Why are unicorns so special? If you line up a bunch of them together, they start to look the same. Or they are so different you can’t tell anything unique from one unicorn to another that their idiosyncrasies become inscrutable. Thus, they start to look the same. I think anything depreciates in value once it starts to resemble everything else out there. Once you start to see the image of a unicorn everywhere, it doesn’t look that interesting anymore. It becomes too common, too familiar. Think of the very first motor vehicle. That could have been considered a unicorn at one point. But now cars are everywhere so they don’t feel so special anymore. (It still tickles me though that we measure using horsepower, so it’s like the car is the new horse and carriage at one point in time.) For that matter, any new invention is a unicorn at the outset. (Haha, I just referenced my blog here. xD)
I suppose the real appeal of a unicorn is it is imaginary. Images of them are all we have. So we continue to be fascinated by them, trying to imagine all different kinds in all different colors for all different occasions. It seems to me there is nothing else that represents originality and individuality in quite the same way as this one-horned horse. It has been around for a long time, a part of ancient history. That is actually funny now thinking about it because the unicorn has become this symbol of freedom, peace, and magic (at least to me it is) and it’s the only one of its kind. Doesn’t that make you laugh? xD (Or at least chuckle.) I’m sure P. T. Barnum would beg to differ, but I’m not worried about opening up that whole circus of worms. There’s no way for me to research this whole entire planet to prove my point, but I truly believe when you think of anything that stands out, you think of a unicorn.
Or maybe a unicorn is an idea, not even tangible at all (you know what I mean). Something hard to obtain, but once you come up with it, it’s like winning the Super Bowl. And that pivotal “Eureka!” moment equals The Unicorn. It is not easily defined, though easily to picture in the mind, so the unicorn has become that thing that is so close, yet so far, and in the end, maybe that’s what makes it so special.
Getting the stomach flu is what makes you appreciate eliminating waste, flatulence, and hurling more than any other time in your life. Well, maybe during food poisoning as well. That’s all I have to say about that.
Saturday, September 9, 2017 – (I’m still working on the format for these posts) Us four ladies were going to go to brunch at Cafe Europa and then to the Chalk Walk, but due to a riot/march going on over near the Chalk Walk in Kansas City, we decided to be safe and not attend. (For the record, I know I’m behind on documenting these events and I’m working on catching up.) However, I can honestly say I had a good time at brunch. Two of the ladies I had met before, one from belly dancing, and another from the sushi train. That familiarity helped. The only other girl I hadn’t met before was from New York and I knew right away she’d be interesting to meet and I was right.
For some reason, even though usually I can’t really have coffee as it goes right through me, whenever I meet up with someone inside a coffee shop I’m in a different mindset, one where I will order a coffee. I will be honest and say that since this was so long ago in terms of having a cup of coffee and remember what it tasted like, I don’t remember what it tasted like, but I do remember it being good. I also do remember the beautiful, colorful paintings on the wall so I took a picture of them to share. I can’t remember anymore exactly what I ordered to eat for brunch, but I do remember it being good. My stomach never lies. It’s like my second brain.
We had a lot of laughs over stories about where we are from. Again, I don’t remember all of them in great detail, but I do remember the topics being around weird blind dates, relationships, sickness, injuries, and grandmas. This kind of sounds like typical girl stuff, which goes to show that even if you don’t know each other all that well, you can always connect on the topic of relationships.
Mothers of good girls will never understand why their daughters are attracted to bad boys. Mothers of bad boys will perpetually understand why their sons are attracted to good girls. The good girl/bad boy combo makes me think of Jess and Rory and Landon and Jamie. It didn’t quite work out between the first couple, but it worked out for the second couple. That’s because Landon changed. Jess didn’t. The bad boy must eventually turn good to keep a good girl. Lorelai never approved of Jess, but she let her daughter make her own mistakes. Luke, albeit not Jess’ mother, approved of Rory and even encouraged the relationship, believing she will be a good influence on his bad boy nephew. I’d say she was, considering he eventually became the one ex-flame who could set her straight whenever she strayed from her good girl path. When she dropped out of Yale, he came to visit her and call her out. When she lost her journalism gigs, he told her to write a book about something she’s passionate about.
Meanwhile you’ve got Jamie’s father who absolutely did not approve of Landon and Landon’s mother asking him to be careful with Jamie since she was the Reverend’s daughter. Because of who Jamie was, Landon changed and told his mother so when she found his little piece of paper that had a big dream on it to get into medical school. Landon changed so much he became the miracle Jamie wanted to witness and only then did the Reverend accept him for who he was. Clearly, opposites attract, but don’t last unless one of the opposites changes to be like the other opposite.
It is raining right now and I started wracking my brain for any rainstorm memories and my brain started to get frustrated with me. I know there are plenty of times where it rained in my life, but the only memory I can think of right now is from third grade when my parents and I just got back from grocery shopping. We had parked the car at our apartment complex, but we didn’t want to get out of it on account of not having an umbrella. We sat for how long I don’t know, but it didn’t seem long because one of our neighbors eventually saw us. He walked out to our car with an umbrella and walked us back to our apartment. Mom thanked him for keeping us unsoaked.
I guess this memory stood out because it felt like a random act of kindness, even though technically it wasn’t since we knew our neighbor really well and he was just watching out for us. I didn’t tell my brain to wrack it up, it wracked it up on its own and I think that particular memory stood out for a good reason.
Kindness is how I want to remember 2018.
It’s been a month (5 days ago) since my father passed away and I’m still not over the shock. Neither is my mother. I don’t know what I was expecting, like I should be over it by now? I keep imagining in my head that all those around me must be expecting that I’d be over it by now, uncertain if I really am imagining these expectations or that’s really what they are expecting and then I think of course not, no one is expecting me to be over it by now, what a ridiculous thing to expect! Right?
I go back and forth and question myself and start to wonder if my thoughts are correct. Who does that? Moi, apparently. And then I wonder if that’s the right thing to do. I try to live day to day life as normally as possible, then something makes me think of him and the tears come. For my mother it’s worse. She used to work with him so every time she goes to work now she can’t avoid seeing someone who used to know him or used to work for him. The tears come uncontrollably and she carries them home with her. She can’t hide them from me and I feel bad. I don’t know how to stop feeling bad for my mother. I just worry about her.
It just doesn’t make sense. How can someone go from being here with you, talking to you, eating with you, listening to you one minute to Gone the next? I really don’t get it. I miss him so much.
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.