Catch Some Wide Eye

Archive for the tag “pondering”

Getting Friends


The thing that sucks about being alone isn’t so much the solitude or the empty time or the yawning space or the fact that you’re more likely to uncover some personal blemish via reflection. It’s that once you finally do get around people, it fills you til you could burst.

Bursting hurts.

You end up having a million things to say so you either can’t decide what to say first and end up not saying anything at all, or you try saying everything all at once before you forget it all, words tumbling over themselves in an effort to get as far away from your lips as possible. Neither tactic wins you many friends, which would be why you’re alone in the first place.

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Radio Head Away From Me


You and me, he said while waving around his large pudgy hands in the stale air, are like radios.

Somewhere between the greasy tang of his scent, the weathered overalls stretched across his plump, generous paunch and the hay stem sluicing the air from its pivot in his teeth, I lost all confidence in his ability to philosophize. And frankly, his pomposity was slightly irritating.

Radios, I echoed stupidly while trying to stare through rather than at him.

Exactly, he said with a broad sweeping gesture of his hairy arm towards a cluttered table at the other end of the room. My eyes traced the outlines of the wreckage and honed in on the details, slowly, methodically. What I had at first taken for a mess pile was actually a series of radios in various stages of repair. There were old-fashioned models with silent red needles sandwiched between analog numbers, dials and collapsing antennae, and there were more modern, sleek editions with fully digitized LED displays and docking bays. The fact that anything other than a starship out of a sci-fi [or is it Syfy?] novel could possible make use of a docking bay was a source of endless wonderment to me.

He cleared his throat, and I turned a respectful and infinitely patient face back to his drivel. All those radios sit on the same table, he continued, and all of us people sit here on earth. Now we may be different models, have different ways of going about things, be a bit more banged up than the rest of them, he droned on, heck, some of us aren’t even all that old yet.

I wasn’t quite sure if this was intended as a backhanded compliment or if he was just senile. Saying nothing, I only nodded attentively, silently hoping cooperation would win me a quicker escape away from this elder and back with the normal people in my fiance’s family. Yessir, he smiled softly, as if pleased with himself for imparting some unspeakable divine wisdom unto the next generation. You gotta let the music play through you, and it won’t always make sense ’cause we’re not always set to the same frequency, ya hear?

And then he closed his eyes.

Whatever that means


Sometimes I talk about things so I can feel them. Because I know I should feel them. Because feeling them will make me feel human (whatever that means). The previous post was fueled by genuine, heartfelt passion- a passion for justice. It is perhaps one of the few things I’ve actually felt this week.

Emotions are a strange land. They can rule and conquer you. They can inform you. More often than not, they just screw everything up and confuse the heck out of you. I used to jump into relationships based on emotions. But feelings change and relationships die. After years of slamming my head into walls, I hunkered down for a few years and licked my wounds. I made a conscious decision to be aware of the partners I choose, to be the one to do the choosing out of a rational mind. This meant that sometimes I found people who were good matches for my personality, who were kind and fun to be around that I just wasn’t in love with. So I’d talk about them as much as I could. I’d tell my family, I’d tell my friends. I’d text or email the beau constantly. To know that he was there. To remember that I was supposed to love him. And after a while, the emotions followed in line. Because emotions come and go, but the decision to stay with a person is an act of will.

Death, however, has left its mark on me. Family, friends, fellow church members, teachers, coworkers, and now students have all left this earth in a hurry. After years of practice, my grieving [and fight or flight] process has evolved into a sea of blankness. If I hear a fight outside my window and threats about a gun, I can coolly call for emergency services and answer their questions with a level head. Not only can I do this, I have. When someone dies, it seems I have become the kind of person who’s supposed to hold everybody together right after it happens. Then, when everybody is well into their repairing, I break down.

This Saturday, one of the students I taught died in a tragic car accident. There were no drugs, alcohol or shenanigans involved. She was even wearing her seatbelt but lost control of her vehicle in a terrible storm and crash landed in a tree. None of these facts even ripple on the surface of my emotions, but I have had dreams. No, nightmares. So I know the facts are buried inside my subconscious, waiting to erupt.

But the tragedy has built over the past week. One of my students has an extremely rare, life-threatening illness. Another has an incarcerated father. Still another is homeless after being put out by an abusive parent. Other than reporting the abuse and making sure the student with an incarcerated parent is not homeless, there is not much I can do for these children. These kids are pretty much my life; they are part of my family, and I love them. I am proud of every wise decision they make, and I suffer when they make poor ones. I want the best for them, but this past week has only brought them the absolute worst.

The problem is, at least for me, I don’t feel a single thing. I know these incidents bother my mind. However, I don’t perceive the sadness in my heart. I think my body is trying to protect me from it, but that is frightening. It’s frightening because I know it won’t be able to hold the sadness inside forever. It’s frightening because I don’t know when or how it will burst forth, or if I’ll even be able to control it when it does. So I’ve been trying to psyche myself into feeling them now, when it still matters by talking about it. I talk about things so I can feel them. Because I know I should feel them. Because feeling them will make me feel human (whatever that means).

My New Year’s Wish


Why I Don’t Do Comedy


The Most Adorable Thing I’ve Ever Posted (and probably ever will)


Forgive me bloggers, for I have sinned. I have become completely, irrevocably and borderline eHarmony cat lady obsessed with what could very well be the most adorable pet on the planet. I’ve spent hours thinking about its cat/dog features, its hyper sensibilities, its compact size, its teeny weeny widdle voice… *ahem* … and its ears the size of Zeus.

So what the heck am I talking about? A fox, of course.

That’s right. Turns out there are these miniature little desert foxes called Fennec Foxes which are fluffy goodness wrapped in a ball of hyper. Observe:


Amazing, right? It can totally jive with cats and dogs, and it can use a litter box. Not only that, but its gigantically huge ears actually aid it in flight. Okay, I made that last bit up, but would you really be all that surprised?

So what kinds of noises does this thing make? Does it growl, purr, chortle…?


Raise your hand if this was your immediate reaction:


If it wasn’t, you have no soul.

Now, amid all this jovial and squee-inspiring research one fact really dampened my mood. Fennec foxes are illegal to own as pets in my state. Well, it’s maybe not entirely illegal to own one, but you’ve got to prove you’ve had at least two years of experience with the animal… which is kind of difficult since almost nobody here owns one. And then you get to apply for a permit. Yippy, skippy!

While I’m at it, why don’t I just buy a koala?


The ears. It’s like watching an animatronic at Chuck E Cheese. How does it DO that? At some points, it almost looks confused about what this whole tickling thing is about. I mean, if you stop and think about it, tickling is somewhere between an itch and a punch in the gut.

Sadly, there are no koala bears or fennec foxes in my future. But you know what is in my future? Babies. Lots and lots of babies. Snails, that is.


Those two weird little blob looking things on the aquarium glass are actually clutches of apple snail eggs (often sold under the name of ‘mystery snail’). The clutch on the right was laid sometime today while I was at work, the one on the left was made last week. Needless to say, I’ve been doing my fair amount of research on snails, but perhaps that is a post for another day. Until then, make sure not to tip your echidnas unless they are very polite.

Celebrate good times (come on!)


The Foolproof Guide to an Interesting Life


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