it’s a bucket bath, an hour long affair of switching on the hot water heater, waiting 20 minutes, filling a bucket and then waiting another 20 minutes for another bucket to heat. I go for drives at night and smoke too many cigarettes, specially right before bed. I collect books and shoes, and mechanical toys, and contemplate learning programming and circuit design.
I go to beaches with clear water and black and white striped sand, and wander around the tide pools looking at the fish and crabs, trying to spot the most colorful and occasionally catching one only to let it go. I go to a dive bar and play pool and drink beers. I’ve always dreamed of designing my own car and calling it the OMG, which is finally beginning to possibly happen.
That is what I do. I don’t do blah blah at xyz. That’s just my job.
I have always disliked children. Perhaps not always, but as far back as I can remember being someone who makes my own mind up, I have not really liked them. I have a strange love for my niece and nephew, one that closely resembles concern, but there is only so much I can take of those two. I vaguely remember that being around my older cousin’s just felt more better than the ones my age. I’d much rather have a cat.
As I approach 26, and all my friends are popping off into the marriage zone one by one, like little lemmings who are throwing away their money, and eventually creating little people, I get asked about myself. It really isn’t socially acceptable for a girl (I can never refer to myself as woman) to not want children. We are meant to have accelerating biological clocks, that start beeping louder and louder like the alarm on my blackberry.
People ask me why I don’t like children, and I have my responses, prepared like an acceptance speech at an awards ceremony. They are annoying, I don’t want to clean their poop, they talk too much, they ask too many questions, I can’t be selfish around them, or tell them what I really think, for fear of permanently scarring them and leading to a life of psychopathy. These are my canned and bottled answers, and I always find them satisfactory. They don’t, their response response is always the same, when you have your own, these things won’t bother you. I agree to disagree because I really don’t care. (I use the ominous “them” so much here.)
I got asked the other day, do you relate to children. This threw me off. No of course I don’t, I hate them from the very bottom of my foot. But I do, i love all their toys, I want to play with them, and I just want to build sandcastles and go to school and learn and run around at recess. The idea of recess is amazing. I imagined my self on the jungle gym, and then conversely sneering at babies, because I didn’t want to hold them.
And this was a revelation. I hate children, because I am jealous. The same way we all hate the prettiest girl in the room. The same way we hate that giant monstrosity of a billion dollar single family home. I find ugliness in all these things, because on some level. No not some level, on many levels I want them all.
I want to be that baby, who is happy to be paling with a marigold flower, wildly amused by my friends beard (that always gets food in it!). I want to play with toys, I want to run around at recess and giggle in class, when someone tells me that the uterus very closely resembles a cows head.
Plus children are selfish selfish creatures, and I am a selfish selfish creature. If you have something that some little human creature wants you have to give it to them, and they ruin everything. I can’t imagine playing lego with a baby, I’d just steal them all and make something awesome, instead of of some lopsided idea of a house or some other idiot thing it would come up with. I don’t think I’d be able to let a child win at video games, or touch my RC heli, or intricate mechanical toys. They want everything, and I don’t want them to have it.
This isn’t a nicely packaged response in a box with a bow that I can present to the world. I will be told I will live vicariously through the child. But, that isn’t really true. I don’t like them, because I can’t be one of them. It’s the simplest most basic logic. Occam’s Razor wins again.
Some handy info for everyone right here.
Lightning is awesome, I love looking at it and it’s exciting to sit around with someone in a lightning storm and point at the sky screaming “did you see that one?” I think we all love it, not just because it’s scary and dangerous, but because it’s so brief. It’s there, it’s bright, it’s violent and then it’s gone. Just like a shooting star, a lightning is the perfect single serving friend.
There is something magical about teaching yourself something new. It feels like an obsession, almost akin to being a teenager with a crush. I have a crush on circuits, and microcontrollers and robots.
One evening I came home and opened up my paper and it started talking to me. Not figuratively, literally. This wasn’t someones overtly powerful op-ed column stirring my soul and rattling in my head. There was an actual voice. A real and proper person talking. I jumped, slammed it shut, chucked it on the coffee table and then opened it again.
A curious little black box it was. An advertisement for a new car. “Best in class…” it started. I put my thumb over a small white spot, and it stopped. I took it off, “Best in class…” popped up this strange German sounding voice.
[By the way, I am writing with my brand new fountain pen and must admit I have a side crush on it. Shh]
I ripped the little black box off the paper, tore off the back and stared at it, careful to keep my finger on the tiny white spot. It was magical, a diminutive green printed circuit board with a photo receptor. When the light hits it, the strange man starts talking. I had figured it out, and it was positively thrilling. I was quite self congratulatory that night.
I wonder if the guy who came up with this whole shindig, stood up, dramatically raised his hands up above his head, and proclaimed. “Let there be light.” Pobably not, but I am going to pretend like he did.
This little environmentally detrimental piece of genius marketing has me tossing and turning at night. I can’t sleep right now, because I can’t wait to figure it out. It really is like that feeling I used to get waiting by my phone for that call for a special someone. I’m stalking it online, writing about in my journal, and talking about it non-stop with my friends, who don’t really care.
This is just too much fun. I am going to scour the internet for resources.
In the mean time, here are some evolutionary reasons why this feels so damned good
Brain = Rebooted.