Jealous of the Homeless Family

I was at the Oliver Gospel Mission this afternoon serving the homeless and downtrodden Thanksgiving  dinner. I notice a family made up of a mother, father & boy who I would say was about 10 or so.

There were bright smiles all me today, mostly from those that got a good hot meal in quite sometime. However, the brightest smiles came from that family. There weren’t smiling because of the food, they were smiling because they knew they had each other.

Once I realized this, my pangs of jealousy hit hard. It was then I remembered that I have no one. Sure I have condo, car, 2 cats and other material things, but at the same time I have absolutely nothing. I hate the holidays.

I leave while the family is still there relaxing after their meal. My volunteer shift was up. I came home to a darkened condo, 2 cats sleeping, a frozen TV dinner that will be my Thanksgiving meal & the knowledge that I’m jealous of the homeless family. Maybe I should start drinking or something. Gah

The Line And The Box.

Since birth, we’ve been told rules and theories of polarities.

Good and Evil. Bad and Good. (I don’t mean to run out of vocab here.) Do and Don’ts.

Some of us find amusement in these extremities, others scorn and forget, but there are a group of people, who cling to them words and basically, worship them. That. Included, me.

I hate to judge people like me who hate being judge, and who doesn’t? but I can judge at least me and deal with myself later.

I belong to the bunch who hang on for various reasons.

1. The contradictions in these polarities once there are gray areas.
2. I’m intrigued by these grays.
3. I’m overly intrigued by these grays.
4. I’ve nothing else to do, because everything else is black or white, and I’m intrigued by greys.
5. I’ve gone mad.
6. I seek identity in my madness.
7. I am who I am.
8. I walk around with a lot of frustration, because you can’t make grey any more white, and yet you don’t wanna be sucked into a black whole even if it’s a solution.
9. I like running on roads against vehicles.
10. I write the words

A photograph depicting the breaking of two opposite polarities.

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And so the incredibly entertaining list goes on. It doesn’t always stop at ten.

A friend of mine. Should I say colleague. Ex-colleague.

I read her blog.

She sounded awful and yet consoled. Like I used to me with my plankton, organisms and my poems on amoeba if you will.

I think she is intrigued. But lost. Angry and frustrated. Misunderstood and even more angry.

Reading it was like reading myself all over again.

I’m not like that no more. But I asked myself why, as if afraid to lose that singular, but scattered part of me.

I used to find consolation, and resolution in my beliefs, that had somewhat no conclusions. There couldn’t be. Unless you blackened it, really. I was too honest and stubborn to my theories to darken and resolve them. And so they stuck like a foreign chewing gum in hair. Until it’s chopped it off.

Being in a box is an addiction.

You can have withdrawal symptoms. Obsession. The extremities on the other end. Instead of nothingness, you have plenty. Shopping. Instead of quiet, you have yakyakyak.

I hated it, but it pulls you out of your box so you can play with the other fishes, some in their box, some long out, and some never in, it’s hilarious, I tell you.

I’ve learned, that it comes back to one thing. We are all finding our meaning, a purpose in life and in living. We can stall or contain the excitement, boredom, or frustrations (if you will) in our own singular ways; you can even swap ways along your journey, like myself, just so you had a taste of everything in life. Whatever you do, don’t throw this key of life away, you don’t have it? You won’t even need to know what I’m talking about. You don’t exist. Game over.

My Retarded Cat

Tragedy struck my household Wednesday when my retarded cat, Snowball, decided it would be a great idea to eat a piece of the couch, the neighbors Hummel collection and some straw. I came home to the lovely sight of vomit sprayed in little spots on the carpet, and after an awesome projectile vomit exhibition, I decided to take her to the vet. The X-rays showed without a doubt that there was inedible material such as plastic and fabric in her GI tract, and there was no choice but to do exploratory surgery on her. I imagine it was like the scene in Jaws where they cut the shark’s stomach open and pull out bunch of crap, tossing it on the ground behind them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they found a Rhode Island license plate or a child’s leg in there.

So I guess this is just an elaborate way of saying there is no real update this week because I’m busy taking care of my goofball cat & watching football. But I’ll tell you what, just so it sort of looks like a real update to the people that just skim the words I’ll create a list of things they found in my cat’s stomach.

• Twine
• Ribbon
• 4 dimes
• Milkduds
• The Entire DVD set of The Sopranos, Season 3
• “A Boy and His Blob” for NES
• The Colonel’s secret recipe
• 50 pack of Magnum X-Large condoms
• Donald Duck Pez dispenser
• Box of nails
• Alan wrench
• Hammer
• Toolbox
• The original draft of the Declaration of Independence (As seen in the movie “National Treasure”)
• Entire collection of the “Left Behind” series hardback edition.
• Jimmy Hoffa’s femur
• Amelia Earhart’s plane
• Steven Segal’s career
• The University of California at Berkley hopes and dreams of a national title.

Until later sometime this week…