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Showing posts from May, 2015

You Are What You Eat

I'm orange because of the carrot  I ate in a magic garden.  I should've heeded the sign that read,  "You are what you eat. Harken!” 
Peas were the first I ate Off twining vines in there,  Until masses of snaking sprouts Sprung up amidst my hair. 
Before my coiling locks  Lashed me to a legume,  I plucked tomatoes, yellow in color,  Supposedly family heirloom. 
Alas, my golden glow  Drew bees onto my skin. I swatted madly, found a knife, And opened a honeydew melon. 
I savored the sweetness inside Until I doubled in scale.  I went rolling. What could I do  But stuff my cheeks with kale? 
Kale suggests well-being,  But knobby skin’s atrocious.  So I picked a red pepper, long and slender,  Whose heat was quite ferocious. 
Aflame, I realized the hour And pondered tomorrow with dread.  Tapered and tall, orange suits me.  What would you've chosen instead?

Your Dog is Not a Child: An Apology on Differences in Nature

I realize, from your perspective, the two might seem particularly similar. Your dog eats toilet paper. So does my daughter. You have to walk your dog daily or else he doesn’t sleep well at night. I must go on daily outings to tire out my children as well. You can’t simply leave for vacation without getting a dog-sitter. Ditto. You’ve disciplined your dog not to bark in the house. I have to discipline my children to behave as well. You have to take your dogs to the vets to get flea shots. I take my children to get Tdap shots. Your dog costs you quite a bit of money and so do my children. 
You explain this to me like these responsibilities are a medal or a certificate or a battle scar. “See,” you say. “I know what it’s like to have children. I have a high maintenance dog.”
And I am angry. Not because you are ignorant, though you are, but because everything makes me angry these days: all inaccurate speech, all loud noises, all missing shoes, all grease stains on my shirts, and elbows bumpe…

Tumbling With 3-5 Year-Olds

The asylum subjects:
Anthropophobic,
Unbidden commentator,
Dumbfounded,
Attention crazed,
Stock-still starer,
Lost sheep wandering
Following orders, disorderly.

And mothers
Frowning
Dazed,
Scolding
Disengaged.

One childless teacher:
A linguist without words
on an alien planet
with aliens
who don't know jokes
or how flamingoes walk.


The Paradox of Choice

The Paradox of Choice simply summarized: Happier is he who relinquishes freedoms for the sake of wrapping himself in relationships. May his decisions be swift and without return lest he fritter away his energies on endlessly fishing for bigger fish.
The Paradox of Choice by Barry Schwartz has empowered me to take action in decisions where I was previously stuck. It has given me the courage to tell myself, “What does it matter? Just choose and be content.” 
There is no room for contemplative, deliberative, analytical decision makers in the common everyday life choices. Such choices—what to order at a restaurant, what to wear to work, how to phrase my questions, what to do for Mother’s Day—become burdensome when I believe that a perfect option is awaiting my discovery, and when I make that perfect choice, I will be completely satisfied.
I call out that lie. It reeks of consumerism. 
American advertising has declared war on my satisfaction. It has been doing so since the day my eyes could fo…