Why do I always bite off more than I can chew?

la la la la la la bamba

I really wish I could kick the habits of countdowns and recognition of specific dates in time etc. etc. Por ejemplo: Approximately one year ago I was nearly moved out of the condo where I’d resided for two years. Approximately one year ago I was giving the State Department hell about my necessary paperwork for my student visa. Approximately one year ago I left for a wonderful hiatus from life. What I would give if I could ‘turn back time’ as The Pretenders (my second favorite song as a kid, behind the one and only “La Bamba”) and I suppose Sonny and Cher as well, would say.

Learning that I can indeed become knowledgeable about subjects that I once thought were beyond my realm of understanding. Like medicine.

OK I’m ready to say it now. Michael. Jackson. Is. Dead. I feel terrible for his kids, and sympathy for his family. Beyond that, I know that there are tons of things out in that world that deserve media attention, so it is time to let go. I’m sick of the ‘breaking news’ about further developments involving the drugs, the doctors, and the death. 

Also, the President’s choice of beer is not top on my list of things I truly care about.

Just cleaned out the bag. Two DC metro ticket things. Two Baltimore metro tickets. One lightrail. Two Amtrak. Two airTran tickets. I literally did not stop going for five days. My body hates me, inside and out. Totally worth it though, in the end.

My addiction to chocolate parallels so much in my life.

ambition

Yesterday, amid the flurry of traveling I had a moment to remember. 

I was minding my own business, chewing my bubblegum, texting on my phone when suddenly a rush of footsteps sounded behind me. A man, in his late twenties to early thirties had just run across the street to catch up to me. I was descending down an escalator when he approached me. “I just had to tell you miss, that you have the kindest eyes I think that I’ve ever seen. I saw you from across the road and I just had to tell you.” “Thank you.” As I looked away searching without luck for an escape. “What’s your name?” “Whitney.” “Oh, well it’s nice to meet you, my name’s Ambition.(Insert small talk.) And then, “I was just wondering, do you have a phone?” (I was mid-text, mind you.) I glanced down at the phone in my hand, “Yeah, but I also have a boyfriend.” We’d finally reached the end of the escalator at this point and Ambition rounded on his heels returning to the city above, but not before this: “Well, beautiful Whitney, you have a safe and prosperous weekend.” (Thanks?)

Sometimes life just hands you little gems that you stick in your pocket for a rainy day. Thanks, Ambition, for one of ‘em.

Hate is a very strong word. But I hate Michael Steele.

People run and bustle throughout the day, allegedly in a bigger hurry now than ever before. But if this is true, why is it that as I drive to work in the morning that every drive thru in packed with cars all waiting for their morning cup ‘o joe? If you’re in such a rush, how is it that you’re able to waste a good 8-10 minutes for that Tall Skinny Latte when you could make yourself a homemade cup of coffee in about 1/5th the time at home? I don’t understand it. Maybe it’s because “Morning Joe” on MSNBC is now “brewed” by Starbucks. Or maybe it is because corporate America now owns middle America. Who knows?

If I didn’t know better, I’d think that before technology became so very advanced, people were unable to find love. Honestly, with the plethora of dating websites, dating reality TV shows and the like, it seems as if people just can’t do it on their own. Kind of scary, really. 

Had my first dream about law school last night. Very weird.

Wow I’m confused. I think there’s a Flo Rida song about this. And I’m embarrassed at having said that.

And exhausted. Long day, week, weekend. Looking forward to the very bright end of the tunnel in a few days. Will finally see my apartment! Got move-in date and have begun discussing decorating. So now things feel real. 

I have officially bought every publication regarding the life and death of Michael Jackson that I have seen on newspaper stands and grocery store check-out lanes. Mourning is such a weird process, even moreso when seen on a worldwide level.

As is the acceptance process. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it never ceases to amaze me just how much the human mind can adjust to and accept in life. A blessing or a curse? I don’t really know. 

Silence is golden. But solitude, at times, can be absolutely invaluable. (Along with some good green tea.)

Goodnight moon.

Beautiful weekend. Sort of. But such is life.

headlines

Alright, one quick complaint. I get the purpose/necessity/ease of headlines. However, one has to wonder, who are the people sitting behind the screens who write them? For example, in today’s news was a tragic accident where a man ran over his wife and and son at a campsite. The two headlines regarding the story on CNN were “SUV runs over wife, son camping in tent” and “Dad runs over campers.” Both of these headlines are erroneous in their own ways. Headline number one evokes a vision of a big SUV running over his own wife and child, smaller versions of himself. The second makes it seem like a man just randomly forged through the wilderness and hit some people enjoying a vacation. Both headlines end up being complete and utter misrepresentations of the story, for it was no simple camping trip in the first place. The man is an Iraq veteran, a husband and a father of two, and they are homeless. Upon leaving the military seven months ago, the man had been unable to find a job. He and his family had been living at the campsite for over a week and were planning to reside there for the rest of the summer. Is there not something strangely familiar about veterans returning from duty only to find themselves on the streets without work nor homes? I’m horrified. Just for what it’s worth, the woman’s injuries were minor and the story reported that the son, though hospitalized was in stable condition as of now. 

I wonder if people who write and report on the news become impervious to the sadness that surround them, almost completely unable to feel anything by the ends of their careers. I feel like I would.

So sad.