The China Man
Yesterday afternoon, I posted this on Facebook:
I *love* glitter. I seriously think it’s my favourite thing in the whole world, I’m just completely mesmerized by it. Sometimes? And you’ll think this is really lame, but sometimes when I stay up later than everyone else or I get up earlier than everyone else, I’ll line up all my vials of glitter on my desk and just stare at them, or pick them up and twirl them around in my fingers so they sparkle. A close second are Martha Stewart’s iridescent glitter stars. The pink ones (called “sugar plum”) and white ones (called “sugar cube”) are my favourites.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
And Chris, my ex, posted this because he thinks he’s just SOOOOOO hilarious:
do you ever wonder about the Chinaman in the rice fields?
Then he posted THIS on Blake’s wall because he thinks he’s SOOOOOO hilarious:
(Click to enlarge)
Basically all afternoon he was teasing me about this “chinaman” thing that I feel I now have to explain (which I’m fine with, it’s actually funny I guess).
When Chris and I were together, I would live 2 weeks up here and 2 weeks with him and his parents just outside of NYC (Pearl River, if you know the area). It took about 9 or 10 hours to go one way, depending on the traffic and I didn’t drive until the very end of our relationship so 99.9% of the time, I was in the passenger seat.
One day, probably a Sunday, when we were driving through Markham, we passed some apartment buildings and I said, wistfully out the window, “hey, do you ever see apartment buildings and wonder what everyone is doing in each one at that very moment?” and he was like “what?” and I said, “sometimes I just sit very still and I think about what every living being in the world is doing at the exact same time, like the China man in the rice paddies or the polar bears at the North pole or whatever,” AND HE LOST HIS SHIT! He almost drove off the road he was laughing so hard.
I suppose it was a pretty air-headed thing to say…but I did want to make one thing clear, which he doesn’t seem to see the distinction of. When I said “China man”, I was talking about a literal man in China, not “chinaman” as in “ching chong chinaman”, the racial epithet my grama was always so fond of throwing around when I was a kid. He doesn’t think there’s a distinction, but I do.
Anyway, Chris messaged me later to apologize for hijacking my glitter status update with his crap and we got talking and he said this:
(I think of it whenever someone brings up a deeply profound thought about the meaning of life.)
So there ya go…the China man story. Consider yourself forever changed. :oP
Blake and the kids are going to be home around dinner time tonight and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Yesterday was pretty rough, I just got really lonely and really freaked out and spent most of the day crying.
Agoraphobia is so much more than the fear of leaving the house, it’s also the fear of letting people IN and for me, it’s also the fear of talking on the phone. Last night Blake said I could order a pizza and it was starting to get dark out and I didn’t want the pizza guy to come here after it got dark out because I was afraid to answer the door if it was dark (our porchlight burnt out a long time ago and it was never replaced because the wiring is shot). But I absolutely COULD NOT call the pizza place and order a pizza. I tried a few times, I had my credit card right beside me, I knew what I was supposed to say and I just couldn’t do it.
I was afraid I’d stutter (I don’t stutter), I was afraid they wouldn’t be able to hear me and I’d have to repeat myself, I was afraid they’d judge me based on my toppings (don’t even ask) or they’d judge me for ordering a small and making them bring it to me. I was afraid I’d accidentally give them the wrong credit card number, I was afraid of leaving too small of a tip, I was afraid of signing for it and it being awkward, I was afraid of every tiny detail you can think of and then about 10 more.
So I called Blake crying and explained what was happening so he, from ANOTHER COUNTRY, called the pizza place and ordered it for me. He said he told them how much to do for a tip ($3) and everything and all I’d have to do is accept the pizza when the guy came.
Well the guy came and I had to sign for the pizza which just about had me in tears and then there was a place for the tip so I wrote $3 but then when I looked at my bill afterward, the tip was already included so the guy probably just got double the tip because I didn’t know what I was doing. Although maybe they were honest (we know the owners very well, they used to be our neighbours) and saw what I did and just disregarded the tip I wrote down. I dunno. All I know is that it was awkward and scary and I’m not doing it again.
Okay, time for more pizza (I am so sick of pizza and pizza products!), morning pages and finishing my sun mandala…and to figure out if what I’m making actually IS a mandala.