Whilst thrifting...

What I saw today whilst thrifting:

1. Two children, in two separate Costco-size shopping carts, abandoned at the back of a large thrift store, parked underneath large shelves, while the adults completely ignored them. One was a baby. The baby was staring at the plywood shelf above him. The two-year-old girl was gnawing on the shopping cart. I wanted to scream at the mother, but I flash-forwarded in my mind to what that would look like, and I walked away.

2. A woman screaming into a cell phone, in between racks of women's clothing, "No! The government will pay! No! You tell her! The government will pay!" I rolled through the options in my mind for what the government was supposed to be paying for, and I lost a good fifteen minutes.

3. A fifty-year-old contractor-looking character, flirting with the busy volunteer behind the register, asking incessantly how old things were, if they were valuable, where they came from, etc. I wanted to say, "Dude! Can't you see she's busy and there are five people in line?!" Dude. She was like eighty years old, and clearly not interested. It was obvious.

How babies are made

Ooo. I do want to know where babies are made. Vintage sex book? Yes please!

Fairly innocuous beginning. Talk about eggs. Good times.

We move to fertilization with an example of a flower. Lovely :)

Holy fuck! I was reading this to my child! Close your eyes, honey.

Oh dear lord. It continues. There is no end to this torture.

Ok, phew. You've redeemed yourself, somewhat, Time-Life Books.

I got into the "Express Lane" today (five items or less), basket in hand on the floor, slowly nudged forward with my foot, enjoying the scenery, happily looking forward to sharing this book with all y'all, when I saw a woman with a fake baby. It was one of those crazy reborn dolls where they're supposed to look lifelike, and then people treat them like they're real. The woman is standing beside the stroller, slowly stroking the hand of the doll, discussing the difficulty she has in finding appropriately-sized clothing, and how she came up with the doll's name. The baby was ugly. This cannot be overstated.

The only time I see people with these dolls is in thrift stores. While in line, I tried to figure out why this is, and decided that thrift stores are the hub for all crazy people (including me), and thus cannot help but attract women with fake babies, showing off said babies to the other crazy people. I began to feel more uncertain of my own identity...

All is well :)

Lisbeth Salander :)

She can't fight who she is!

I've been reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo trilogy, and I'm on the last book right now. These books pretty much sum up my love for recycling, and my love for people. I love the people who've been discarded and who rise above the trash they've been disposed into, and make lives of functionality, and sometimes even meaning.

Lisbeth Salander is not my doppelganger, exactly. Our situations have some pretty strong similarities, but I spent the past decade getting over my anger and trying to make my life worth living. But her refusal to let people in, her well-guarded interior combined with a tough exterior - that was me as a teenager. It was a necessity, and I wore it with intention. Letting people really see me and really love me took a very very long time, and along the way, I lost some good people. I also lost some not-so-good people, but I don't cry too much about them.

I wish I could really explain to everyone I meet where I come from and who I am, because those things make me who I am. They make me understandable and lovable. But, so is every other person in the world. So, it's a draw. We're all worthy of love. No one deserves to be thrown away.

The death of the hybrid dream...for now

I listed this as a political tie :)

I had some not-so-fun talks yesterday about the car situation. I had to be told, first by a friend, then by my dad, that I need to let go of my used hybrid dream. It's not possible in my current financial situation. It hurts to hear the truth. It really does, but it's the only way to move forward. I've been stuck in the dream, and it's kept me stuck in the Rabbit, which I discovered last night is full of black widows, not because it doesn't run, but because the tree in our front yard has an entire ecosystem existing inside of it.

So instead of the $8000 range, I am now looking more at the $2000 range. Hey, moving from 30+ to 20+ years-old is a move in the right direction. I found an '87 Honda Shuttle that I really like, but the owner hasn't responded yet to my query. A very eager man came to look at the Rabbit last night at 9:30, and wanted to take it right there, on-the-spot, cash in hand. But it was late, and I had blood sugar on the lower side, so I wasn't willing to make such a huge decision. Also, it was dark, and everything looks different when the sun comes up.

My dad says I need to get a Honda. I told him that they get stolen more than any other car. He didn't believe me. I told him that it felt ethically wrong to lower my mpg by buying a new car. He quoted Lenin. That made me feel better.

One fatal flaw

Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.

Maya Angelou

I am obsessed with keeping my computer clean and orderly. And in the past two weeks, this has come back to bite me in the ass, and not in an ass-scarring kind of way, but an ass-maiming kind of way. I lost an editing job I spent a day working on. Tonight, I lost a page of notes from meetings that cannot be recovered. I just spent the last half-hour going through the recycling bin and putting together the puzzle pieces of the printed copy I'd torn up (the details really don't matter).

I can't keep living this way. I can't keep obsessing about "computer baggage". I need to start holding on to things, not because they're important, but because it puts me in the mindset to hold onto things so that when something actually important comes around, I don't act like a dipshit and throw it away.

Dear self - In an attempt to protect yourself, you've created a world where you leave no trace, where you quietly enter and exit rooms so that no one notices you. And for a time, that was a good skill. It kept you safe, and you did a really good job staying safe in very dangerous and ugly situations. But now, life is different, and you don't need to cover your tracks anymore. You can leave footprints. You can be visible. It's going to take some time, but this is a first step. Buying a jump-drive is probably sufficient, but you might need to purchase an external hard drive. I'm sorry that this lesson has been so painful and stressful. Life lessons often are. But don't beat yourself up over it. You did the best you could. Now, you know better, and you're gonna do better. Much love. - M

"The Hunger Games"

 

In an attempt to avoid spending the evening staring at my bedroom ceiling, I went to see The Hunger Games with my friend and her eldest son.

I haven't read the books, for a couple reasons. The first time I heard about the series, and asked about the premise, I was horrified. Later, I spoke about the books with a different friend, and discovered the philosophical nature of the series. Sufficiently impressed, I decided to read the books over the summer during my decadent book-reading marathon which will commence soon after graduation (Obviously only after I've sobered up and begun sleeping in my own bed again--Ha! As if).

The movie was wonderful, and powerful, and disturbing. The crowd was awful, and horrible, and emotionally disabled. They laughed when they should have cried. I wept all the way home. I wept for our world, where violence is normal, and a brilliant concept like Hunger Games is misunderstood by the masses as some kind of thriller series.

I am saddened by the state of our world, where a film whose cinematography gave me a migraine could draw such delighted crowds, and so many mothers with children. I feel like I should take off all my clothes, cover myself in ashes, and shave my head. I feel like nothing I ever do is sufficient. There will never be enough. The beast of greed is insatiable.

omg — what have I done?

 

All of my insecurities are flying at my face right now, and I'm in pain. I don't know how it happened, and now I'm in this hole where I'm ugly and fat and I can't do anything right. Just typing that was difficult, and now I'm crying.

I was raised to be attuned to everyone's emotions but my own, everyone else's needs to the exclusion of my own. I was raised to believe that I had to be perfect or my parents would get rid of me. Oh my goodness. How horrible is that?

And now, in the midst of this silly business I try to pay the bills with, I keep getting hit with the reminder that no thing and no one is perfect. And to top it all off, I'm the one throwing the punches. I'm the one who loves thrift and recycling, the imperfect things of the world, the things that have been thrown away. I'm the one who decided that somehow this love would define me and my worldview. I'm the one who is somehow made whole through it.

And somehow, I'm the one I keep throwing away.

Am I a white moderate?

It's only the beginning of March, but I'm tired. I'm ready for the school year to end. I'm ready to rest. Honestly, I'm less anxious when I'm not in school, more carefree. I feel no guilt for reading trashy books, and I feel no guilt for reading on my couch for days on end. Maybe I'll even do what I said I'd do last summer and put my hammock up in the backyard. Who knows what could happen?

I am feeling sick, but I want to stay up and watch more television and read more blog posts from my online friends. I think I need to parent myself and make myself go to bed early.

Martin Luther King Jr's "Letter from Birmingham Jail" came up today in a meeting. If you need some inspiration, I suggest reading it at some point. It's especially interesting to read what MLK had to say about "white moderates" and how they are blocking the path to true peace. It makes me wonder how I am behaving in this way. Am I ignoring injustice because it's inconvenient?

I'm gonna sleep on it. Peace out mofos.