ships in the ocean, fish in the bowl
i know i don't really mean it, but sometimes i wish things wouldn't change. or wouldn't have changed. sitting and thinking and longing and wondering and adjusting are just so...tedious. bleh.
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i think i know, whoa, whoa, why you never get too close
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i was thinking something so darn profound at work today, and, blimey, i've forgotten it. figures. truly, truly, grandest inspiration of the mind comes when my limbs dance the rote dance of grounds work. which i love, by the way. except for the dirt under my nails.
and, yeah, what's with we fickle human beings, that we can find such deep and profound moments of beauty and bliss and deepest meaning and the next moment, we turn around from the blinding sunset or the mystifying view and get hung up on something like dirty fingernails? how is it i, one of the most fascinating people i know, can become so consumed in my beauty and my appearance that i'll buy into the standard world of clothes and cosmetics? oh i get it: we all want to be the best [fill in the blank] possible. but, gah, idiot, the best [fill you in the blank] possible is intricately woven in mind and heart beneath that soft or rough or smooth exterior of your odd and wonderful body.
i want to see humans inside out. even though i think i'm damn good at doing it anyway. people are fascinating.
oh!! i thought of my thought from earlier, here noted for my later recollection:
i'd been talking to this guy i work with about his life and his relationships with the women he knows. like, he's this mixed up bag...he's got a run-out-on-him wife, a cute tuesday-friday date fling, aka enevitable rebound girl, and a hmm she's not my typical trophy girl but damn she's interesting and a possible future serious relationship though she's 500 miles away. ye-ikes. recently, he sought my advice on all of these women. me keeping my ears open (always) for a few days at work had allowed me to gather a smattering of information on this guy and his feeling about his pending divorce with run-around wife. conclusion: the guy is pissed to the bone and not ready for a relationship. but that's not the point.
as i was telling this guy, dude, don't let this girl be the rebound girl just so you can dull a little pain at night, i insisted he remember that she's a person too.
think about that.
i was processing the statement i'd made later, as i walked away from the conversation to more yardwork, and i was like, "she's a person too." "she's JUST a person." "a person..." "just a person."
we use these phrases so often, so...casually. in one instance, we can insist someone else take care, they are dealing with a person. in other instances, we'll advice, whoa, whoa, back off, settle down, you're only dealing with a person. what? how does that work?
and i think to myself: why do we let other people form opinions of us and hold those opinions over us; and why do we let ourselves fear people; and why do we let some people matter more than others?
damn, people are people.
or, aren't they?
cause i don't feel like a 'people.' i seem to think i'm special. no, scratch that: i am convinced i'm special.
is that sick and wrong?
but then again: forget you: you're just a person.
or: you're a PERSON. and then i hold you softly with white gloves.
i just like to think about these things.
(listen to mr. brightside while you read this, it'll sound better...such a damn good sound.)
---
i think i know, whoa, whoa, why you never get too close
---
i was thinking something so darn profound at work today, and, blimey, i've forgotten it. figures. truly, truly, grandest inspiration of the mind comes when my limbs dance the rote dance of grounds work. which i love, by the way. except for the dirt under my nails.
and, yeah, what's with we fickle human beings, that we can find such deep and profound moments of beauty and bliss and deepest meaning and the next moment, we turn around from the blinding sunset or the mystifying view and get hung up on something like dirty fingernails? how is it i, one of the most fascinating people i know, can become so consumed in my beauty and my appearance that i'll buy into the standard world of clothes and cosmetics? oh i get it: we all want to be the best [fill in the blank] possible. but, gah, idiot, the best [fill you in the blank] possible is intricately woven in mind and heart beneath that soft or rough or smooth exterior of your odd and wonderful body.
i want to see humans inside out. even though i think i'm damn good at doing it anyway. people are fascinating.
oh!! i thought of my thought from earlier, here noted for my later recollection:
i'd been talking to this guy i work with about his life and his relationships with the women he knows. like, he's this mixed up bag...he's got a run-out-on-him wife, a cute tuesday-friday date fling, aka enevitable rebound girl, and a hmm she's not my typical trophy girl but damn she's interesting and a possible future serious relationship though she's 500 miles away. ye-ikes. recently, he sought my advice on all of these women. me keeping my ears open (always) for a few days at work had allowed me to gather a smattering of information on this guy and his feeling about his pending divorce with run-around wife. conclusion: the guy is pissed to the bone and not ready for a relationship. but that's not the point.
as i was telling this guy, dude, don't let this girl be the rebound girl just so you can dull a little pain at night, i insisted he remember that she's a person too.
think about that.
i was processing the statement i'd made later, as i walked away from the conversation to more yardwork, and i was like, "she's a person too." "she's JUST a person." "a person..." "just a person."
we use these phrases so often, so...casually. in one instance, we can insist someone else take care, they are dealing with a person. in other instances, we'll advice, whoa, whoa, back off, settle down, you're only dealing with a person. what? how does that work?
and i think to myself: why do we let other people form opinions of us and hold those opinions over us; and why do we let ourselves fear people; and why do we let some people matter more than others?
damn, people are people.
or, aren't they?
cause i don't feel like a 'people.' i seem to think i'm special. no, scratch that: i am convinced i'm special.
is that sick and wrong?
but then again: forget you: you're just a person.
or: you're a PERSON. and then i hold you softly with white gloves.
i just like to think about these things.
(listen to mr. brightside while you read this, it'll sound better...such a damn good sound.)