Can we all agree on a couple of things now? We make impulsive decisions. I don’t want to get into the emotional technicalities of those decisions because there is a maturity gap until I start talking about them. Let me confine the day to impulsive purchases. I for one, acquired a new toy drone and a coffee maker.
My justification on the coffee maker being that I will make up for the price in 15 cups of coffee compared to what I might pay for buying coffee outside. That was a big fat lie and now I must sit at home and feel it judge me for the ungodly amounts of coffee that it makes for me. The drone was a truly mad impulse. I saw it. I wanted to have it. I paid for it. Now I fly it around the house and behave like a 10-year-old. Bliss.
Ideas are formed on paper could well be the underlying theme of this piece. The madness has come a full cycle and I’ve begun to put ideas into a small notebook again. Something about being old school will always have its charm. Now, I can’t put into complete words all the ideas that I have on it. So, we’ll toss em up and see what sticks.
We grow old. It’s nature and all that jazz. Growing up, on the other hand, is not mandatory. It is not on the instruction manuals. Refer to the part where I purchased a toy drone as a grown ass man. This brings us to the culture of birthdays. I have three people who had birthdays falling within the space of a week. All of them know each other. Everybody planned a birthday for the other person. I was like Joey from Friends in this scene (those of you who have watched Friends, explain to the ones that haven’t). Now, the idea of surprises is not new. I remember when a bunch of people forgot my birthday and had to not-so-subtly sneak out to buy the cake. So, when we’re all adults, we know that something is coming on a birthday; everybody knows it. Does the birthday person, a) give it no thought and act nonchalant about it and pass it off as no big deal or b) at least pretend to be excited about the fact that people are taking the effort to throw something (even though it might be just cake) together for the birthday?
If you chose a, let the records reflect that I’m judging you.
Be a kid about it. Have the cake. Smear it on someone’s face and go to sleep. Case closed.
There is something as a casual left hander. Wherein the dominant arm is the left but certain activities such as writing, and eating have been beaten into being done by the right hand.
God will poke your eyes is the crudest translation that I can muster; the original coming from generations of believing that right is right, and left is less than desired.
I’ve spent a great many hours in this regard, wondering what was wrong with me. I’ve stood at the kitchen struggling with a pair of scissors trying to cut through a plastic bag of god-knows-what only to have my mom waltz through, pick up the scissors and slice through the sheet as easily as shaking dry leaves out of a tree.
This was, until I stepped into a class which mentioned that there are left-handed scissors. There is this difficult-to-put-into-words feeling that stems from the back of the head giving a rush of relief when blame is finally shifted towards the system or a non-individual entity. I felt that along with the vindication that it was the scissors that were wrong.
Nevertheless, I have not yet made a move to buy left-handed scissors for the fear of discovering that I am, indeed a shitty cutter.