Humankind (i.e. a portion of the 15 or so people who dictate how I view humanity in general) has been really disappointing me lately. In ways I consider both intentional and unintentional, but motive aside, it's making me increasingly appreciate the company of books. What's the Captain Planet lesson, kids? Keep your expectations low (despite what Charles Dickens tells you). And don't litter, it kills the seals.
Fourth of July is today. This is a holiday that continues to have very little emotional impact in me. I blame this not on the fact that I have no respect for the trials and tribulations suffered by those who came before me, but more on the fact that lots and lots of red, white, and blue just isn't enough to stir up great swells of patriotism in me. However, I do plan on attending Ribfest to see Naperville's fireworks, as my ritual. Nothing says "I love America" like greasy food, crowds of people, and explosives.
Well, so far writing hasn't done much to dispel my current moodiness, so let's move on to plan B: a market fresh list of things that make me happy:
- Watching earnest little kids close their eyes in concentration and clench their fists as tightly as they can when they make a wish
- Getting lots of phone calls
- Droughts (bad for life in general? Yes. But lots of sunshine makes me happy)
- My dad
- Photographs and written notes and letters
- Hang-out sessions consisting entirely of a constant conversation that lasts for hours
- People who actually listen to what you have to say, as opposed to being preoccupied formulating his next sentence or only hearing without sweating comprehension
- Strawberry smoothies
- Putting on clothes when they're still warm from the dryer
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