bitterdiva

Call it stress, call it bitch, call it ...

Life.

In a week, I've experienced every emotion known to humankind and it's absolutely exhausting on one's spirit. Life is comprised of various moments, emotions, and people. In order for the human race exist, there must always be a beginning and an end, or else the world would be overcrowded and sacraficial ceremonies would be more dominant.

Always existing are the two poles, life and death, happiness and sorrow, north and south, red states and blue states, and peanut butter and jelly. Sure we all can be prone to enjoying one thing more than the other, but in Economics we call this complements not subsitutes. Both are dependent upon the other, if one were to stop existing, so would the other. This isn't a substiute supply and demand curve here, this is real life.

Life, exams, presentations, sickness and death. That's the composition of this past week and pretty much that's the basic composition of life. I experienced the full circle, not of my own life or death, but empathetic sharing of the joys and sorrows of others. We live life vicariously through others, that's not to say that we just live through others, but we experience our life through the lives of those that touch us.

For me, death is one of the hardest things to deal with, it gets easier and harder as one progresses through their life, but it is a constant reminder of our parent's mortality (in this situation) or of our own mortality. Sometimes the death of the loved one is expected through a long, painful illness, and sometimes it slaps you hard in the face like Ike Turner. No matter expectedly or unexpectedly, griefing is difficult, moreso for some, including myself.

I am empathetic to the world, which is one of those characteristics that enable me to excel in the dramatic world of theatre. I cried hysterically in the theater when E.T. died, and I cried in the theater when John Travolta died in Phenomenon (I know, now that's just plain ridiculous), and I cried when chosing a card for Mother's Day. I cry. A lot. In the long run, crying is cathartic, it's a stress reliever. It's allowing my tear ducts to be cleansed. It forces my neurotransmitters to be realigned.

I experienced a lot this week. Some for the good: being finished with that goshdarnit Macroeconomics class, the birth of Kris' nephew; and some for the bad: the death of my friend's father. In the grand scheme of things, these are momentous occassions that allow us to reach out and reaffirm our support and love to those that care the most to us. And even though there are sorrowful moments in the world, there are also new beginnings. Perhaps this week stregthened my friendship and perhaps I learned a lesson or two about the bitch we call life.

01:02 PM

Home improvements

The boy and I have been trying to 'spruce' up our apartment with the summer months coming and the junk pile getting higher than hippies on 4/20. Last Thursday, the girls came over to help rid the backporch of bottles. I hear something to the order of 197 were returned with probably another 150 left to go.

Friday, my 'rents spent the night and my mother brought me up some Hostas, Lilies of the Valley, Impatiens, Basil, and Chives to be planted or potted whichever. Mom weeded the front patch of yard whilst she waited for me to arrive home from work.

Saturday, we traveled to Home Despot to purchase gardening tools, black weed liner, and red cedar mulch for the front yard. Upon arriving home, our landlady's brother was attacking the patch with evericide.. you know the shit that has no cares of what kind of living plant it is. All that fucking hard work she put in for nothing, the landlady & husband are planning on redoing the patch because they need to make the downstairs invitingly rentible. She took home the liner and the soil, left me with the vegitation and mulch - perhaps all is not lost.

Today, after the first religious cannibalistic act of the boy's nephew, I again attempted the backporch and finishing up some of the dutites my mother imparted on me. I potted the chives and basil, started seeds of more chives and basil along with cat grass and sunny flowers. I broke one of the terracotta pots and improvised with a ziploc container until I can again return to home depot.

Once we rid the backporch of the excessive display of our high quality drinking problem, it'll be in some shape of tidiness. The plants are now happily resting on the shelves, the rug has been vacuumed and so help me buddha if I have to clean that mess again there'll be casualities to the likes of which Vlad the Impaler have never seen.

On a different note, there's a window of a house kitty-corner to ours that either has an insane person or a crushful boy living in it. Every other day there's a note to some laddy (I presume lady since it says you're so beautiful) gushing about their attractiveness & whatnot. I want to know who is the object of affection and why this person is overly obsessed.

No prayers | 07:31 PM