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I think all inanimate objects should be able to regenerate their atoms in the event that another solid object comes towards them with an abnormal speed.

For instance, walking in the kitchen to pop a frozen burrito into the microwave? Now, let's say, you didn't see that chair. And let's suppose you tripped over it and jammed all the toes of your right foot save your little toe into the hard wood.

Since this chair did not come complete with the regenerating atom option, your poor foot is going to be feeling the impact for several minutes. In fact, it's been over five minutes and my foot still hurts.

But under my plan, the leg of the chair would have sensed your foot moving quickly. It would then have pushed apart its molecules much in the same way water molecules push apart in the event that you drop a piece of ice into the water. Once the atoms were rearranged, instead of your foot hitting the chair and experiencing the force of that, your foot would have safely traveled through the leg of the chair. No harm done.

This would also be effective to reduce car accidents. Or late night stumbling in the dark. Or bumping your head on open cabinet doors.

Truly, I think this is top rate. I don't know why anyone hasn't thought of this yet.  

The truth is out there.

I got this screwed personality test in my e-mail a while back.

Out of the following, which is your favorite kind of plant?
A. Rose
B. Fern
C. A dead one.

So, being the person I am, I chose "C". The test proceeded to say "Rose = romantic, Fern = calm, Dead one = YOU ARE A SICK PERSON!"

I don't know, I just can't stand plants. They irritate me. This vehement hatred towards plants may have partially stemmed from this past summer. I spent an hour a day watering gobs of plants for a friend of the family while she was out of town for three weeks. My brother and I both went over there and it still took an hour every day. I came to the conclusion that plants are just a waste of energy. You water them. They look pretty. That's it. Kind of like cats.

What a waste.

I walked down a street near my house one day mentally grading the yards. My favorites were the ones with dirt yards, dead grass, and rocks. They were definitely the most practical yards. I'm for practicality.

And for what reason has society come to appall weeds? Is it because society has repeatedly melted the phrase "no pain, no gain" into our minds? Weeds grow naturally. They require no effort. "Oh, but they're ugly," you hypnotized fools cry. Oh, yeah? Are they really ugly, or have you been hopelessly brainwashed by societal trends?

I asked Matt that once. He said, "No, they're ugly."

'Cause, you know, I'm somewhat inclined to believe that weeds aren't as ugly as they're made out to be. In fact, they can be rather pretty. But you have to set aside your bias for a moment. Recognize that society has molded you into what you are, and then you can attempt to open your eyes for the first time. That reminds me of a line from the Matrix.

"Why do my eyes hurt?"

"You've never used them before."

I think maybe society has trained us to believe many things. The whole weed incident is one of the more prominent.

But it's stuff like how you're supposed to eat soup with the spoon going away from you. Or how men wear neck ties to important places. Or why women wash their face with three soaps and their hair with two and their body with another one entirely.

It's the little things. The mindsets. Your neck tie doesn't make you important or dressed up, that's just you being pulled into the ways of the world. Weeds aren't ugly, we've just been trained to believe that pansies are prettier.

See what I'm saying?

It's all a conspiracy.

However, this does beg the question: Who brainwashed society?  Space aliens?  It seems plausible.

Sometimes, I feel madness flow through me. I'll have my pocketknife out and walk by a new car. Hmm. I could just use this knife to scratch the car. Luckily, I snap out of it quick enough to realize the consequences.

On Halloween, I was sitting on the concrete ground and I was fingering the blade of my pocketknife. How easy would it be to stab myself in the throat? I could do it. I know I could. Gymnastics taught me how to do even frightening tricks without pausing to consider the consequences. I mean, really, how could I do two consecutive handsprings on a four foot tall, four inch wide apparatus if I thought about the consequences? So you just do it. I know I could just do it. I mentioned this to my friend and he took my knife.

Or maybe I'll be holding a sharpened pencil. I could just poke out an eye.

Holding a butcher knife. I could kill my dog.

They're morbid and insane thoughts. I know that full well. I get them. I snap out of the madness quick enough.

But it's there

It scares me that maybe one day I'll make a decision out of this madness that will affect my life forever. I don't really think I would ever act on the decision, the momentary madness is a consequence of thinking too much.  I think constantly.

I think I turned into myself this morning. But I'm not sure. I certainly don't feel any different.

I think about that sometimes.

I asked Matt once if he thought he'd still be cool if he was another person. He thought he would. He's kind of arrogant. I can't blame him. If I was Matt, I'd be arrogant. But really, if you were another person, you would be completely that person.

So theoretically, we could be different people all the time. And never know it.

Maybe we switch people a lot and that's how come some people click with me. I think stuff like this, sometimes. Just weird, totally irrational things that could, technically work.

Just a theory.  

I like sneezing. On the contrary, I despise the sneezy feeling that overcomes my nostrils. It makes me believe that I have to sneeze. It's an insatiable itch in my nose. I can only relieve the itch if I sneeze. So I hate it when I get that feeling and can't sneeze.

I also hate how it's November 16 and stores have already got their Christmas decorations up. Come on, now. There's another holiday after Halloween but before Christmas. Remember? Thanksgiving! That just irritates me. Can't they institute a little more patience?

You just can't market Thanksgiving like you can market Christmas. I mean, every department store sells the little sinister Santas that move around when you plug them in, but can you imagine an electric turkey? I do believe that would be scary. Scarier than the Santas even.

But Thanksgiving is great, even if it doesn't have specials on TV.

Speaking of specials on TV, ABC is having a Christmas movie this Sunday. Before Thanksgiving. That's wrong.

Just plain wrong.

I remember the days when all the Christmas hype began the day after Thanksgiving. We were all so innocent then.

I remember once I went and did all my shopping on Christmas Eve. I've done that several times. I'm horrible with dates.

Yesterday was talking on the phone with Stacey and I thought it was Tuesday. She's like, "Kirsten, tomorrow is Thursday." "What? No way." "Yeah." "Oh, dude. You're right." I hate that. I feel like a day passed me by without me even noticing it and that makes me wonder, "What day did I forget?" And I think it's an unhealthy way to live life.

"Today was just a day fading into another
And that can't be what life is for
Every time it rains I just feel a lot better
And that's all that really matters to me"

That's all days are to me. They fade in and out. It's hard to differentiate Monday from Friday.  

It dawned on me the other day as I was impatiently waiting for my frozen waffles to pop out of the toaster oven that we live in a fast-paced world.

I am hungry. If I can take just three minutes of my time to shove a couple waffles into a silver toaster, I can satiate my hunger and get back to what I'm doing.

In fact, if I've got 3 more minutes, I can make myself a chicken Fiesta bowl. 2 minutes for a tamale. 3 minutes for a burrito.

Cable modems boast of their high-speed connection. That way, all the things you need to do can be done with just a click of the mouse. How long does it take to click a mouse button? A tenth of a second?

In California, we can drive 65 miles per hour on the freeway. Sixty-five miles an hour! Any place I fancy, I get there at a rate of 65 miles per hour.

Pizza will get to your house in less than 30 minutes or it's free.

Go through a drive-thru and you'll have pipin' hot food straight from the frying pans into your car in less than 20 minutes. At Jack-In-The-Box, they don't make it until you order it. And we all know McDonald's loves to see you smile.

With a vacuum cleaner, your carpets can be cleaned in less than 5 minutes. I timed myself once. 1 minute and 42 seconds. For clean carpets in the family room.

And yet! Products are designed to save you time. Whatever for? So you can go home and take 3 minutes to cook your frozen burrito? So you can take that burrito and eat it while watching a 30 minute television show? Or maybe you want to take 3 minutes to pop some popcorn and then spend 120 minutes watching a movie?

This world has got some crappy priorities.

And why is it that our lives haven't changed? With all these new high-tech time saving devices, why do our lives still consist of waking up, doing what we need to do, eating, going home for a little fun, and sleeping and doing it all over again?

This is how people have spent their lives since the beginning of time.

And how come that two minutes you spend stopped at a stoplight drives you crazy with impatience?

I don't get it.

It kills me. There are so many different options and I'm absolutely horrible with decisions.

In fact, on that note, I bought two sweatshirts today. I couldn't decide between the green sweatshirt or the blue one. Oh, to heck with decisions, I thought. And I bought both.  Or when I couldn't decide between purses.  The larger gray purse?  Or the cooler yellow one?  Um…eenie meenie miney mo?

I did the same thing with CDs not too long ago. I couldn't decide between Breach by The Wallflowers or Mad Season by Matchbox Twenty. Kirsten! Spend money! I did it. I spent nearly 40 dollars on CDs and 80 dollars on two sweatshirts. Cripes.

Today I wanted something to drink. I went to the soda machine and, by george, they sell about 12 entirely different flavors of soda. Root beer, orange soda, Coke, Pepsi, Sprite, Mountain Dew, Dr. Pepper...so many choices! And I like them all. So, I must ponder, what do I feel like today? Coke? That would taste good. But then, so would orange soda. But then, so would Sprite. Ay! It is so frustrating.

I bought Dr. Pepper.  

I'm eating a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich.

I think it tastes good, but the proportion of jam to bread is a bit too much.

There were some Oreos on the counter, and I was stricken with the urge to put some peanut butter on it and eat it.

It was really good.

Hey, look, the last bite of sandwich is a puppet. He says 'hi'

Shoot, I've got jam on my fingers.  

In my dreams, my imagination is not constrained by my intellect. In fact, before I drift off into unconsciousness, I sometimes catch myself being free. Thinking without rules. A thought slips in..."You don't look at me or to me, you look through me." I thought that last night. I wasn't even the same person anymore. "What are you, Mr. Something" (the last name was nonsense. I can't even remember it now) If I thought about thinking, I couldn't do it anymore. Then I was trying to set rules on my thoughts which wanted to be free. They wanted just to be.

And you know what's weird? I have an entirely different life in my dreams. I mean, the other night, I was dreaming that I was at Burger King with my brother and sister.

"I'll have a number 6." he said
"What do you want with that?" she asked
"Ah..breakfast?"
"Jas, I think you mean you wanted a McNammer." I said
"Whatever."

I have a life in my dreams. In my dreams, I recall other dreams and use them as reference. I have memories in my dreams. One time, a long time ago, I was dreaming but I thought, "no, this can't be a dream. I can feel the gravel beneath my feet." I remember feeling the gravel.

So that brings me to the ultimate point. Is this a dream? Or is this real life? Is what I think a dream a dream? Or is that real? And is this the dream?

"Once upon a time, I, Chung Tzu, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of following my fancies as a butterfly, and I was unconscious of my individuality as a man. Suddenly, I awoke, and there I lay, myself again. Now I do not now whether I was a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man."  

Dude. I hate M&M's.

I buy a bag of peanut M&M's. Or maybe I just grab a handful at a party. I eat them. I juggle them. And then there is only one more. Whether it be green or blue or orange, I know that this M&M will inevitably contain a rotten peanut that will leave a disgusting aftertaste on my tongue for hours to come. Why is that the last M&M is always rotten?! If I gave someone else the last M&M, it wouldn't be rotten. If I decided to eat the M&M that I was going to eat last before it is the notorious last M&M, it wouldn't be rotten. But it is inevitable! the M&M I eat last will be rotten! How do they do it?

I don't even eat the last M&M anymore.  

I read this book at the beginning of the year. It is called The Heart of Darkness. It wasn't the best book in the world, but Joseph Conrad has a knack for writing out my thoughts in a more eloquent way than I could ever write them.

In the story, Marlow was telling a story about his steamboat to his friends. If I was one of his friends, I would not have listened to this guy drone on for so long...but not only is that aside the point, but they were on a boat and they probably didn't have anything better to do.

Anyway.

"This simply because I had a notion it somehow would be of help to that Kurtz whom at the time I did not see--you understand. He was just a word for me. I did not see the man in the name any more than you do. Do you see him? Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems to me that I am trying to tell you a dream--making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams...No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtler and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone...."

Life is crazy. I can relate to you my day, but to you it means nothing. Two people could go to the same places and do the same things and still their days would be different. They could relate their days to a mutual friend and they would find that they'd had different experiences, different conversations, different things stuck in their head. The dancing elephant on TV meant something else to her than it did to him... We live alone.

There's this song by Everclear. My radio station plays it every now and then.. It's called "Wonderful." I don't relate with the song as a whole, but some of the lyrics caught me the first time I heard it...

I close my eyes when I get too sad
I think thoughts that I know are bad
Close my eyes and I count to ten
I hope it's over when I open them.

I want the things that I had before
Like a Star Wars poster on my bedroom door
I wish I could count to ten
Make everything be wonderful again

Promises mean everything when you're little
And the world is so big
I just don't understand how,
You can smile with all those tears in your eyes
When you tell me everything is wonderful now

Isn't it crazy how big the world used to be? How tall the slides were? How deep the pit of balls? How you could practically swim in the bathtub? And how you couldn't touch the bottom of the pool? Not even in the shallow end? Crazy.

But when was the last time you played in the balls? Had a bubble bath and played with all the plastic toys?

Baths are no more for me. Showers are much more practical. I'm always moving. I have things to do... There's just no time for adventures with a plastic mermaid and Hulk Hogan action figure.

The world, literally, begins to shrink. You can see over the counter. You don't need a stool to reach the cups. The balls in the pit don't even come up to your knees.

Then you are confronted with a huge gaping problem.  Life is suddenly so complicated.  There are a million things to do and a million things you have to do and the world seems to crumble beneath your unsteady feet.  You wish you could close your eyes and open them again and have the world be as it was…  

I was like, totally bored in French class today. We were going over content we'd just done the homework on. I sat slouched in the uncomfortable chairs and wrote really weird notes:

"I don't like to write with ink, but I like to write with this pen. It makes me very happy, this pen. I think I am in love with this pen. I wish that I were made with plastic so that I would be as my pen and we would write together on the same page of the same book and we could make beautiful little letters and I would be so happy."

"je veux être un stylo aussi, comme mon stylo bleu! je vais crier, parce que je ne peux pas être un stylo."

And my poem...

I hate technology.

Ever notice how people talking on cell phones look like they're talking to imaginary friends? It reminds me of the old television show "Quantum Leap" when Sam talks to his hologram friend from the future.  Sam is the only person that can see him so the people around him always thought Sam was a few fries short of a happy meal.  It's funny, though, now when people appear to talk to themselves, no one cares.  It's normal.  It's a cell phone.  Ah…how wonderful is technology?

E-mail gives every jerk the perfect route of dumping a girlfriend without confrontation. Girls use it, too ("I must be politically correct").

Technology allows for intimate conversations which are, strangely, impersonal.

Think about that for a minute.  

I've got memories and diaries that I wrote a long time ago. Like, when I was 7 or 8. It's so strange to read them. I have an unusually good memory, and when I read these diaries, I remember exactly how I felt, what happened, how things looked...

What is a person? Is a person defined by how they look and talk and think? Because if that's how a person is defined, I have been a lot of people growing up. Maybe some personality traits are the same, but I am so vastly different from what I once was that it is eerie to look back and remember.  It as though my thoughts were indeed thoughts of another.  It seems odd that I can remember thinking them.  It seems those thoughts of long ago were only something I dreamed.

And I know that I'm not through changing yet. So who am I? Is the real me stuck somewhere in the past? Or is it waiting for me somewhere in the future? Or am I real now? What is now? "Now" doesn't exist. We live suspended between moments--past and future.

Or, perhaps, a person is really only genetic coding. In that case, the thoughts and feelings do not really make the person. The person grows, but never changes being.

And I think that's probably true, though it's a very mundane thought.