I was watching a video the other day of an egret eating a mouse when I came across several more of a crow trying to catch a duckling and a pelican with a duckling trying desperately to escape from its gular pouch. Then I saw some videos of geese fighting with swans, whether for territorial reasons or protecting their young or both, who really knows? After watching several of these, a thought occurred to me: Why can’t all birds just get along? Do they really have to eat each other? Do they really have to bully each other’s young to make a point that the lake belongs to them? It would be like if we had different species of human and some people ate other species of people. Can you imagine that?
People are people are people are people. But what if there were teeny tiny ones living in the grass and really big ones living in the mountains? We could eat the ones in the grass, but we would be eaten by the ones in the mountains. I don’t know if I would like a world like that. So how do we get all the birds to get along?
A long time ago, can’t remember exactly when, a writer told me, butt + chair = writing. Well, tonight I really wish I could say that, but my butt must be on fire the way it hurts and I can’t sit still. Despite the fact that I try to get up and go up and down the stairs to break up the work and not go crazy in my chair during the day, my butt hurts from working all day. I even went running after work and it still hurts. Writing this just intensifies the hurt because I am sitting in my chair typing this. Oh I know! I need one of those raisable desks that make it easy to alternate between standing up and writing and sitting down and writing all in one. Except how much does one of those cost? It must be expensive because it didn’t exist at one point. Anything that was invented costs a lot when it first goes on sale. I know it’s been around for a while now, but since I don’t have one I keep thinking it just went on sale. That’s just how YuMin’s brain works. Take it or leave it. And I guess if you made it this far, you’re taking it. Perhaps I could just get butt pads or something. That may work too. Like for when people learn how to figure skate for the first time. I wonder if that’ll actually work though. Knowing me, it’ll just backfire and make my butt hurt even more by the end of the day. And if you don’t think so, have you met me?
I once read in, I think, Reader’s Digest, that laughter is the best medicine. But then one day I quoted it to one of my friends in college during my depression phase when he didn’t know I was depressed and he responded with, “but nobody here is sick.” He caught me off guard so I agreed without thinking and when he looked into my eyes I think he could tell there was something more going on with me than I was letting on. He frowned in recognition of my pain and mental self-torture. For a split second when my friend could see right through me like that all I wanted to do was scream at the top of my lungs, like that would solve every problem going on in my head, fictional or real. I didn’t scream, but I really wanted to. Yet, for that split second, having that understanding was the only medicine I needed. My friend didn’t know it at the time, but I realized in that moment that while laughter is a great form of medicine, sometimes comfort is the best.
They are thought bullets that stick to my desk and computer monitor. They are scattered. Like little connect-the-dots that seem random, but eventually creates a picture that makes sense once connected. Some are in blue. Some are in purple. Some are in pink. And still some others are in yellow. In my case the different colors don’t mean anything, but for some people, different colors can mean different things.
They are reminders on accounts, a cool new restaurant to try, a fun bookstore to visit, a useful website for writing, a new trick in Excel, a monthly directive, and a music lesson. They are parts of grocery lists, where to get homemade pop tarts, a dentist appointment, an invitation to a Halloween party, and podcasts to listen to. They come shooting out of my fingers faster than my brain can command, wanting to be done so they can jump into my recycling bin and shred bin. But tossing them away is futile, like plucking out unwanted hair. Take one away and two more come back in its place.
I have post-its everywhere. Work and at home.
I was at a Chinese buffet yesterday with my mom (like Scarlett O’ Hara I feel like she is the only woman I can trust) and noticed many families on their phones instead of engaging with each other. Meanwhile my mom and I were swapping stories and laughing and having a good time together. It made me sad and disappointed to see so many disconnected families, but it made me grateful to have the time to spend with my mom in the way that I still can. I am cherishing every moment I get to spend with my mom. You just never know how long you have with someone.
Because of my past experiences I fully understand Kelly Clarkson’s song, “Because of You.” My parents. Because of my past experiences I am most attracted to listening to pop music. Also my parents, but mostly my dad. Because of my past experiences I have had to learn how to socialize. Me…and my parents. I feel weird admitting that, but if you knew the whole story, you would understand where I’m coming from. Because of my past experiences I’ve become better at reading people, both at work and outside of work. My former and current friends and co-workers. This one makes me sad to admit even though I know I’m not the only one. Sad because that’s the reality of humankind.
And reality…isn’t always how we pictured it to be. Usually it is depicted as something negative, a situation worse than we expect or want it to be. Maybe that’s why we spend so much time and money escaping from reality. Some of us build our whole lives around bigger and better ways we can escape reality. Some of us face it every day without ever getting a break. I just hope it doesn’t always have to be a bad thing. I want to believe reality can be something to look forward to all the time rather than to escape all the time.
Learn from me and don’t ever say you want to be invisible out loud. Trust me, no matter how shy you may be, no matter how scared you may be to take a risk, no matter how embarrassed you are, you don’t actually ever want to be invisible. Once you say it out loud, even if only as a joke, you’ll start to see just how many different ways you can be ignored, forgotten, and screwed over.
My first reaction has been anger a lot lately and that is wrong. Wait, is there even such a thing as multiple reactions or are we limited to one reaction per situation? (Haha, I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore. Can you tell?) Anyway…I’ve noticed little things that didn’t bother me that much before now bother me so much, causing me to have a short fuse. Of course, I don’t have any examples because that’s how my brain works. Probably hours after I hit “publish” I’ll have this concrete example and be able to share my “aha!” moment, but this will be posted already so what’s the point, yeah? 😉 There’s no doubt I’m weird.
I thought about maybe I’m just losing my patience, like I’m just not as patient as I used to be. But I really don’t know the answer to my own question. I will say this though: I have become quicker to cut people out of my life who mess with me or don’t treat me right. I have a lower tolerance for people’s excuses, lies, and manipulation. (Which now thinking about it could all go under the category of manipulation, but I’ve been known to be redundant.) I think because of the experiences I have had I have become better at recognizing fake. I think I’ll take that over worrying about what people think of my short fuse.
We are all doctors. I’m having anxiety over having anxiety. This diagnosis happened only because I was scrolling through Facebook and I found a list a Friend had shared over the symptoms of anxiety. I have every single one of them and then I became anxious reading over the list. Then I laughed at this silly exercise because maybe I don’t have anxiety at all and am only suffering under Med School Reading Anxiety. You read about a disease in a book and from the listed symptoms think you have that disease because you are exhibiting those symptoms. Does that make us all doctors if we can read? Yeah, I’m probably anxious. It’s making me antsy just thinking about possibly having anxiety vs. possibly suffering under Med School Reading Anxiety. Maybe I’m looking into this too much. Maybe I have something totally different. I don’t know what that is exactly, but I do have a vague idea. Only I don’t know what it’s called. Hypochondriac comes to mind. Don’t get me wrong though. That’s NOT the same thing as Med School Reading Anxiety. Now I think I’m just suffering under Verbosity. Oi. This is me having anxiety over having anxiety.
I’m looking through a list of not so famous last words and am surprised to see “What duck?” on it. I’m trying to imagine what that line means exactly. Only I can’t because I keep coming up with nothing. This must be some duck if it contributed to someone’s last words. I’m imagining one that is a giant and wears a combat helmet and barks orders. That’s the first thing I think of, and it didn’t come to me right away. My second thought is a normal-sized duck that runs around and bites people. I just don’t know if one is vicious is enough to kill a human being. Plus that behavior reminds me more of a goose than a duck. Duck, duck, goose! Or maybe this duck is supposed to be a metaphor or something. Nah. That can’t be right. Whatever it is, this duck came as a surprise, messed up someone’s plans, thus ending their life. o.O It doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor either. I hope I never run into this duck…