Wednesday, July 29, 2015

The Big One

I wish the news would stop saying that the Pacific Northwest is going to have The Big One™ any day now, as if the entire state of California will be sloughed off into the sea tomorrow by an earthquake so great we can’t even measure it. The messages I’ve been getting from worried people are out of hand (which to clarify is not their fault, it’s the freaking media instigating panic for views).

First of all The Big One™ just means 8.0 or so. Which, let’s be clear, is a really big earthquake and nothing to laugh at but there are fault lines capable of much more powerful earthquakes. It would be bad, it would be less bad than Fukushima.

Furthermore scientists suspect ‘any day now’ will actually be 'sometime within the next 30 years.’ There’s no way to really know until right before it starts, so there’s no use living in constant fear of it. Be prepared, urge your loved ones to be prepared, but don’t dwell on it like you/they may not wake up tomorrow. People have survived much worse natural disasters.

Also? California isn’t going to fall into the ocean like America got butterfingers and couldn’t hold onto it anymore. Eventually the movement of the plates will probably slide the entirety of the west coast northwards, but it won’t simply cease to exist because of a single earthquake. Climate change stands a better chance of drowning the west coast (and wiping out Florida entirely), actually – so maybe less listening to the media and more investing in clean energy?

Lastly, just to be clear, where I live is nowhere near the epicenter of this quake. I do not live on the fault line. We’d probably feel it, if it was really big, but it wouldn’t be catastrophic here. So while I am absolutely terrified of earthquakes, I do not feel compelled to flee the state under the cloak of night tonight. I am in far more danger from wild fires exacerbated by the exceptional drought we’re experiencing. So… maybe also conserve water? Don’t buy bottled from California (Aquafina, Dasani, Arrowhead, Niagra)? Please?

The natural disaster we’re actually having RIGHT NOW is more important than one that might happen by 2045.

Monday, July 13, 2015

Why I Am Compelled to Write

I have never met my grandmother. She died at a mere 26 years of age leaving behind 3 children too young to really remember her. Shortly before her unexpected death she had begun keeping a journal. It was small, written in pencil, her handwriting looked a lot like mine. Her entries were glimpses into her day-to-day thoughts. However, pencil doesn't stand up well to the passage of time.

By the time my mother and her siblings were old enough to really understand the journal entries, to get a glimpse of who their mother had been, much of the writing had faded and been smudged. Those parts of her would never be recovered. Entire pages were illegible. Despite how much she must have written, no one could read it. Had she been happy? Sad? Frustrated? My grandfather was a handful back then, I can only imagine her opinions about him sometimes.

From other people's memories of her I knew she was a kind, forgiving woman who never held a grudge. I knew she was beautiful and a stay at home mom. That she was the love of my grandfather's life, and he'd never remarry because of that. But that's honestly about it. Usually people's stories of her were centered around them, as is to be expected.

I read the journal in my 20's, wondering if I would outlive her, much as I'm sure my mother had wondered in her 20's. The more pages I couldn't decipher, the more I worried that if I were to die there' would be little to remember who I had been. I've long been content with the fact that life is finite, that I too would someday die. The thought, however, that I may put others in the same position my mother and uncles had been in though? That sat like a heavy stone in my stomach.

I refused to be reduced to anecdotal stories told from other people's perspectives. I wanted people to be able to look back and read about my life through my own words. Even if they were frivolous at times. I wrote my first blog post just days after finishing my grandmother's journal. Though it was written elsewhere, many moons ago, you can find that post here. I was 22. I made sure to transfer it over, whenever I moved to a new host for my writing, regardless of how well it was written or whether or not I had said anything embarrassing or worthwhile.

Because your life isn't all about exciting adventures or coming off as perfect/accomplished. Sometimes it's about family dinners on Sunday, waiting in line, having the flu, and losing socks in the wash; and embarrassment is a big part of life. The sooner you realize these things and truly accept them, the happier you'll be. All of this is why I write, to be remembered on my own terms. Should anything happen to me, I'd love for my son to one day read all of this and get to know me as I had been.

Heavy Content

I know my funny writing has been missed lately and I'm sorry there isn't more of it being churned out for your viewing pleasure. I just want to assure you it's not a sign of the end times or anything. I simply don't have a lot of time to write, so when I do it has been about more important topics I need to get off my chest. Because as much as I enjoy knowing you guys like reading my stuff -- writing, first and foremost, is therapeutic to me.

I promise I still laugh and smile and do hyper-embarrassing nonsense daily and that stuff will return when I find myself with more time to write about it. In the meanwhile, if reading my more personal, deeper stuff isn't your cup of tea, check out my tumblr. Lots of tomfoolery gets channeled into it because of its ease of use (read: quickness). I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it before, though perhaps not. All work and no play make Inari a something-something.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Dreaming About Mansions

Dreamt that Sean bought an enormous mansion and we all lived in it, each with our own wing. For some reason Tyson and I had to share a bathroom though. All was fine until he started stealing my eyeliner.

I confronted him about it and he tried to deny it, despite looking like Jack freaking Sparrow. He insisted that he was born with it (trademark Maybelline). I wasn't even really mad about the eyeliner except people didn't believe me that he was wearing any.

So I had to conduct a sting operation to catch him in the act. There were donuts and tactical turtlenecks and everything. Unfortunately I woke up before the final Tarantinoesque showdown. What a weird dream.