Friday, November 26, 2010

A Woman's Mind

A woman’s mind has been described as a big mess of spaghetti. Issues spill into other seemingly separate problems. The wonder of this type of thinking is that women have the ability to see similarities in situations that seem entirely different. Women are relational creatures and this pasta type thinking creates connection between people. A woman’s mind is a wonder in its ability to connect everything. However, it can create some amusing problems.

"A woman's strength is the intuitive grasp of the living concrete; especially of the personal element. She has the special gift of making herself at home in the inner world of others."
~ "Heroines" by Mary Riso

Women are known for being home-makers in the sense that they take care of house and clean house. However, young girls are already perfecting the art of relationship and understanding the inner worlds of others. While men are more action focused, women would prefer to sit down, chatter, and listen to the thoughts of the people around them. Obviously, men and women are incomparable. Yet, out of the human race, they are the only things to compare sometimes. Anyways, a most important strength of the female mind is the fact that women desire to create an inner home within themselves and others rather than just a physical home.

Largely, women are stereotyped as shallow, illogical, flirtatious sprites. If a man or even woman desires to make fun of the female gender, this stereotype raises its impish head. Suddenly, blonde jokes are being cracked and silly impersonations are being enacted. Silly women are definitely a reality. Of course, women also often fall under the category of pragmatic. These women are more recognized as the mothers and wives that keep households and businesses together with their quick and logical thinking. Honestly, people have many facets. They may be thought of in one particular aspect, but they generally have another side that is stereotype-blowing.

Sometimes this spaghetti noodle mindset of women creates problems such as over-analyzing and over-thinking things that really have no significance. However, these small instances that occur in a female’s life can be connected to other issues. For example, a man could say, “hello.” To the man, it was a simple greeting. To the girl, it can be analyzed a million different ways –the most extreme being that the man has just declared his undying love for her in the simplistic word of ‘hello.’ It seems ridiculous. It is ridiculous.

“A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.” - Jane Austen

I would love to joke about the absurdity of this quote. I mean it is seemingly silly. However, as I get older, I believe in the truth of this statement. From what I have seen (and dare I admit it – experienced), women do have rapid imaginations. Of course, these imaginations tend to create an emotional connection. Everything is connected in a woman’s mind and every little aspect has some sort of emotional consequence.

We girls misunderstand a lot of things that go on around us because we over-simplify or over-exaggerate the meaning of conversations or teasing. Having a younger brother, he and I tend to tease and annoy each other purposefully. Of course, we are siblings so as a girl I know his only purpose is to lovingly bother me. However, confusion comes about when girls and boys who are not siblings interact. To a boy, he may only be teasing a girl in a brotherly way. In the girl’s eyes, she sees this kind of behavior as flirting. Somewhere the message is getting confused. It’s a grand mess.

Rapid imagination feeds emotional trauma. In only moments, a hapless female can within the realm of her own mind connect herself with golden threads of dreaming and wishings to some oblivious male. In extreme cases (because I have never actually heard of this or seen it), it might only take crossing paths with this male on a public sidewalk to feed this imagined connection. In her mind, the girl details a million different scenarios of meetings and clandestine whisperings. The girl’s heart flutters over this imagined love. It becomes almost a reality in her mind.

Her fantastic imagined reality becomes obsolete upon the knowledge that this dream man is in a relationship. Crushed, she turns to chocolates and romantic films with sappy endings. This girl wonders where her sappy ever after is. The girl has emotionally traumatized herself because she has secretly connected herself to a man who is totally oblivious possibly even to the girl’s existence. If she stopped falling in love with figments of her imagination, friendships - at the very least - might be a possibility.

“Women are considered deep - why? Because one can never discover any bottom to them. Women are not even shallow.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

Society has pegged many women as shallow. Yet, this shallowness generally covers up a complex story that may explain the woman’s wall of shallow behavior. For example, my roommate has an uncanny way of always getting to the bottom of my inexplicable behavior. I often believe that I do different things just because I do. However, my roommate continually frustrates that belief with a single question of “why.” Even if I haven’t admitted to myself that I have a particular motivation for something, I almost always do. This complexity of reasoning even confuses me since I don’t always understand why I do the things that I do.

On the other hand, a woman’s mind even in its complexity and confusion has a depth that cannot be fathomed or understood. Even to a female, her mind is a confusing and sometimes frustrating place. However, women are loyal to a fault. With tenacity unknown to man, women will cling to their dysfunctional and broken families. These are the things that make her who she is. Attack one that a woman cares for and be prepared for a terrible defensive onslaught. Women will fiercely protect those they love even if this protection does not make sense.

Disclaimer: I may be a woman, but I am still learning about the way that women think. Please feel free to share your opinions about this or go on appropriate tangents related to this particular subject.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

kissing bubbles

I kissed a bubble and it had the audacity to burst in my face.
Perhaps, I should have known that it would explode.
I mean, it was a bubble.
If I had caught it in my hand, it would have been for not.
Perhaps, a butterfly kiss would have been more gentle.
However, some gentle things are quite harsh.
The bubble burst in my face.
And that was harsh.

A bubble is like a dream. It looks well and floats on air. Yet, it does not last long. A dream or a hope can be made in a moment and broken in half a moment. A bubble is made out of iridescent whisperings of breath and whimsy and it might as well be the physical representation of a dream. To catch a bubble or a dream, one must take good care to create the perfect green house atmosphere for said bubble dream. Have you noticed that a bubble can be caught? On the end of the stick from which it was blown, a bubble can be caught again. Therefore, a dream can be re-captured upon the thinking of the mind from which it flew.

So grab your bubble wands and your minds to search out these bursting bubbles and slippery dreams.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

a list in no particular order

1. soft toilet paper
2. dinner finds you - not vice versa
3. family kind of has to love you
4. brother
5. public librarians that know your name
6. sister
7. liquid spraying out of mouth and nose
8. being mothered
9. daddy hugs
10. private family dwelling
11. independently dependent
12. family photos
13. food in the fridge
14. tissues
15. sibling squabbles
16. dentist appointments

This is the short list of things that make me think of family. of home. and home-dwellings. these are also things that i am thankful for.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


"You were born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations."

This line is repeated multiple times to the French prince Henry in the movie Ever After. He refuses to hear the truth behind the statement and desires to fling off his obligations. This prince would prefer to do his own thing. From his perspective, there seems to be no particular purpose to life except duty. He rejects duty as a purpose and desires to live without obligation.

Without much effort, this line echoes in one's mind. However, one sees it only as being directed to the prince. Consider for a moment your circumstances in life. Consider your family. Consider the fact that you may be privileged. You may not be a prince or a queen or even loved by one of these in reality. Yet, you are privileged in station of life and even by the country that you live in. You are privileged merely in the way that you choose to view yourself. It is a state of mind.

Americans, you were born to privilege and with that comes specific obligation.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

We Get On

Allow this to be a sneak peak of a blogpost that is in the process of being written. It explores some aspects of the way that women think. For now, chuckle over these lyrics and even the possibly the video.

"We Get On" by Kate Nash

Simply knowing you exist
Ain't good enough for me
But asking for your telephone number
Seems highly inappropriate

Seeing as I can't
Even say hi
When you walk by

And that time you shook my hand
It felt so nice
I swear I never felt
This way about any other guy
And I don't usually notice people's eyes but

I conducted a plan
To bump into you most accidentally
But I was walking along
And I bumped into you much more heavily
Than I'd originally planned
It was well embarrassing and
I think you thought that I was a bit of a twat

I just think that we get on
I wish I could tell you face to face
Instead of singing this stupid song
But yeah I just think that we might get on

So I went to that party and everyone
They were kind of arty
And I was wearing this dress
Because I wanted to impress
But I wasn't sure if I looked my best
'Cause I was so nervous
But I carried on regardless
Strutting through each room
Trying to find you

And when I saw you
Kissing that girl
My heart it shattered
And my eyes, they watered
And when I tried to speak I stuttered

And my friends were like whatever
You'll find someone better
His eyes were way too close together
And we never even liked him from the start
And now he's with that tart
And I heard she done some really nasty stuff
Down in the park with Michael
He said she's easy
And if your guy's with someone that's sleazy
Then he ain't worth your time
'Cause you deserve a real nice guy

So I proceeded to get drunk and cry
And lock myself in the toilets
For the entire night

Saturday night
I watched channel five
I particularly liked CSI

I don't ever dream
About you and me
I don't ever make up stuff about us
That would be classed as insanity
I don't ever drive by your house to see if you're in
I don't even have an opinion
On that tramp that you're still seeing
I don't know your timetable
I don't know your face off by heart
But I must admit
That there is still a part of me
That thinks we might get on
That we could get on
That we should get on

Saturday, November 13, 2010


risk –noun
exposure to the chance of injury or loss; a hazard or dangerous chance: It's not worth the risk.

Fear is based upon risk. People fear doing things because they risk emotional or physical pain. Fear binds them.

However, good things seem to come from pain or struggle. A person who has knots in his or her back has to undergo an intense massage that will primarily cause pain. After this painful massage, the person's back will be loosened and the pain will be eased. This person had to submit themselves to pain before they could experience release.

"Flowers often grow more beautifully on dung-hills than in gardens that look beautifully kept." ~Saint Francis de Sales

A lot of poop happens in the world. Yes, poop. Struggles come in all forms. It's difficult and these problems seem to last forever. Yet, they help us grow. One of these days, we'll look back at that poop that happened in our lives and we'll be shocked to see a flower blooming in the midst of the poop.

Risk: going to another country, driving a car, taking a breath, going to college, making friends, loving, living, eating...Risk is Life. Life is risk. They are inseparable.

Once in a conversation with my dad about relationships and love, we talked about risk. He told me, "When I married your mother, I thought I loved her as much as I ever could. I was wrong. I love her more today than I ever thought was possible."

I think loving is a risk. Sometimes, I wonder if loving is a risk that is worth taking. My dad obviously votes yes.

The thing about risk is that it is so uncertain and so ambiguously full of 'what if' circumstances. There are a million things that could occur. There is nothing to trust. No one can tell you that your risk will turn out well. No one can tell you it won't hurt. No one can promise you perfection.

The promise of risk is loss. Even if your risk was worth it, you will lose something. Something will change within yourself. It might seem to be a bit of an abstract thought, but a risk results in growth. Growth builds off of old thoughts and discards others.

Risk demands surrender of self. It means letting go of the 'what if' moments and leaping for all you're worth. Don't hop. LEAP. Commit to the unknown and embrace it. Perhaps, you'll impale yourself upon a thorn. However, you may look up and see that the thorn is attached to a rose. That rose bloom won't ease the pain, but it will be a part of the growth.

Without risk, life would not be worth living. There would be no thrill. A life without risk would be easy, but this life of ennui is unfulfilling. A life risked wisely is a life lived and learned.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

my glass menagerie.

inner turmoil.20 years.simple dreams.huge expectations.great dissappointment.the weight.trying life.depth.power.beliefs.opinions.selfishness.hate.defined by society and one's view of society.

"I thought I had escaped the boundaries of society. I rebelled in small and subtle ways. I raised my head defiantly at everything the world handed me. Now, I find that I have been defined by reverse psychology. As much as I fought against the social boundaries that people placed upon me. I have been ensnared by the lack of identity and I have become something that I am not. When did I begin fighting against me?"

"I became exactly what society dictated. I followed to the very last dot on the 'i'. I am a shell."

"I built my life out of expectation. The thing that came out of life was disappointment." birds.what is life.masks.truth hidden.truth found.influences.persuasion.i'm not who i was meant to be.loss.

these are a few of my favorite things...

……………………snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

..........................................faces of confused wonder (this happens when a girl likes a boy and a boy likes her back)
……………………………………………………………………autumn leaves that land on my head
..curling up on a warm sunshiney rock
………reveling in the life learning of others

…………………gazing at pretty eyes (that stare at me too)
…..snickering cynically (at something no one else sees)
..annoying my friends
………………………………………….the bells of children’s laughter
……..the companionship of the moon
……………………..relief after a good poop (I’m being frank)
the risk and the joy of vulnerability.swinging
…..imitating the way that people walk (it’s rather fun. Try it)

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….dancing with the wind
..sending love looks to friends
…………………………………being friends with the Holy Spirit
………………the touch of shared
……..posh, pensive, ambrosial, presence, perhaps, (words that appear in my vocabulary)
……………..a flight of fancy

Friday, November 5, 2010

Slippery Sinks

Watch your step when tiptoeing across a kitchen sink, you may slip and fall into the garbage disposal. I should have known this would happen. In my ridiculous desire to dance upon the lip of the kitchen sink with my long hair frolicking behind me, I slipped. I slipped and fell. Do you know how long it takes to fall down the slippery side of a sink? Do YOU? DO YOU?? I slipped. I did not mean to. I had every intention of keeping my precarious balance. Unfortunately, you know how sometimes there is a bit of residue from forgotten food or soap scum? Well, I was the one who discovered such a patch on the sink. I think it may have been a bit of milk left over from yesterday.

I slipped. I fell. Have you ever felt the cold metal of the kitchen sink? It’s cold. It’s hard. It’s unwelcoming. That’s where I fell. I fell into the depths of the sink. Through my momentum of the slipping, I proceeded all the way to the garbage disposal. Have you seen that thing? It’s like the teeth of some ominous aquatic animal. So while I’m standing on one of the blades realizing the predicament that I have found myself, a spaghetti noodle flops onto my foot. I shy away. It’s like a dead thing. It wiggles and a low rumble erupts from the darkness below. Frantically, my hand reaches for some useful nook to climb out of this angry abyss. Water like a torrent pounds at my fragile self. My happy dance across the lip of the sink has turned into a battle with death.

The teeth of this aquatic monster below spin in a terrifying and hypnotic circle. Somehow, I am suspended between the teeth of this creature. The water funneling from above pulls me down. My will to fight for survival lessens. My acceptance of the situation is impending. Death, he comes to me in the form of a gaping mouth. My hand slips and the powerful water carries me to the dark throat. Eyes clenched shut. Lip bleeding from gnawing on it. A soul tired. At the forceful hand of the water, I am shoved into the thrashing teeth of this uncaring monster.

Suddenly, the scream of metal upon metal shocks me out of my despair. My eyelids fling open in surprise as my overwhelmed body thuds painfully on shuddering blades. There it is – my savior. A huge spoon has forced its head into the mouth of the garbage disposal. The clanking and shuttering of the angry monster below is silenced. Quickly, I gather my water-logged and battered body in an attempt to stand. Staggering like a drunken person, I wrap myself around the neck of the spoon and hold onto this savior. I cling there shivering in horror. The spoon is wrenched out of the garbage disposal by a large hand and laid on the counter. I grip the spoon still.

Finally, after many minutes have passed, I begin to loosen my hold on this cut and scarred spoon. The marks of the teeth slash angrily across the face of the spoon. Looking sadly at the disfigurement of this savior, I see my face. I look like a drowned rat. Figures. Slowly, I re-acquaint myself with my body. It’s still there and I am all in one piece. I shake my head. Water droplets fling everywhere. Yet, there is an absence of something. A familiar weight is gone. With dread in my heart, my hand reaches up to my head. The laughing locks of my hair have vanished. Tears add to the wetness of my face. I survived. My hair did not. It’s shaggy and short.

…so the other day, I tiptoed across the kitchen sink and slipped. I mean, it’s a great excuse for a bad haircut.