Slept
11/21/00
I slept in. Late, and as usual, got my butt kicked at work.
I’m obsessed with things old & saturated with memories. I’m a packrat. I’ve got too many thngs, nick knacks and odd ends and things that I can’t bear to part with. I have 6 pieces of wood that I have from old tae kwon do classes before I quit. Kick, Kick, punch, punch, elbow, slice.
I have a Han Bok, a traditional festive Korean dress, that I’ve had since i was 2 years old and a red blanket that I’ve had since I can remember. As far as I know, it was the blanket that Mom cradled me in when we flew to the states some 25 years ago. I pulled it out of the dryer a few moments ago and rolled it into a warm pillow to hold and bury my face into. Sweet heaven.
Today I’m listening to old tunes. No joke. Right now I’m listening to Barry Manilow’s CopaCabana. Somebody kill me please. Actually even Barry brings a smile to my face so long as no one’s trying to sing this at bar and causing blistering ears with their feeble attempts at Karaoke.
Yeah. I mean you. Don’t do it. Followup tunes including Five Stairsteps - Ooh Child, Marvelettes - Goin to the Chapel, and the Chi-Lites - Oh Girl, Supremes - Reflections. My favorite? The Shirelles - Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow I’m a motown kid. *GRIN*
I remember when it used to be so easy to be happy. I’m wondering if I’m mental. I can smile, laugh a lot, crack jokes, and be a smart ass, etc. But I’m having a hard time remembering the last time that I just felt shamelessly purely delightfully joyful and happy. Now when I feel happy, it feels a little tinged with grey. Like something’s just around the corner that’s going to scrape my new boots, or splash mud on my smile. There’s a premature crinkle on my forehead for a reason. When did I start being a perpetual worry wart and stress ball?
I remember when I was younger, I’d beam a smile for days because I’d beaten my brother at cards, or written a silly poem, or had successfully wrestled to sprinkler/squid into submission as the long lost little sister of Wonder Woman.
There’s a picture on my wall of my brother with his baseball mit under his arm. He’s 8 and rail thin, boney. I’m 3 and I’ve got the biggest smile on my face with a hula hoop wipping around my waist. I have pigtails and chubby arms with dimples at the elbows. Pink shorts and very little, very red shoes. I want red shoes.
Comfort Food. Props to Jon for making the biggest pot of turkey jook on the planet. Don’t mind if I help myself do you? Or were you really planning on trying to imitate ancient chinese soldiers by making the jook into bricks? Tasty.
So far this week, I’ve been referred to as having the “face of an angel and the alcohol tolerance of a white person”, gotten encouragement from friends, been graced to be a hedgie, and titled booty call. Mysterious Ms X even alluded that she might reveal her secret identity to me. Might not be a bad week.
Thanks muchly.
Peace Out,
Min Jung
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