So, uh, it's occurred to me that I do indeed have a blog, and that I do indeed have people who read it regularly (plus ou moins) and that I ought to write another post. So here I am, after several weeks of lack of motivation, laziness, writer's block, and a couple weeks of all those plus utter bewilderment at the new format of the blog page... dashboard... layout thing.
Anyway, here I am, slinking back after months of no word.
Actually, the main reason really has been writer's block, and instead of mashing keyboards and pouring out brain goo, I decided to wait until I actually had something to write about. And I do.
So, a couple of weeks ago, I was visiting my father's coworker's house out in the suburbs. They're a very Korean and very suburbsy family in a very suburbsy area. They have two small children, one of whom was at a baseball game or something. So, I only had to deal with one of their children. Unfortunately, it was the younger one, this extremely unnerving three-year-old girl.
Now, I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but I really, really hate children. This is probably awful to hear from a teenager, and you're probably all going to tell me that I'll change my mind when I have some. Three things. No one can say that I will have children, even if I have children I'll probably end up only liking my own, and I do not have any children at this moment in time so please shut up about that, and that's really not a great argument anyway.
I've come to realize one of the reasons I hate children is that they're so undeservingly happy. That, and they're a bit creepy. At least, this particular little girl, who actually looked about four or five, who kept staring at me with this blank expression as if she'd seen my murder the day before and was going to do absolutely nothing to stop it.
But, anyway, let's focus on the happiness. Children are happy. I'm not talking about the children in middle school, or even late elementary school who're starting to learn that life absolutely and truly sucks. I'm talking about children before they reach double digits, small children whose entire worlds are Mommy, classroom and candy. Those children are happy. They whine the most, but they forget what they whine about the fastest.
These kids have done nothing to be happy. They whine, they poop, get sick, get other people sick, sleep and do it all over again the next day. They put minimal effort into life, and it's okay because they're children and Mommy will do everything for them. And yet, you have mature, young, middle-aged and elderly, adult men and women working their butts off in some office building somewhere, trying to make the money to put their kids through college, pay off credit card debt, pay mortgages, and maybe take that trip to Hawaii before they die and they're miserable. Even if they get that trip to Hawaii, they have to come back and be miserable again.
And then it hit me, just recently. Maybe happiness isn't actually something we have to work for. A lot of people say that the key to happiness is to accept your lot in life. Take what you got, cut your losses, give up while you're ahead. And children do that. They're perfectly happy where they are. Their worlds are tiny and they're happy with tiny worlds. You don't need a bunch of stuff to fill up that tiny room. So they're happy.
Of course, this doesn't make me like children any more.
Anyway, those are just some thoughts I had.
It really hurts me to click "publish" because then this'll be the first thing people see when they come to this blog...
