Some Random Thoughts
I've had various ideas floating around in my head. None of them are coherent enough for a journal entry of their own, or deserve that much space, but if I don't get them out I'll forget them:
A couple of weeks ago I found myself in a discussion on Dennis' lj about Dunkin Donuts vs Starbucks. despite walking past two of them to get to work, I don't go into Dunks very often, so I made a point of doing so. Their medium coffee is exactly the same price as Starbuck's. And I realized something: above and beyond the atmosphere differences and the styrofoam cups and the fair trade discussion and the quality of the coffee itself, I like Starbucks better because they assume I want to put the cream and sugar in myself. And I'm enough of a control freak to appreciate that.
******
This past Sunday on my way into the Starbucks around the corner from work, I groggily disregarded the homeless guy standing outside. And then I realized he wanted me to buy him food, not give him money. So I did, and it made me feel good, not only to help someone in need, but to know that not everyone out there is just trying to swindle you.
*****
For that matter I've had a few interesting encounters with people either down on their luck or affectatiously appearing that way. Prior to the Sunday story by an unremembered amount of time, I was in Wendy's eating my dead cow on white bread and my microwaved potato, sipping my carbonated, caffeinated corn syrup beverage, when a guy sat down at the other end of the four-seater table from me. I was ok with this, and conversation inevitably ensued. He was some sort of out-of-work construction worker. I got the impression that he mostly did things either under the table or day by day. I finished eating and left before him, careful not to give my name or the name of the place that I work. Not that he was inherently sketchy, but I've learned not to give out too much info to random people I meet out and about.
That same day (Thursday?) while at work and taking advantage of some dead time to get stuff done I had a guy come in, dark jacket, flannel shirt buttoned down, skinny jeans and sneakers, stringy dark hair to his shoulders, strong cheekbones and intense and pale eyes, asking to borrow my tape. I let him. After he left I kind of regretted it, worrying that he would not come back with our tape dispenser. Of course he did. Turns out, he was helping to promote some experimental jazz thing at the church across the street, and had forgotten to bring a way to attach his poster to the door. And the more we chatted, and the more I watched him, the more I realized that this was a perfect example of someone with either funds to his name or at least a middle class upbringing (college student, perhaps) who chooses to attempt to look scruffy. Except everything was too clean, and his carriage was all wrong. This was clearly some overeducated indy kid, possibly attending Berklee.
*****
I don't believe in innocence. Or at least, I don't think it's something we should exalt. This was evidenced to me on Saturday as Krys and I had dinner with Deepa. Deepa is an old high school friend, a sweet girl who Krys and I agree needs to learn how to stand up for herself and break out of her sheltered life with her parents. As dinner progressed I found myself saying some things that rather shocked her. Afterwards, Krys despaired of ever helping her. I realized that yes, we cannot implant a spine into this girl. But we (or at least I) can simply exist her life, and not hide who we are, as a reminder that it doesn't have to be the way her parents and her religion tell her it should be.
*****
Deepa said something to me about my being the courageous one. Or at least, something about not having fear. (Krys remembers quotes better than I. I'm good a concepts.) That's not true. I'm afraid of a lot of things. And anyone close to me knows that what I'm afraid of doesn't always make sense. But I've been the pariah a couple of times, and I know what I can and can't handle. So what I'm not afraid of is people hating me. And I'd rather be afraid of the known crazy stalker person than of humanity as a whole because of the possibility they might dislike me. There's a lot of people out there.
*****
In fact, there are 6+ billion people out there. Which means one of the other things I'm not afraid of is being alone. whether that means completely friendless or without romantic companionship. Dying alone doesn't scare me. After all, aren't we ultimately alone in that part of this journey anyhow? The point is that if I desperately need company-- of any kind-- I'll find it. Even if it's just online. Or, for that matter in a book.
*****
Speaking of, a surprising amount of myself is tied up in my reading material. It's influenced me, and I've influenced the collection. Picking up certain books is like revisiting an old friend. And picking up others is revisiting a time in my past, a mindset I once had. My collection, with a little decyphering, is very much a road map to me.
*****
To jump back, death itself doesn't scare me. I sometimes find myself taking comfort in the idea that this is it. I have this life to do with as I please, and then my consciousness ends when my brain stops functioning. The record of my being here is the one I create and leave behind. And even that is temporary.
What does scare me is the pain that so often precedes.
*****
I know there was other stuff, but I can't think of it at the moment.
A couple of weeks ago I found myself in a discussion on Dennis' lj about Dunkin Donuts vs Starbucks. despite walking past two of them to get to work, I don't go into Dunks very often, so I made a point of doing so. Their medium coffee is exactly the same price as Starbuck's. And I realized something: above and beyond the atmosphere differences and the styrofoam cups and the fair trade discussion and the quality of the coffee itself, I like Starbucks better because they assume I want to put the cream and sugar in myself. And I'm enough of a control freak to appreciate that.
******
This past Sunday on my way into the Starbucks around the corner from work, I groggily disregarded the homeless guy standing outside. And then I realized he wanted me to buy him food, not give him money. So I did, and it made me feel good, not only to help someone in need, but to know that not everyone out there is just trying to swindle you.
*****
For that matter I've had a few interesting encounters with people either down on their luck or affectatiously appearing that way. Prior to the Sunday story by an unremembered amount of time, I was in Wendy's eating my dead cow on white bread and my microwaved potato, sipping my carbonated, caffeinated corn syrup beverage, when a guy sat down at the other end of the four-seater table from me. I was ok with this, and conversation inevitably ensued. He was some sort of out-of-work construction worker. I got the impression that he mostly did things either under the table or day by day. I finished eating and left before him, careful not to give my name or the name of the place that I work. Not that he was inherently sketchy, but I've learned not to give out too much info to random people I meet out and about.
That same day (Thursday?) while at work and taking advantage of some dead time to get stuff done I had a guy come in, dark jacket, flannel shirt buttoned down, skinny jeans and sneakers, stringy dark hair to his shoulders, strong cheekbones and intense and pale eyes, asking to borrow my tape. I let him. After he left I kind of regretted it, worrying that he would not come back with our tape dispenser. Of course he did. Turns out, he was helping to promote some experimental jazz thing at the church across the street, and had forgotten to bring a way to attach his poster to the door. And the more we chatted, and the more I watched him, the more I realized that this was a perfect example of someone with either funds to his name or at least a middle class upbringing (college student, perhaps) who chooses to attempt to look scruffy. Except everything was too clean, and his carriage was all wrong. This was clearly some overeducated indy kid, possibly attending Berklee.
*****
I don't believe in innocence. Or at least, I don't think it's something we should exalt. This was evidenced to me on Saturday as Krys and I had dinner with Deepa. Deepa is an old high school friend, a sweet girl who Krys and I agree needs to learn how to stand up for herself and break out of her sheltered life with her parents. As dinner progressed I found myself saying some things that rather shocked her. Afterwards, Krys despaired of ever helping her. I realized that yes, we cannot implant a spine into this girl. But we (or at least I) can simply exist her life, and not hide who we are, as a reminder that it doesn't have to be the way her parents and her religion tell her it should be.
*****
Deepa said something to me about my being the courageous one. Or at least, something about not having fear. (Krys remembers quotes better than I. I'm good a concepts.) That's not true. I'm afraid of a lot of things. And anyone close to me knows that what I'm afraid of doesn't always make sense. But I've been the pariah a couple of times, and I know what I can and can't handle. So what I'm not afraid of is people hating me. And I'd rather be afraid of the known crazy stalker person than of humanity as a whole because of the possibility they might dislike me. There's a lot of people out there.
*****
In fact, there are 6+ billion people out there. Which means one of the other things I'm not afraid of is being alone. whether that means completely friendless or without romantic companionship. Dying alone doesn't scare me. After all, aren't we ultimately alone in that part of this journey anyhow? The point is that if I desperately need company-- of any kind-- I'll find it. Even if it's just online. Or, for that matter in a book.
*****
Speaking of, a surprising amount of myself is tied up in my reading material. It's influenced me, and I've influenced the collection. Picking up certain books is like revisiting an old friend. And picking up others is revisiting a time in my past, a mindset I once had. My collection, with a little decyphering, is very much a road map to me.
*****
To jump back, death itself doesn't scare me. I sometimes find myself taking comfort in the idea that this is it. I have this life to do with as I please, and then my consciousness ends when my brain stops functioning. The record of my being here is the one I create and leave behind. And even that is temporary.
What does scare me is the pain that so often precedes.
*****
I know there was other stuff, but I can't think of it at the moment.