My mum officially wants to adopt one of the disator orphans from Asia. She brought it up yesterday, and last night I had a dream that we adopted a little girl, and we had to teach her all about an American Christmas. It became a strange dream when we found out that she was actually Jewish, and we had to start celebrating Chanuka... My only problem with it is the language barrier, but otherwise I'm all for it! And plus, how quickly do I pick up on other languages? I really want to help, but I'm afraid the adoption agencies won't give a child to a one-parent family, especially when that one parent will be at college and then work a lot, and the adult child will be at college someplace far away (most likely), and the only person there most of the time will be a teenage boy who needs to spend a lot of time taking care of his own disease, let alone an emotionally-scarred child from Sri Lanka.
It's worth a shot, isn't it? It'd be wonderful if we adopted a girl, and I could teach her how to properly apply makeup and buy her clothing and introduce her to the greatest literary names of all time! She'd love Dickens as a close friend!
Well, all dreaming aside, and dwelling a little on literature; I've been coming across those annoying diaries of that annoying book snobs who examine their "feelings" in such excruciatingly boring depths that they lose focus of actual life. They write like their lives are books, but they never seem to realise that the best feelings are implied. I constantly complain about the books or movies that have hidden plot details that are discussed in conversation at the very end instead of being revealed in points throughout-- well, these people are those weaknesses of plot personified. At first it seems impressive just close to the reality of the abstract these people can be, until you realise that every conversation is the same one, and you see just how selfish these people can be. And how drab that tends to be! "I'm so depressed because I find myself connected well to Jean Valjean, inept to feel until an epiphany strikes..."
Eeek, what a rant! My original intent was to point out my disdain for the type that has no actual problems in life but that they over-analyse everything, instead of accepting happiness over their existentialism. I've always admired the people that suffer wit, the ones who can have actual problems and still maintain a sense of humour and a brevity in words. Which I try to do, but sometimes agnst gets the better of me. My final word on this was meant to be: I'm sorry for being so depressing all the time! But I lost track in my complaint. If one can't find happiness in having no problems, then there is no point in living. But, if one can find happiness despite problems or a lack of them, that one should have all the life in the world!
So, on the lighter-side of life, I've always known that there was no island of Kokomo, but I've never known it was in Illinois. Which I found as utterly as depressing as the Welsh birth of Saint Patrick. How could you, Beach Boys? And I also didn't know John Stamos was a part of that song, so, I reiterate, how could you, Beach Boys? Kidding! Just kidding! I love that old beach rock, it reminds me of Gidget. I had a friend once who called me "Midget" (I'm 6'1", sense the verbal irony yet?), and I told her to just call me "Gidget", that it made as much sense.
She didn't get it.