An Odd Moment of Clarity and Contentment

I was just standing in my kitchen, washing down the lovingly combined tastes of nutella, peanut butter and banana, thinking about a recent development in one of my friendships, mulling over the dynamic of my small group, and staring out the window into total blackness, when I noticed that this random plant that my mother has hanging over the sink had a flower on it. Which was random, because I didn't know it could flower. What was really cool though, was that the flower was oozing nectar. There were little droplets of it.

And it smelled amazing.

And I just felt so happy. Standing there, thinking about how incredibly blessed I am by G-D's love, and the friends He's placed in my life. The quietness of life. The joy of the little things, like bananas and flowers and watching people interact with each other, and learning the answer to a question you resolved to never ask, and lists where the things listed start off as single nouns then graduate into full blown sentences. And meta-lists.

Just so content right now.

I'm going to go smell that flower some more.

If I Ever Make It Past the First Pages I'm Sure It Will Just Snowball

Something I started writing early this week before I got bored.

I think one of the saddest things about my life is that I never knew my parents. Maybe that isn’t too sad; there are enough bastards that the ubiquitous nature of it has destroyed the intensity of the tragedy.

No, what’s so incredibly depressing about my state is that both my parents are still alive. And together. Yet somehow I have missed out on knowing them. Ask me their names, I can tell you “Mac and Brenda,” ask me their professions and I will probably lie, mostly from embarrassment. Ask me any detail of their lives, and I could probably answer: when are their birthdays, what are their favorite colors, favorite fish, favorite shirts. But ask me if I know them, and I will change the subject so deftly that you wouldn’t even realize.

I have a necklace that I wear in the summer. It’s a coin that I cut the inside out of, and I attached it to a cord I stole from my mums jewelry dresser when I was younger. I feel as though when my parents die, that’s all I’ll have of them: things I took when I was younger. There was a time when we could’ve grown in each other, but I let it slip away. Now I return for family holidays, and we laugh and hug and give each other gifts, but it just feels like it’s all happening on TV. We’re all actors playing a part, with our little quirks and ticks that make us ‘us.’