I’m working on something. It’s working too. A bit.
See – I used to take everything personally. Like the planet was whirring out of orbit just to make it a lil tough for me to – say – balance that coffee on my knee. So if it spilt, it was – hey, Gravity Sucks! Y’know?
And say, if you dropped the coffee, I’d say – Hey, you dropped the coffee, haha. But if I dropped the coffee, I’d say – Ugh, the coffee fell. Like the coffee cup grew hands and pitched itself over the saucer – just to make my day a little lousier.
So now, I’m changing the way I see life. Like that signal has not turned red JUST when I reached it because it knew deep down inside its metal heart that I was driving up. Nope. It’s not Fate either. Nor the planets or stars. None of the usual suspects, oh no. It was because I planned it down to the last micro-minute. And I am naturally late. And this perfectly normal signal (with its evil metal heart) is not to blame. Though it has a red eye that’s taking longer than usual to turn green. Grrr.
Working on it, working on it. So, the next time something goes wrong. Say some idiot phones at midnight on a wrong number, I’m going to say – hey, not your fault you dialed wrong, you perfectly normal intellectually-challenged soul with a finger too fat to hit the right keys. It’s because it’s my fault. I bought the wrong phone. I got the wrong number. I have wrongly kept my phone under my pillow at night. I am wrongly sleeping at midnight when I should be awake waiting for wrong calls. Yup, my fault.
As I said, working on it…. Working on it.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
The Lizard of Oz
We had the kind of dream holiday in Australia, where we wanted to throw out the clocks. But Time, with its usual arrogance, kept ticking away. And in the last few days, we had to pack our bags.
How do you pack a memory? Should I take a handful of sand from the quaint Hillary’s Quay? Or a handful of kangaroo feed from the Wildlife pack, where we walked with the roos? Or something unbelievably cute like Dinosaur cookie cutters from one of those grand malls?
Should I pack a lil bit of Mary Anne’s delicious cooking? Or a bubble from the boys’ much loved bubble bath? Or a bunch of grapes that Greg’s growing wild in his backyard? Or a lopsided non-round non-foot Aussie football?
We got bags full of stuff of course, a lil something for everyone, and hordes of pix lovingly put together by Greg.
And then Mary Anne got me the lizard.
He’s silver and shiny, and covered with rhine stones, and he has all-knowing glassy eyes. I fell in love with the lizard. And planted a kiss on his cold sparkling head. Maybe, like a frog, he would turn into a prince?
But something even more magical happened. He turned into nothing. But he turned me into something different. I became more relaxed, a little wiser (or a little more silly), more grateful for just wide blue skies and purple grapes and hugs.
He made me realize that it’s not the things I saw that made me happy, but the people. And I can’t pack them back in my bags of course.
But if you’re really nice to me and leave me some nice comments out here, I’ll lend you my Lizard. And let him work his magic on you too.
How do you pack a memory? Should I take a handful of sand from the quaint Hillary’s Quay? Or a handful of kangaroo feed from the Wildlife pack, where we walked with the roos? Or something unbelievably cute like Dinosaur cookie cutters from one of those grand malls?
Should I pack a lil bit of Mary Anne’s delicious cooking? Or a bubble from the boys’ much loved bubble bath? Or a bunch of grapes that Greg’s growing wild in his backyard? Or a lopsided non-round non-foot Aussie football?
We got bags full of stuff of course, a lil something for everyone, and hordes of pix lovingly put together by Greg.
And then Mary Anne got me the lizard.
He’s silver and shiny, and covered with rhine stones, and he has all-knowing glassy eyes. I fell in love with the lizard. And planted a kiss on his cold sparkling head. Maybe, like a frog, he would turn into a prince?
But something even more magical happened. He turned into nothing. But he turned me into something different. I became more relaxed, a little wiser (or a little more silly), more grateful for just wide blue skies and purple grapes and hugs.
He made me realize that it’s not the things I saw that made me happy, but the people. And I can’t pack them back in my bags of course.
But if you’re really nice to me and leave me some nice comments out here, I’ll lend you my Lizard. And let him work his magic on you too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)