Pearls of Wisdom? …or Hopeless Mess?

I like wisdom, and I like to collect pieces of it. I try to collect them and string them together here in this blog, but I think it’s more like a jumbled mess of a jewelry box.

Another stream of consciousness exercise. Let’s see what comes out. Don’t expect anything earth-shattering, here. Six random words: enter brother pearl disintegration destiny great.


enter into buildings. enter into people’s lives. enter text. people entering a physical space. people entering a metaphysical state. words beings born out of thin air. Just from an electrical impulse somewhere buried deep in my brain somewhere. It’s weird like when you think about words being made in my head, like some kind of factory, and you try to pin point where exactly inside of your skull they are all coming from. Trying to pin point their origin is like trying to nail jello to a tree, or squeezing toothpaste. You try to press on it too much and it gives way and goes someplace else.


brothers, I have two of them. They are both older than me. I feel extremely lucky to have been the youngest and a girl. For one thing, all the hard responsibility was placed on my oldest brother, and then my middle brother made all the mistakes (which he learned from, and so did I) and here I am, the only girl. They would have this weird brand of protection over me–on one hand they would tease me and pick on me all the time, on the other hand if they caught someone else picking on me they’d threaten to beat them up. Still, I feel like they would rarely play with me–every once in a while we’d play legos or a board game or Nintendo (classic, of course!). I was never as good at playing Nintendo as they were. They played to win, I just played for the sake of playing, and it would always frustrate them to see me die all the time. When they played, lives mattered, and it’s not like they could “take turns” because that would mean they’d lose all their progress of course. I don’t blame them one bit for being a little protective over the gaming system. Often I’d have to fend for myself around the house when it came time to find something to do. I played with myself a lot, in a corner of a living room, making these sprawling barbie “mansions” with my own made up rooms. I liked to draw and play with playdoh. I’d often go over to the neighbor girl’s house and ask if she could play with me. We were close. We played dress up, played with makeup, sometimes we’d put on dance concerts in the back yard. We’d make a little pretend kitchen under the shade of this one tree in the back yard. It was a nice little area because two sides of it were closed in with a house and a deck, and it was paved over with rock so it had a little “floor”. The air conditioning unit was in this area too, which was a perfect rectangle and totally flat on top, so it was kind of like a kitchen counter. Then one rock (which was more of a boulder) had this little depression in the top so it was bowl-like. We’d put petals or grass in there and make “soup”. We whiled away much of the summers together. My mom used to take me to salvation army sometimes and splurge on an old prom dress for me to play dress up in. I had a collection of about 10 dresses or so plus tons of little accessories and things. The neighbor and I would do little fashion shows and take pictures of each other posing in our funny outfits. One of my favorite dresses was a deep maroon color, and I always thought it looking kind of Victorian, and it had this LONG train coming off the back of it. Gorgeous. It’s funny that I was so into dress-up then, because I am just not fashion concious at all anymore. In fact, I’ve kind of taken a completely opposite tack now, opting for really basic clothes, jeans, plain t-shirts of my favorite events or memories, simple cardigan on top. I think it stems from hating to spend money on frivolous things. If I had more expendable income, I’d probably spend more of it on clothes, I bet.


I like wisdom, and I like to collect pieces of it. I try to collect them and string them together here in this blog, but I think it’s more like a jumbled mess of a jewelry box, and not very orderly, I’m afraid. I often beat myself up for not being a little more “applied” in my writing, but I figure that it is better to at least write SOMETHING rather than nothing at all. If I could, I’d write these nice little summaries of wisdom so that I can share them better with people. But I think it might be fine if I just collect them for now, and then I can organize them later. Part of it might be a matter of trying to write a lot, and eventually I will be able to tease out major themes on ideas or topics that I feel strongly about. Also just repeating things to myself again and again, I will probably start to internalize the themes and they will be easier to repeat to others.


ok random little story. So random I don’t know why the hell I’m even remembering it. Seriously, it’s a useless piece of information. I was at this bridal shower that the bride had turned into a beauty products MLM party, which was a rotten thing to do because I fucking HATE multi-level-marketing schemes. Anyway, that’s beside the point. The host (not the bride, the lady that was selling the stuff) had this little “demo” of two saltine crackers. One cracker was in a tray of water, and the other was in a tray of baby oil. The cracker in the water was disintegrating and falling apart. She gave this demonstration as a testament to the “power of pure water to fully penetrate the skin and moisturize it” and that baby oil does absolutely nothing to the cracker–it remains intact in the oil. She was saying that the products she was selling were NOT petroleum-based and would fully penetrate and moisturize, and that the “other guys” stuff in a regular store like TARGET (god forbid you buy your beauty products at TARGET!) Okay, what you fail to remember, however, is that if you don’t put some sort of oil in your beauty product, all it is going to do is evaporate on the surface of your skin. There’s no such thing as “penetrating moisture”. What OIL does on the other hand is creates a very thin, invisible layer over your skin, trapping the moisture against it–which gives the feeling of supple…ness? Something like that. Anyway, the reason I’m telling you about this dumb story is because here’s this sales pitch coming from a supposed position of “authority” to a room full of women who at least act like they totally bought it. And I’m over in the corner with my arms crossed, and kind of pissed off wanting to call her out on her bullshit, but you know I just keep my mouth shut because this is just not the forum for “facts and debate”. It’s supposed to be this nice party. *sigh* This happens to me all the time in various forums, but like my dad always says “always be a diplomat”.





Well I wrote for about 40 minutes and I’m tired now. Signing off.

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