It's like we weren't made for this

I know for a sure fact that my most recent post was about Lewis Caroll. Oddly enough, that post has disappeared. I must question my sister about this when she gets home because I certainly did not delete it. I can't imagine why she would either, but if not her, then who?

Speaking of my sister, she's made the observation that I crave intellectual discussions and the two or three or four friends I have in Smithtown are unable to provide that type of mental stimulation. I have to say that I agree with her. ( Although there are always exceptions. )
I'm not saying I'm better than them. It seems almost sinful for anyone to assume they are superior over another person for whatever reason - higher GPA, more friends, better style, going to a more socially valued college/university... I hate comparisons of a person's worth. God knows I put myself through those examinations way more than I should, especially in the academic sense. It may very well be a constant battle for me to believe in my own worth and intelligence.I've come to the brilliant realization that I won't be young forever. If I'm not careful, I could easily pass my days wastefully and become one of those middle aged women in supermarkets who look tense and unhappy. I've formed a single, glum composite out of all the sad personalities I've met while working at Stop and Shop.

First, you have the mom bordering on middle age shopping alone. She most likely has a husband who watches football and drinks beer with 'the guys' while she tries to get her shopping done as quickly as possible so she can get home, unload, cook, and watch TV. She is often too tired and harried to make any kind of pleasant conversation with the cashier. She might surreptitiously grab a tabloid at the last minute in an attempt acheive some sort of glorified youth through osmosis.

Or, you have the younger variety of women who are still enamoured with married life and who always shop with their kids in tow to save on babysitting expenses. The adorable kids that mirror their parents' gender conformity - girls in frilly pink ensembles, boys in neutral or dark shades. These chirpy young moms with their high pitched voices have their own brand of irritation. Looking as though they feed on a steady diet of images from Women's World or Good Housekeeping, their frenzied politeness at the chance meeting of a neighbor or fellow PTA mom picks my nerves raw. Their little attempts at individuality through a key chain or piece of jewelry fall piteously flat.

Today, a woman was telling me how she had to settle for buying Nerds candy for her son's class instead of the pastel candy hearts with its saccharine messages.
"Oh well," I said, trying to sound sympathetic, "they don't taste that good anyway."
"Really? I used to love them as a child! They're so sweet! The traditional Valentine's day candy!"
"Oh... they always tasted like sugary chalk to me."
"Well you haven't had the true American experience!"
Hmm...no I don't believe I have. Thank God.

Two more days. Then I'm out of that stifling, restrictive environment.It does have its redeeming qualities... for one thing, it's quite charming how some people will open up at even the most minute interest you take in them. It could be anything! A observation of their photo on the debit card, a compliment on the design of their eye glass case, a question about the apples they bought. Whatever it is, one minute they're blank-faced and going through the mechanical motions of checking out, and in the time it takes you to say !*$@ after stubbing your toe, they become a friendly, geniune person. I love being the cause of that transformation.It works the other way around too. I'll be in a numb stupor when the rare person comes along who takes an interest in me and wakes me up, and for some precious brief moments, I feel alive again.

And I can't forget about Vicki. She is one of the exceptionally few people I actually like to talk to at work. When she first started working there, I noticed right away, as did others, that she looked drastically different from anyone else. I was standing at the customer service desk waiting to pick up my paycheck, and overheard one of the front end managers talking about the new girl Vicki in a tone that shot a hot flare of indignation through my brain. It angered me that there are people who mockingly dismiss someone. Just for not looking or acting in a way that they're used to. I decided right then and there to get to know her better. I am very glad I did.

People should have transparent skulls and be bald. Standards of beauty will become extinct because we'd all look like freaks anyway! Though with everyone having a head as shiny as a puddle under the mid-day sun, it might soon become the new vogue. Headband companies will flourish. Men all over the world with bad genes will rejoice. Those nauseating hair growth commercials will be gone forever. Another plus, we'd be able to look through the contents of each other's brains using a mouse-like clicker.
Click. Hmm…Click-click. Hey they had spaghetti and pickles for breakfast too. I'm not alone!
Silly, I know. But maybe with thoughts as accessible as scrolling through videos on Youtube, it would be easier to find them.
People who realize time is slipping by and they're going to die.
People who can name their favorite artists, and why (by 'artists', I don't mean someone who paints). They also know the favorite artists of their favorite artists, and could relate almost as much about their passions as they do their own.
They catch the obscure allusions in a song or novel and go off searching for it so they can own the full experience.
They view the world and its institutions with a healthy dose of cynicism - growing by tunneling to the core of things.
Realizing there's just too many people in the world to live with your head in a padlocked box.
They could read something like The Story of The Eye followed by a biography of Mother Teresa.

Lately, I've had such a strong desire to leave this place.


It's like we weren't made for this world. Though I wouldn't really want to meet someone who was.

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head, he went galumphing back.

"If you ever want to sound like a raving lunatic, start reciting Lewis Carroll."

-Diana Liu

I love this photo. He looks like poetry.
My sister got this giant hard cover book containing all the works of Lewis Carroll from the library, and it even includes stories in his own handwriting, and his own illustrations! It is quite amazing.