Some dead guy once thought this stuff up*, using waaay more impressive words: Man fight wars to achieve peace. Peace brings unity. But Man need to fight and divide themselves to achieve purpose. The little wars among themselves will continue until a bigger, common threat binds them together again.
It's a month to the Philippine national elections. What do you think the chances are that another country would invade us before then? These guys make me laugh/sick. Either way, not good.
I'm always game for conversation. No rules to it really -- just keep me interested. I would love to hear your thoughts on Jungian philosophy or the last Aga Mulach movie you saw. Whether you want to gossip about your sister's philandering boyfriend or ask me how to configure your Sony-Ericsson phone, I'm there for you. But never in a million years would I want to hear how your bowel movements are coming along. Really. That's not what I mean when I say "How are you?"
Sadly, more and more people I know tend to do that. A., a guy I know from work seems to think the only topic we would find common is blood pressure so he gives me his diastolic-systolic stats for the week when we bump into each other in a mall. M., who is in denial about being a zillion years old, likes to tell me how I haven't lived it up until I get my colon cleansed. S., who is very into alternative medicine after a close brush with the big C, tells me white rice, corn and peanuts are cancerous (as long as chips, pizza and soda aren't on the list, I'm cool).
What's going on here?
An all-consuming preoccupation with staying alive is universal (excluding girls who wear 9-inch platform shoes -- a death wish if I ever heard one); but an all-consuming preoccupation with talking about it is characteristic of folks who aren't doing much "living."
I'm all for "eating healthy", "changing your lifestyle", and "being all you can be." Hey, more power to y'all who pull that off nicely. But I move that we get Professor Dumbledore or some other kick@ss magic guy to cast a spell that all efforts to enhance one's anatomy be negated as soon as it discussed with someone who doesn't give a sh*t.
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4.01.2004
NAPSTERS ... NOT
Last Sunday at two in the afternoon, Carlo, Diego, Lisa and I were all piled into bed for our siesta:
CARLO: Mom, I don't want to nap.
ME: Don't nap. Just close your eyes until four. Please. Let's all close our eyes so Mommy can rest. Mommy's tired.
(silence)
DIEGO: Mommy! Mommy! Kuya [big brother] is not closing his eyes o.
ME: Carlo, close your eyes na. Diego, no more talking please. Rest, boys. Mommy's tired.
(silence)
LISA: **gurgle coo slobber**
DIEGO: Mommy! Mommy! Lagot si Lisa. Talking o.
ME: She's not talking, anak [child]. She's playing with her laway [saliva]. I said, rest. Mommy's tired.
CARLO: Can I play too?
DIEGO: Me too! **start projectile spitting**
ME: Sure. First, you have to close your eyes until four. Pleeease. Mommy is very tired.
(silence)
DIEGO: Mommy! Mommy! ...
This conversation continues for another hour and a half. Or as I prefer to call it now, the time the boys initiated Lisa into their evil If-We-Don't-Wanna-Sleep-No-One-Sleeps cult.
By three thirty, I had to give up all hope that they would actually fall asleep at my prodding. Disappointed about foregoing my own afternoon nap (it is a luxury I do not indulge in often), I hauled all three of my children into the living room and walked to the kitchen to fix their snacks. Two minutes later, I find them asleep on the living room rug. Grrr.
Years from now when my children are climbing in through the windows after partying too late or breaking curfew, they will be so sorry I've been trained to survive on very little sleep.
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