2001-08-08 - 4:19 p.m. - trivialis15

Well. I'm back from Indianapolis, folks. I know you didn't miss me or my writing (I called the people at the Psychic Hotline to find that out), but there's nothing you can do about this. The wedding was beautiful, and I'm very happy for both the groom and the bride. (I still think it's weird that they met at a family reunion.)

Scenes from Indianapolis:

-I said goodbye to my cousin and her boyfriend something like five times. Each time I actually believed it - see, we were at this brunch thing, and my sister and my father kept trying to pack me off with other people, but it didn't work. Brenda's going to be a writer, and Billy- well, I'm not quite sure what he does, but whatever it is, he has but one more year left. Good luck to both.

-I saw my first and probably last episode of the American version of "Queer as Folk." I don't get cable, let alone Showtime. It was... an experience. My father didn't get any of it and kept asking me questions. He got sick of that and went to take a shower.

-I got into a discussion about screaming, hyperactive babies with Billy: is it some weird Darwinian mechanism (the screaming and hyperactivity, that is)? Here's how it might work: screaming, hyperactive child scares other parents away from having children. Therefore, the SHC's genes are more likely to be passed on. Here's a drawback: screaming things are easier to eat because you know where they are.

-A discovery: my parents exacerbate my mild non-OCD/excess neatness complex. Checking out of the hotel, I was so proud of myself: I'd checked the room for left articles only twice! Then my father asked me, "Are you sure we didn't leave anything?" I just had to go back to check the room, but I don't think he meant me to check three more times. (I demanded it for my peace of mind!)

-A mystery: I know I speak too quietly and too quickly more often than I should. But how on EARTH did the waitress manage to hear "plain" in place of "blueberry" when I asked her for "blueberry pancakes, please"? How do three syllables become one?

And now, non-Indianapolis notes:

My cousin's grandmother has promised me that once cabbage is in season, she'll teach me how to make kimchi, starting from the selection of the cabbage and moving onward to the process of putting it in jars. So cool.

I'm at war with myself, I finally realized: living with people who tell me that I'm not trying hard enough, that I'm not smart enough, that I'm never going to amount to anything has slowly been taking its toll: I'm competing with myself, really, trying to prove to myself that I can and should feel good about myself, so I can give myself a sense of self-worth; I'm trying to prove to myself that I'm ok, that I'm not stupid or a klutz or someone who's destined for the dustbin of history, that I'm basically good: but I can't prove any of these things to myself and I can't be told them because I know that it will never work until I believe them. That nasty belief clause hasn't stopped my friends from trying, though. Plus this whole proof thing means that I have too much ego, I think, when it comes to music - explains in part why I always feel like I'm always in conversation trying to shove my way into the ascendant and into dominance- yes, this is unhealthy. But how to solve it? I've made a beast of myself, coping this way, and now I've got to fix it because I can't put it off any longer.

And just the other day my mother said, "Friends? Who needs friends when you've got work? Schoolwork is more important than any friends of yours, anyway."

Sigh.

While in Indianapolis, I finshed one of the two poetica-collab poems I've got to cook up before the end of the month (which is also my oldest sister's birthday). You don't get to see it now, though, because I'm saving it until I can post both. But: see the stuff in italics below? That's a quote, folks. It's with that that I'll end today.

"He really is getting smaller," said Treehorn's mother. "What will we do? What will people say?"

"Why, they'll say he's getting smaller," said Treehorn's father. He thought for a moment. "I wonder if he's doing it on purpose. Just to be different."

"Why would he want to be different?" asked Treehorn's mother.

-Florence Parry Heide, The Shrinking of Treehorn

J (:>