There are times I really want to scream my head off. No, not times. All the time.
And not because life sucks or I’m depressed or I’m bipolar. (No disrespect to anyone who is feeling this way. For real. I mean it.) I just have so many thoughts they feel like they’ll confetti out of my head.
That’s it? Just a plethora of thoughts? My grandma can hold 1,000 thoughts in her head simultaneously without a helmet on.
That doesn’t even make sense.
Tee-hehe! Ryan Higa humor for you!
Nothing. You’re so immature. When are you going to pull out of a Peter Pan and grow up?
I wish my brain would think differently. But I don’t even know exactly what differently would look like. Or rather, sound like. Maybe it just needs silence. What does that sound like? I feel like that is impossible. No matter how quiet it is, there is always some noise. The hum of your laptop. An airplane flying overhead. Creaks in the wooden floor. Water running through pipes.
Maybe silence just means eclectic.
Moisturized skin is like a brand new start. A clean slate. Vanilla ice cream. The girl who screamed the loudest in my face went to law school. I ended up in accounting. What does that say about me? It’s like rain during your drive home, but it turns into sunshine as soon as you get home. Where did it all go? It got all mixed up in a fatberg. In stray hairs on the carpet that get picked up over and over again. Some were pulled out and others fell out of the sky into a Vanessa Carlton song. Stay the course. If you don’t, you veer somewhere off course into the wrong hole. Then if it turns out to be a black hole, you’re screwed. You may never come out, or if you do come out, you come out inscrutable to the rest of the world. So much for brand new starts…
I want to go relax on the beach. Actually, I want to go somewhere I don’t have to overanalyze anything or do anything that has to be done. Because things that have to be done are such silly poos. Maybe that’s not the right word. I call my friends that I like silly poos, not my obligations. Friends that I don’t like are called friends. Anyway…wouldn’t it be nice to escape forever? Or if not forever, at least for a long period of time to some magical place where there is no concept of time so when you come back, you haven’t aged and can pick up right where you left off. Narnia! That’s it. Is Narnia like that? It’s been so long since I’ve seen the movie and read the book. I have the book, but I’m too lazy to extricate it from its home on the shelf and read it again to answer my own question. I’d have to read as fast as Albert from “How to Build a Better Boy” for that to work anyway. It would be nice to be able to talk to books. Then they could answer my questions for me. There would be no need for Google or encyclopedias. Yes, you have entered into the weirdness of YuMin’s mind after work.
Writer’s block is a terrible condition. It makes you sniff your nails and try to clean them if they smell off. Distract yourself by watching random music videos. Scratch your hair. Adjust your glasses 531 times. Pick at your temporary tattoo. Pick up hair from the carpet one strand at a time. Fold 1,000 paper cranes. Wait…I don’t think I’m quite at a thousand…
Clean your pencil sharpener. Check Facebook and Twitter. Take out the trash. Fill in your planner for next week. Floss your teeth. Shower.
And then it chases you back to your seat where butt + chair = write.
You died today. I know nothing about you except that your mother must have accompanied you to every lesson and written down everything you were doing wrong. She smiled at your teacher and then as soon as you were alone with her at home the stern look would make an appearance and everything written down would fly off the page and onto your face, leaving you wondering why someone who doesn’t even know how to hold the bow right could believe she’s good at everything, including this. I know you must have practiced ten hours a day or maybe it was two hours every night after school and then work before joining such a prestigious orchestra. That must have been the most nerve-wracking audition of your life, but at least one where you didn’t feel like you had to tell anyone what they wanted to hear about how your audition went because it was all the truth. Your truth. And you were finally ready to tell it. That’s why LA Phil let you in. Your father must have never supported your dream which only made you practice harder, not so much to prove him wrong as so much not wanting to end up like him, skeptical of anything and anyone that didn’t have to do with his immediate family. LA Phil headlines are still here. You died, but your dream stays alive.
Hilary Duff is not exactly mesmerizing like Lindsay Lohan. But her Greta character really pulled me in. I don’t remember ever being as obvious as her when I was 16, but once again, I can relate to how she feels in a world “According to Greta.” I think Greta works for Hilary Duff because she’s so opposite of Lizzie McGuire and you don’t expect Hilary Duff to play someone like Greta. When you have low expectations, results turn out better. I didn’t expect her to play someone so troubled she wants to kill herself, so when she did it well, I really appreciated her performance as the work of art it was. Her clothes, her hair, her make-up, and her attitude all came together nicely to play a convincing suicidal girl. There was more to her character than just a girl contemplating ending her life. Those thoughts rarely come from nothing. When you find out more about her life, you begin to get inside her head, but at the same time feel bad for her. It’s funny both Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff ended up in movies with moms and grandmoms who send unruly daughters away to deal with their rebellious teenaged girls. Greta writes in a notebook and I immediately gravitate towards anyone who does that. Her thoughts she shares makes her accessible in a way you can understand her. The story itself delivers a good message: suicide affects those around you the most. People can only try to save you so much. If you kill yourself you hurt the people who love you the most. In the end only you can save you. Besides worrying about you, the people that love you have a lot of their own troubles to worry about. It’s not necessary to make others prove to you that they care about you by risking their lives to save you. Oh, and one more thing. If I had Greta as my waitress, I would request to be seated in her section every time as well.
My history of art professor taught me the meaning of mesmerized. The word came from a guy named Mesmer and right now I cannot think of exactly what she said he did, but it looks like his name has something to do with the spelling. There was also a painting she showed us with some guy who had a look on his face like he was in a trance or something. That’s the kind of feeling I get about Lindsay Lohan. I think ever since I saw her in “The Parent Trap,” I have been at least a little bit fascinated with her. It may have something to do with her being born exactly one day after me. It doesn’t matter. What matters is I can relate to her and she is talented. She is a talented actress and not such a bad singer as well. “Georgia Rule” was made during a time in my life when I really needed a story like it and I was mesmerized watching Lindsay Lohan’s performance. I’m not going to say I can relate to everything in this story. There’s no way. But the biggest thing I can relate to is Rachel’s need to rebel at her age. Her grandmother reminds me of my mother, and for that matter, Asian mothers in general. At her age I would not have had the lady balls to try to seduce the local vet, perform oral sex on someone else’s boyfriend, let alone someone else’s Mormon boyfriend, and go through child molestation by my stepfather. I feel for Rachel even though I have never gone through the same trauma. She is like all of us—someone who wants to be understood and loved by someone she can do the same for right back. To be honest, I don’t think I could have done what she did at any age, but because of the kind of broken girl she was playing, I can see why she did what she did. It doesn’t excuse her behavior, but by the end of the movie I think I’m in love with Georgia’s granddaughter as well.