thoughts; separate, but equal.

I hate computers. All I have to do is touch one and it breaks. So don't let me near yours--just don't freak out when I call you to do my dirty work (aka browse facebook for me...thanks, you know who you are.) Tonight I took apart my computer with sweaty, shaking hands and recovered my monitor from its coma. Finally! A computer rep who knows what he is talking about and was patient enough to walk me through surgery. I'd give you a cookie, or an e-cookie, dear John from HP, if i knew where to find you.

There should be a required height for bathroom stall walls. Who wants to stand up and meet eyes with her neighbor? What social ettiquette is there for such a situation?!

What if we wore all our bad mistakes on our outsides (besides tatoos)--a public statement of track record, competency, etc...like every rude comment or humiliating moment was a pock mark or a scar on your skin. I thought about this as I recently paused to let the other car at the four-way go, even though it was my turn, and I was grateful as I watched one massive metal dent limp in front of my headlights. "Oooh, good thing I didn't mess with that guy!" I thought.
("Those could have been guests at my wedding!" "They were cones!")

Somedays my eyes see good and somedays my eyes see bad. Yesterday my eyes were seeing bad, no thanks to an hour long dinner conversation about pyschos who lock their kids in the basement for years, murder their significant other, etc., and taking public transportation home after dark didn't really help. I was sitting on Trax, surrounded by the usual grab bag of salt lake society, and I was embarassed by my body language--smashed into a corner, body crossed and contained, eyes out the window, fingers clutching purse--all intended to communicate separateness, non-communication, impenetrablity. And I thought about how Jesus lived among the people; the worst of the people, the outcasts, the smellers and the liars and the untrustworthy; and how I shamefully try to do my portion of His work with a very outstretched and latex-gloved hand.... So I justified myself by saying "but Jesus was powerful and could protect himself and didn't need to worry about danger or his safety." and yet and yet He died at the hands of proud and conspiring men, sparing himself no pain despite His power.

Something to think about.