(no subject)
Today was pretty fun in terms of work: APALC's redistricting media briefing was today, and I made an awkward ass of myself in front of all the attorneys. Huzzah. Shortly after 5, we all left for CASA, which was really good[!]; I got the an order each of the steak tacos and tacos al pastor [SO GOOD], and ate one of Laura's chicken ones when she couldn't finish, and had some of the nachos, and ate like, a quarter of the dessert. If you're wondering why I'm not 300 lbs, rest assured, I wonder the same [and thank my lucky stars that I'm not]. I'll really miss working with The Raben Group; Laura, Derrick, and Francella are just such great people, and so nice, and so fun to work with. AHHH. High standards for la futura.
On the uber-crowded bus ride home, I played a mind game of "Shun the Stinkmaker", which is when you try to identify the source of sudden, noxious body odor [the Stinkmaker, naturally] and shrivel in what would be the opposite direction. I R SO MATURE. After a while, I kind of just gave up and wrapped my jacket around my head [notably, to cover my nose and back of my head to lean on the rail] and went to sleep.
I woke up a couple stops from home [always perfect timing for some reason...this is probably my superpower, Punctual Powernaps] and noticed the bus was almost empty. One of the passengers of note was several seats diagonally from me. He appeared to be about seventy, and had hearing aids on, and a breathing tube [the kind that cross the face horizontally below the nose and has two tubes going into the nostrils], and a slim oxygen tank on a wheeled trolley. He was alone, with a copy of the Los Angeles Times and his oxygen tank. To say I sympathized with him would be an understatement--at the time, I pitied, admired, feared, and was moved him; I felt so sorry that he had to suffer that, admired that he could get out at 8 pm with everything [where was he coming from/going to?], feared the moment when I find that I, too, have aged, and felt so moved by the sight that I wanted to ask him about his life story [no joke]. I thought better of the last, mostly because I realized how unbelievably rude that would be but also because my stop was coming up, but I kind of wish I had--what would have been a few more stops for me? I could have just asked my parents to pick me up. Ah well, chances are I'll miss such chances in the future anyway.
Lately, I've been coming to terms with the fact that I actually crave attention. I feel like I have so many things I can do, and can probably do well, and should be doing, but for whatever-the-hell reason am not doing. I feel so sad when I'm not recognized for my potential, even though it typically remains just potential so there's no reason whatsoever to recognize it--like, sometimes I see people talking without me and I think to myself: I'm a moderately humorous and likable person, why don't people smile and laugh like that with me? At the same time, I kind of fear that kind of attention, because I feel like I have some sort of pressure to maintain excellence, like if I were to be known for singing, I'd always have to sing and sing well or something. I don't know if I'd be able to handle ever-vigilance like that.
Good god, why the devil am I blabbering about this? I'm such a vain person. Humility, receive me! Or better yet, just love me, people.
If you can't love me, LOVE THIS MUSIC INSTEAD. I've had this Mozart mass stuck in my head forever, and basically have the soprano Kyrie memorized. Learn it so it'll make sense when I warble it to you.
On the uber-crowded bus ride home, I played a mind game of "Shun the Stinkmaker", which is when you try to identify the source of sudden, noxious body odor [the Stinkmaker, naturally] and shrivel in what would be the opposite direction. I R SO MATURE. After a while, I kind of just gave up and wrapped my jacket around my head [notably, to cover my nose and back of my head to lean on the rail] and went to sleep.
I woke up a couple stops from home [always perfect timing for some reason...this is probably my superpower, Punctual Powernaps] and noticed the bus was almost empty. One of the passengers of note was several seats diagonally from me. He appeared to be about seventy, and had hearing aids on, and a breathing tube [the kind that cross the face horizontally below the nose and has two tubes going into the nostrils], and a slim oxygen tank on a wheeled trolley. He was alone, with a copy of the Los Angeles Times and his oxygen tank. To say I sympathized with him would be an understatement--at the time, I pitied, admired, feared, and was moved him; I felt so sorry that he had to suffer that, admired that he could get out at 8 pm with everything [where was he coming from/going to?], feared the moment when I find that I, too, have aged, and felt so moved by the sight that I wanted to ask him about his life story [no joke]. I thought better of the last, mostly because I realized how unbelievably rude that would be but also because my stop was coming up, but I kind of wish I had--what would have been a few more stops for me? I could have just asked my parents to pick me up. Ah well, chances are I'll miss such chances in the future anyway.
Lately, I've been coming to terms with the fact that I actually crave attention. I feel like I have so many things I can do, and can probably do well, and should be doing, but for whatever-the-hell reason am not doing. I feel so sad when I'm not recognized for my potential, even though it typically remains just potential so there's no reason whatsoever to recognize it--like, sometimes I see people talking without me and I think to myself: I'm a moderately humorous and likable person, why don't people smile and laugh like that with me? At the same time, I kind of fear that kind of attention, because I feel like I have some sort of pressure to maintain excellence, like if I were to be known for singing, I'd always have to sing and sing well or something. I don't know if I'd be able to handle ever-vigilance like that.
Good god, why the devil am I blabbering about this? I'm such a vain person. Humility, receive me! Or better yet, just love me, people.
If you can't love me, LOVE THIS MUSIC INSTEAD. I've had this Mozart mass stuck in my head forever, and basically have the soprano Kyrie memorized. Learn it so it'll make sense when I warble it to you.