gratitude

i am unable to say enough 'thank yous' to merit the kindness you constantly show me. 

i am indebted.

i am undeserving.

but, most of all, i am thankful,

for that is what you want from me: my thankfulness.

i may never know why my gratitude proves sufficient.

i am sure that, one day, i might be able to truly repay you,

yet you would never receive the award.

at the most, you would wonder, "who? me?"

truly. thank you.

i love you.

"i often think of never being able to repay the people i ought to repay. then i realize the only repayment they want is my gratitude. i ought, then, to be eternally grateful; though an eternity would be insufficient."

If only all job interviews were like this:

"I promise you that I am not as qualified as you believe me to be."

   "And, and how do you know that?"

   "Because I've read your requirements and qualifications. I don't fit any of them. At all."
   "You are very down on yourself."
   "Yes."
   "Why?"
   "Because-."
   "Did something make you so horrible?"
   "I just am horrible."
   "That's not true. Something had to have made you horrible. Adam and Eve weren't horrible to begin with."
   "I don't like where this is going."
   "I'm not taking it anywhere."
   "I- I promise you: I am not as qualified as you believe me to be."
   "Can't you file things away? Can't you answer phones, make small talk, make people laugh?"
   "Anyone can do those things."
   "Yes, but you think."
   "You're saying that others don't think when they do those things."
   "Not really. Not really thinking when they file things, answer phones, talk small and make people laugh."
   "Then what do they really do when they do those things?"
   "Just those things."
   She sat there silently, staring at the floor space near her interviewer. "But-. I'm not qualified."
   "But you tell the truth."
   "And if you know so much about me, you'll also know that I think truth is overrated, and how long I've thought so! People put too much stock in this thing they call truth, and they don't even know what real truth is! It is true that people all over the world are hurting. It is true that people steal from other people. It is true that he still prefers her to me. It is true that I am still as unqualified as I believe myself to be. All that is true."
   The interviewer stared at her.
   She would not return his gaze. She continued to stare at the floor space around his feet, tracing patterns with her eyes so that she could avoid crying.
   The interviewer frowned, but quickly smiled. "Then you'll also know that this is not the sort of truth I apply to you."
   "What?"
   "You'll know then, that the sort of truth that I ascribe to you has nothing to do with the ugly monster you just applied to mean yourself. You are not that monster."
   "What? Is it the real truth's evil twin?" she snorted.
   The interviewer thought about it, then nodded in agreement. "Yes. That's exactly what it is. An evil twin." The interviewer laughed. "Oh, I need to hire you. When can you start?"
   She looked the interviewer up and down, her emotions running around for her, bewildered and frenzied. "Hire me? Your list of qualifications said you're looking for someone with a Ph.D, or a couple masters' degrees in their back pockets, swimming with heavenly references, expensive internships, and Louis Vuitton suits. Not that there's anything wrong with those things; I often wish I wanted those things. They seem like such good things to want."
   "And that is the only lie you could've told me."
   "I promise you that I am not as qualified as you believe me to be."
   "Do you intend to keep that promise?"
   "Well, I suppose if it's not a biblical promise then it's a promise that's meant to be broken."
   "I want you for the job. Will you take it?"
   "I feel as though I have no choice."
   "Oh. You have a choice, but that is not a feeling. Your feeling, what you're feeling now, is my belief in you. Not my belief in your qualifications or requirements."
   "You left out achievements."
   "You never said 'achievements'."
   "So both your ears do work."
   "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Dress well."
   "I refuse to dress any other way."

Concerts: I Don't Attend Them.

I don't usually go to concerts. When I was younger I imagined my older self (right around the age I am now) concert hopping, buying all the t-shirts. For some reason, I convinced myself that this was the best way to show my loyalty to musicians. Well, it is, or at least, one of the best ways. I tend to display my loyalty loudly and proudly in my house, car or ear buds. Otherwise, I'm a pretty nondescript fan. Unless I make or have a t-shirt, but even then that's still pretty subtle.

And when I have attended concerts they usually feature Beethoven. No moshing there. Although I was that one person that wanted to attempt moshing to Beethoven's Fifth.

See, I can't afford to go concert hopping, as I've grown I've discovered my great distaste for large crowds. Once I found myself in the midst of mosh pit, and I feared for my life! I was wet from all the rain, the ground was muddy and an eight foot man was about to topple me. I'm only 5'2.

Since I don't have many experiences attending concerts you can imagine my great delight in now having to prepare to attend a concert: Andrew Belle's.

A few weeks back my friend texted me: "Do you know Andrew Belle?"

me: no. why, who's that?

friend: A musician. Want to go to a concert with me?

me: ooh, okay. cool.

friend: ha, i already bought the tickets.

But I've never listened to Andrew Belle's music. What if it's, like, hard rock. I'm not a big fan of hard rock. Not really. But with a name like Andrew Belle, you probably aren't going to be a hard rock musician. Not that other Andrew Belles can't be hard rockers- please, by all means, be hard rockers other-Andrew Belles.

me: ah, i found Andrew Belle on Spotify. i like it so far.

friend: learn the lyrics.

So, in order to learn the lyrics I've been listening to Andrew Belle on and off. (Actually, right now, I'm listening to Bridgit Mendler.) My friend told me I had the potential to meet Andrew Belle after the concert. I have this whole speech planned! Tell me what you think:

Hello, Mr. Belle. Love your music, but not until about a month ago when my friend introduced me to you. Because I've only known about you for a month I didn't know any of your lyrics, but I have spent this last month listening to your music so that I might become familiar with your lyrics. I didn't want to be the only one who didn't know your lyrics. Besides, I could hardly be considered a fan if I didn't know the lyrics, right? Can't wait to hear more of your stuff. You're cool. Rock on. Do you like hard rock? Okay. So...want to sign my TOMS?

i don't know why he's holding that, but it looks cool. seriously: hipster.

you're in here.

what will happen when you let the sinners in?
i grant you,
the carpets won't be as clean.
the pews hardly as shiny.
the air might stink.
but open a window!
we'll clean the seats and floors.
we have hands and feet!
should we not also act upon our hearts and minds,
or have you neither?

what will happen when you let the sinners in?
well, you're in here, aren't you?

Sitting Upon the Throne

When I think of my heroes, my idols, not many come to mind. I have many people I admire, many people whose traits, accomplishments and ideas I would love to mimic in order to make my own, but heroes? Those people are just...unnatural. They seem so beyond my reach. I am not a god, and I don't really aspire to be one, but all the people that would be worthy of the title 'hero' they're all gods.

I am not a god.

I'm not smart enough to be a god. I'm not physically fit enough. I'm not ambitious enough. (What else are heroes supposed to be?) Oh, I'm not that good with witty banter! Even if I did have super powers I don't even know that I'd be agile enough to want to practice them. I barely use the muscles (brain muscles, too) I have now which apparently have the potential to do awesome things!

Then I sat on the toilet.

Haha. I know. When I titled this blog post 'sitting on the throne' you probably weren't thinking of its slang definition.

So, I sat on the toilet and thought, "WAIT A SECOND!- all my heroes are human. All humans have to go potty. And if they don't go potty they're covering up their BM problem!"

If there is any time when a person is simultaneously physically and mentally vulnerable it would be when he is sitting upon the throne. I don't think I need to explain why. I hope I don't need to explain why.

I mean, think about it. All your heroes have to go to the bathroom.

Iron Man has to go to the bathroom.

The Hulk has to go to the bathroom.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have to go to the bathroom.

Aang had to go to the bathroom.

Do Thor and Loki have to go to the bathroom? Do actual gods have to go to the bathroom?

The Capitol forces themselves to go to the bathroom so they can just eat and drink more.

But who likes to think of heroes, or regular people for that matter, going to the bathroom? That's so nasty. And yet, we all go. What else do we all do?

What was it Watson told Sherlock? "People want to know you're human."

Because as great and different as our heroes are, they wouldn't be considered heroes if they're...followers?- couldn't relate to them. An un-relatable hero is a dictator. We don't like dictators. So, yeah, now that I know my heroes are as human as I am (except for Thor and Loki) I have to discover what they did differently from those who aren't heroes.

Oh. Heroes who often appear or give speeches full of hope, love, peace and happiness were probably without, or had at one point doubted, hope, love, peace, happiness only to have it thrust back into their faces. Heroes can be made. Heroes can be unmade. Heroes can be shy or obnoxious. They can be anyone.

'In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto, "Anyone can cook." But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere.' -from Disney's Ratatouille

Sit on that throne.

well-intentioned

thank you for your attempt!
that was very...well-intentioned of you.
i can't say i saw it coming,
no more than you really will keep it coming as you promise to do, but thank you.
your consideration for my...inherent?
my...obvious?- devastation is still kind.
thank you.
you are kind.
as kind as i will ever be.
although i don't remember drowning, choking, or bleeding
i still thank you.
perhaps i was drowning, choking, or bleeding at one point.
i don't know.
i'm sure there are cases of people drowning, choking, or bleeding without knowing.
surely, yes.
i've lied without knowing.
i don't know.
but, thank you.
your intentions will not go unnoticed.

Plain and Cluttered: How much stuff is too much stuff?

A few weeks ago I visited a new friend's home. I got to see her bedroom, and what a lovely bedroom it was. Everything was white, save the blue, black, or gray accents that dotted the room. I felt I could breathe easy in that room. Then I took a look at her bookcase only to be struck with jealousy. "Oh," I thought, "She only owns the books that mean something to her." Immediately inspired I decided that it was about time I get rid of my clutter.

The very next day I attacked my bedroom. Well, actually. I wasn't attacking it. I was...healing it. The days and weeks before I'd been attacking it with my carelessness so...

The very next day I brushed away my bedroom's dusty wounds. I refolded clean clothes that had become a new rug over the rug I already had. I couldn't make my bed because it had to serve as a filing cabinet. There's a lot of stuff I have that may or may not be needed! Hey. Getting rid of things takes time. I mean, what if I accidentally throw out my social security card because it's stuffed in an old journal I didn't check?! HORROR!

Before I could touch my books I had to file away important documents, including sentimental trinkets, cards, etc. I picked out more clothes to donate. Then it was time to tackle the bookshelves and their books. And the floor's books. And the closet's books. Books, books, books. Everywhere. I don't even know why I own all these. Some of these books deserve to be burned.

I know. I'm a heathen. But seriously.

I was able to get rid of three trash bags worth of clothes, and four boxes worth of books. (I donated most of my children's literature and ESL textbooks to an English teacher I know.)

I looked at my books and clothes and was disgusted. Ah! I have so much crap.

Not that Anna Karenina is crap. It isn't! I love all things Tolstoy, but really, I haven't touched that book since I bought it. I would've been much better off borrowing it from the library or a friend. I don't need to own all the books recommended to me.

Yeah, I still want to have a personal library, but as of now, I've neither the space nor income to merit starting a library now.

All my donation bags are still sitting in the back of my trunk, waiting to be donated. My bedroom still isn't entirely clean.

I told my friend (with the inspirational bedroom) about my cleaning adventure. She thought it was a great idea. How she'd done that a couple years back. Then she asked this: "How is it that I still have to buy new [things, like clothing]? How is it that I still have to get rid of stuff after already getting rid of stuff?"

I immediately thought of third world countries, well, not just third world countries. Just as every third world country may entertain first world conditions, every first world country ignores its third world citizens.

How much stuff is too much stuff?

In spite of third world conditions some of those families are much happier with little to nothing than people who live in penthouses. They don't seem to have to hashtag their first world problems.

Now, I'm a bit of a pack rat. As much as I admired my new friend's simple, plain bedroom I also admire my old friend's thrift shop bedroom. When I walk into my old friend's bedroom I feel as though I find new treasures every time. I'm a lot like my old friend: sentiment overwhelms us. But I'm a lot like my new friend: clutter is still clutter.What sentiments do I still want? Besides, some sentiments were set on fire (by those with whom I share the sentiment) before I could even decide whether or not I should maintain sentimental feelings.

Sentiment has no practical value. But practicality without sentiment is still cold enough to burn.

There are still things I want to buy that I'll probably donate again, so...why do I want to buy them?

"How is it that I still have to get rid of stuff after already getting rid of stuff?"

I am in constant excess. I cannot possibly have so much attachment to so much material that I couldn't remember owning anyway.

No, I'm not entering survival mode. I am aware that I should be grateful I don't have to survive; I should be grateful I can thrive. But I must also live as though I am aware of others.

I ain't keepin' up wit' no Joneses...or Kardashians for that matter.

I don't know how much stuff is too much stuff, but I think it's a telltale sign to get rid of it if I haven't used it in a while. Two years of uselessness is a telltale sign.

Okay. I'm going to finish cleaning out my room now! It'll be Pinterest worthy, I think :D