One of the first birthday-specific memories I have is of my 10th birthday. I whined and whined and whined until finally my mother said I could invite 10 whole friends to commemorate my 10 years.
It ended up being horrifically stressful. It's certainly the earliest memory I have of thinking, "Oh, now I know what stress means! I get it!" I'm sure the other little girls thought it was no better or worse than other birthday parties they attended, but I just couldn't keep track of how all my friends were getting along, and the thought of any two of them not liking each other terrified me.
Of course, when you grow up to be me, you learn quite quickly that no matter how much you love somebody or something, others are unlikely to share in your enthusiasm to the same extent. I might love cephalopods, and I might love you, but you are not required to love cephalopods also.
I won't deny it helps, though.
Wednesday 31 March 2010
Tuesday 30 March 2010
Originally posted in 2007...
[But I STILL think about that damn plastic fork.]
Shortly before my mother died (not more than two weeks prior), my father, my mother, and I all sat in a row on the edge of my parents' TV, staring at a U.S. Open tennis match. A buff American was playing an equally buff Australian. My mother turned to us and asked, "Could you bring me a fork?"
A fork? Okay, sure. Whatever. My father gave me a look that said, "You heard your mother! Erm... or... well... make her happy?" I ran down to the kitchen and decided a plastic fork might be safer; she accepted the white, plastic fork with obvious, earnest gratitude. Relieved (and holding the fork upright in one hand), she began to nod off to sleep.
My father couldn't contain his curiosity and stopped her mid-drifting to ask her why she wanted the fork.
"In case the Brazilians win!" and she pointed at the TV.
A few nights ago, I was walking home from work, and I spotted a white, plastic fork by the side of the road. I make it a habit to pick up at least one piece of litter per walk, so that I can assuage my own ecological guilt by that one unit. Naturally, the fork found its way to my hand, and I in turn found myself thinking I must look really odd, wielding this shiny, white, plastic fork in the darkness of a Shetland night.
AND THEN I remembered.
And then I felt okay and brandished that fork all the way home. Because I really DO need it, in case the Brazilians win.
Shortly before my mother died (not more than two weeks prior), my father, my mother, and I all sat in a row on the edge of my parents' TV, staring at a U.S. Open tennis match. A buff American was playing an equally buff Australian. My mother turned to us and asked, "Could you bring me a fork?"
A fork? Okay, sure. Whatever. My father gave me a look that said, "You heard your mother! Erm... or... well... make her happy?" I ran down to the kitchen and decided a plastic fork might be safer; she accepted the white, plastic fork with obvious, earnest gratitude. Relieved (and holding the fork upright in one hand), she began to nod off to sleep.
My father couldn't contain his curiosity and stopped her mid-drifting to ask her why she wanted the fork.
"In case the Brazilians win!" and she pointed at the TV.
A few nights ago, I was walking home from work, and I spotted a white, plastic fork by the side of the road. I make it a habit to pick up at least one piece of litter per walk, so that I can assuage my own ecological guilt by that one unit. Naturally, the fork found its way to my hand, and I in turn found myself thinking I must look really odd, wielding this shiny, white, plastic fork in the darkness of a Shetland night.
AND THEN I remembered.
And then I felt okay and brandished that fork all the way home. Because I really DO need it, in case the Brazilians win.
Monday 29 March 2010
The Flashback That Started It All
This one time at UGA, one of my friends hosted a party with his housemates. I attended, and as he and I got progressively drunker, he spent hours telling me how he was totally in love with his housemate's girlfriend — how said housemate would treat her horribly, and they kept breaking up and getting back together again — how my friend would treat her better and never be a jerk the way his housemate was.
I sympathized and told him I could tell he was totally serious about her and that it sucked she kept going back to the asshole housemate. We talked and talked and then somehow wound up making out in his bed all night long. It was lots of drunken fun, and even when we were sober in the morning, we were still kissing as he told me how much he loved this girl. We'd never kissed before and never did again, and it really proved to be no bump at all in our friendship. We've mostly fallen out of touch, but I think it had a lot more to do with my moving away from Athens than anything else.
I never doubted that he did in fact love her, and — turns out — my faith was not misplaced. At long last, he did start dating her. They are now happily married. I like to think that I was a shoulder to cry on, a womanly shaped somebody to kiss, and a friend who understood, all rolled into one — a make-out buddy who understood 100% that his heart belonged elsewhere.
I can multitask.
Sometimes.
I sympathized and told him I could tell he was totally serious about her and that it sucked she kept going back to the asshole housemate. We talked and talked and then somehow wound up making out in his bed all night long. It was lots of drunken fun, and even when we were sober in the morning, we were still kissing as he told me how much he loved this girl. We'd never kissed before and never did again, and it really proved to be no bump at all in our friendship. We've mostly fallen out of touch, but I think it had a lot more to do with my moving away from Athens than anything else.
I never doubted that he did in fact love her, and — turns out — my faith was not misplaced. At long last, he did start dating her. They are now happily married. I like to think that I was a shoulder to cry on, a womanly shaped somebody to kiss, and a friend who understood, all rolled into one — a make-out buddy who understood 100% that his heart belonged elsewhere.
I can multitask.
Sometimes.
Sunday 28 March 2010
Welcome!
I live my life in tangential flashbacks.
Any mathematics enthusiast will be able to tell you how exactly you can fill in the circles between tangential lines; in much the same way, these seemingly random stories are relevant to my current life — but perhaps only in ways that I can decipher.
Join me as I share the hopelessly disconnected — or don't, and let your brief glance here prove to be only another tangent in your own life's circles.
Any mathematics enthusiast will be able to tell you how exactly you can fill in the circles between tangential lines; in much the same way, these seemingly random stories are relevant to my current life — but perhaps only in ways that I can decipher.
Join me as I share the hopelessly disconnected — or don't, and let your brief glance here prove to be only another tangent in your own life's circles.
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