I Miss Being Weird

I used to be funny. I used to be able to write funny and witty blog posts. Now... I don't know what happened. I want to recapture that silliness that I used to have at the tip of my tongue. I have tried so many times to write something here but all that comes out is what I feel is whinning about things that have not gone the way I think they should have or trials that I have gone through and am still going through. 

I want to be whimiscal! I want to see the bright side of the world again. 

Then I remember I recently went around the LA Museum of Natural History taking pictures of dinosaur butts. 

Maybe I am still weird. 

Parables

 I am Christian. I am not very good about sharing the gospel (even though I served a mission for my church) and I have a hard time going to church on Sundays. Some this is choice. Some of it anxiety that is only associated with church. But that is a story for another time. 

Over the past couple of years, I have been thinking of the parables of Jesus. Two that stick out, and I have thought about differently, are the Parables of the Talents, and The Unmerciful Servant. 

The 2nd parable, the unmerciful servant, is one that I have thought about a lot. I am a teacher. I teach English in S. Korea to kindergarten age kids. I realized one day that God has so much patience with me. Unfailing, continual, patience with me and my mistakes and I need to extend that patience to those around me. Especially to my students. And at that moment I realized that the parables are not just limited to the words that are used. 

Which brings me to the parable of the talents. To one is given 10, to another is given 5, and to the last is given 1. We tend to use this very literally with our modern language. Talents were money, not skills or abilities that we are born with. I realized as I dreamed for more than being a teacher that, in this season, I have been given 1 talent. A small group of small children. But it is mine. I do not need to be reaching the masses (at this time). I don't need to serving the poor and needy (I donate to charities because that is what I can do, and I am not called to physically be there to serve). I am called to help these big spirits in little bodies (hopefully) build a foundation of self worth and abilities that will guide them for the rest of their lives. 

I have also had the feeling to be big. I have been given a lot of talents. I need to use them and refine them and stop putting them on the shelf. I am trying to balance these two truths in my heart and head. It is possible that 2 things, mutually exclusive, can be true at the same time. 

So, here is to the end of one year and a start to a new one. Small steps lead to great journeys. 

 

Tibbits

 I think I am funny. As this is subjective and falls under the category "opinion" I am get to hold onto my truth as I see it. 

While I understand I am not for everyone, and my sense of humor can lean towards the absurd and/or macarbe, I like this about myself. And as someone who deals with a LOT of self doubt and hatred, I will take a like when I can. 

One of my dreams is to be prolific published author. But that requires me to actually WRITE. And that requires WORK and a sense of self worth. I am striving to overcome my aversion to working and trying to get over myself enough to put words down. Unitl those days come in greater frequency, I will still think I am funny and thus try to capture funny thoughts and bits of conversation I have in my head for future use. In my email I have a draft that I add to whenever I think of something funny or thought provoking for future use. 

Since that future may be a long time coming, I am putting a few here. Some are funny. Some are thoughts I had that I didn't want to lose. 

*I made the mistake of checking rail prices on railninja and now I'm being haunted by them

*I would say don't do anything I wouldn't, but that list is skewed in all the wrong directions. 

*Stop skipping leg day. You could be taken down by a well placed chihuahua.

*Give the gun to her. 

Ooo! I get a gun? Why? Because I'm an American? Gimme gimme gimme!

Do you even know how to use a gun? 

Nope. I'm not from Texas. 

I thought you were from Florida. 

I am. But that is a whole 'nother batch of crazy. 

Don't give her the gun. 

*Well, there are plenty of fish in the sea. 

What if I'm a starfish?

What?

What if I'm a starfish? I'm not a regular fish, swimming around. I'm a starfish stuck to the bottom of the ocean. And starfish aren't actual fish! They are fake fish according to the shark from that one hopscotch video.

(Insults Below. Because I always want at least 1 sassy character who doesn't hold back)

*You are a fart on an airplane. 

*Thought of the day: I cannot call a student a constipated ghost no matter how much he sounds like one. 

*Please go try breathing underwater for a bit. 

And last, but one of my ultimate favorites: 

*I could paper the walls with the mistakes I have made. Monotone and monotonous because they haven't changed. 

I hope you have enjoyed. And remember: it doesn't have to be pretty. It just has to make you happy. 

Distractions and Rewrites

 What else can I do to not write what I should be writing? 

I can write a post for my blog, which gets little to no love from me on a regular basis. 

It definitely doesn’t get good editing either. Which is what I should be doing on my current WIP (work in progress for those not in the literary loop). And why do I not want to work on my current work in progress (I’ve decided I don’t like that acronym and will cease using it for the moment)? Well, this poor story, that has sat on my desk top for YEARS untouched and had originally been finished five years ago, needs to be rewritten. And not just a gentle sentence, paragraph, or page here or there. No, this poor piece of unpublished literature needs an entire facelift.

This is what happens when an author (me) never really liked the beginning of the story but went with it because it worked at the moment, but now, five plus years later, have matured enough to realized that one of the main characters would NEVER act like that, and I need to do justice to him. And her. And the other him. Well, the last him is a jerk and will remain so.

(My current gum, that is supposed to keep me from eating everything and anything, sucks. It lasts all of eight minutes before I give up and spit it out. Only to repeat the process in ten minutes because I really will want to go find something to eat even though I am not hungry.)

But back to the problem. I hate editing in general, but I loathe rewrites. It hurts my brain. I have to figure out what I can keep, work in the new words, new plots (holes and all), try to not lose too many words, but ultimately realize that, yes, that WHOLE chapter needs to go. And with it gone, later plot points are going to have to change. And all of that work! I’ve worked so hard to write it the first time, why do I have to redo it? Again?

My head is hurting just thinking about it.

You would also think with all of this typing practice that my typing would get better. Nope. I still have to use the backspace button way more than I am comfortable. And apparently if I spell “the” wrong, it is close enough to a Korean word and so my laptop decides to switch alphabets midsentence.

New distraction! I need to practice my Hangeul typing!

And I am on to the next piece of gum. I am taking too long to type. And I had to backspace half of that sentence.

Sigh.

Enough distractions. Back to changing my character’s lives. And make them more self-aware, less jerky (except for that one character who is a jerk in the main character’s eyes and will not have any major changes since I am going to be limiting his existence in this book. He got a TV pilot written with him as the main lead, so he can have character development there), and more true to the events of the first book. That I finished almost ten years ago.

To quote myself “no one can read it if you never write it”. I am a wise person. Sometimes.

The Worth of a Human Life

Side Note 1: I may have an addiction to reading comments on Instagram Reels.

Side Note 2: I have a macabre sense of humor. And there has been more than one instance when I am sure I am just one brain switch away from being a complete sociopath.

Side Note 3: I do not fear death, or what comes after it. It is only the act of dying itself that I am leery of.

Now, on to the… what are these? External validations of internal trains of thoughts? Brain Farts?

Anyways.

I was reading a comment from an Instagram reel that was a reading of a reddit post… these are dangerous because they will suck you in. The story was basically this guy helped someone not commit suicide by not selling him… something. Details escape me because they are not important to me. Most of the comments were positive. But one was like “why do we try so hard to prevent people from killing themselves?” Or something along those lines.

Now, as someone who had a plan to commit suicide, this riled me up a bit. Part of that is because it triggered something inside of me that has been building for a long time.

We, humans, each and everyone of us, has a right to life. We are important. Not from a political, industrial, new-worker, point of view. But, each of us, from conception to death, have a right to live. I think we, as a whole, have forgotten this.

I am anti-abortion when it is used as a form of birth control. People forget that many choices have gone into the conception of a child.  Pregnancy is a consequence. Consequences are a natural result from choices made. It is all about choice and accepting the consequences.

When the very beginning of life is relegated to an afterthought and to be discarded on a whim, then ALL of life loses its worth.

This is from a different stand point. Why did we try so hard to save old people when Covid 19 was mainly affecting those who are old? I live in Korea where there is, what has been described as a “mushroom” population: not enough births to support the rapidly aging population. Covid 19 would have taken care of this. Isn’t it just nature’s way of balancing things out? (Now you know why there was a sociopath warning at the beginning).

There is value on all human life. It isn’t just for the rich, the righteous, the better off. If you take the bureaucracy, the consumerism, and politics out of it, this planet has more than enough to feed all in plenty. Not just enough, but plenty. We should be celebrating differences, learning about them. Not fighting over who is right and who is wrong.

Now, this may seem political. But when did the right to live become something to argue about instead of an inalienable right? And the right to life doesn’t stop at birth. It follows each and every one of us till we die.

So, at the long journey on this particular train, my answer to that fellow is this: we should be fighting to help others live. And not just by carrying a sign or making comments on a random Instagram reel.

So, I hope that whomever is reading this knows that you deserve to live.

And thanks for reading. I can only hope that I have helped someone, somewhere.

Biological Warfare and Pint-Sized Agents of Chaos

 

Children are agents of chaos. Part of that is just the fact that they don’t “know the rules” yet and are still figuring out how to do things. Like how NOT to spread plague and disease to everyone in the near vicinity. Then there are Minions of Chaos who have chosen that life. Whole heartedly on purpose. 

Like Evan. Not his Korean name, but definitely his English name. There is no innocence to protect here. I will name names. 

Now, Evan is an adorable eight-year-old (Korean age) child. He is a chunker with round cheeks and an adorable smile. He is also a talker and definitely has tried to get his classmates (well, one in particular, who may or may not have stabbed him with a pencil on purpose) in trouble. He is smart. However, he has definitely decided to use that power for evil.

I had Evan in kindergarten last year for all of 2 months and was so glad when he graduated, I left that school, and I would never have to deal with him again.

God, and Korean Immigration, had other plans for me.

So, for 8 days, I have been back at my old school where Evan comes 3 days a week after school for English lessons. Evan is the type of kid who will hold his arm/fist a foot away from his face when he coughs. Which seems to be ALL THE TIME.

I have just finally started sleeping through the night without coughing a couple of weeks ago. But then the Minion of Chaos, being fully loaded with a biological weapon, decided to, on purpose, cough without covering his mouth. When reminded of what was told him DAILY just a month ago, he laughed like the diabolical terrorist he is, and said he won’t be doing that any more.

EXCUSE ME? I didn’t realize that germs stopped being spread when a child graduates from kindergarten.

Now, I am once again sick and trying to desperately breath through my nose, though that is a hit or miss battle. I KNOW it was from him. Despite half of my other students being sick. No. It was the tiny terrorist and his diabolical plan to get everyone within a ten meter radius sick.  

Little jerk.

Riding the Subway. But Not In Seoul.

Yesterday I travelled to Daejeon, an hour or two by train (depending on how much money you shell out. I am cheap, so I take the slow train). I get on the subway with my glasses on, so that I can read the signs of where I need to go. I am reading said signs and see that their one line is actually named Line 1.

Huh?

You only have one.

It goes from North West to South East. One line. In terms of Miriam Sound effects (which my jerk six-year-old students make fun of): shoom shoom.

No transfers. No getting off a train. Walking five minutes. Up stairs. Down stairs. Walk another three minutes. Around a corner. Click your heels three times. Jump across a river. Hope you don’t get lost, but will inevitably do (I’m looking at you, Seoul Station). Miss the train by five seconds, but you only have to wait six minutes for the next train. Find a bench that isn’t too occupied by the elderly. Sit down to wait. Because you are old. But not that old. So you should probably stand. But your knees hurt…

Wait. What was I talking about?

Daejeon. One line. Called Line 1.

Now, I get ready to get onto the Line 1 train. I was trained on the Seoul metro. Survival of the fittest. I was worried when I saw so many people waiting to get on. There were only 4 seats. Only four seats for 10 people getting on? Oh boy. I wasn’t expecting it to be so busy on a Saturday afternoon. But I’ve got this. I’m fast. Well, as fast as my bad knees (which are doing better!) will allow me. I rush on and… nothing. No problem. I didn't even need to use my cut throat skills to get a seat. No one else wanted it.  

Wait… NO ONE wants to sit down? Huh?

I enjoyed my seat. On the only line: Line 1. In the smaller than Seoul carriages. I haven’t googled it, but the train seems… smaller than the ones I used to. Shorter. Less roomy. Darker. 

The darkness one is real. That doesn’t require research on the size difference between Seoul and Daejeon metro subway cars. They definitely use different, yellower, light bulbs.

Now my ADHD is kicking in and I need to go do some research.

I wish you all well. Whoever is reading this. If anyone is reading this.

Thanks for reading this, if you are in fact, reading this.

Cheerio and good morning. Or good night. I will not presume to know what time you are reading, or not reading, this.

I must go do my hair. Which is the reason I was even in Daejeon. But that is for another time.