As opposed to all the ‘same old same old’ dystopian novels, I would love to read a dystopian (or rather utopian, in my opinion) of where the sole survivors in this world are older people beyond the point of breeding. (Preferably, the cool old folks and none of those conservative nutbags though… know what I’m saying?)
Would it be a sad world without children or young folks? Inevitably, some people would try to “grow” babies in the lab or prolong that biological clock so our kind go on, right?
I guess it would depend on the mindset of those survivors. My hope would be that they would leave well enough alone and finally realize that humans have had their time. I have no doubt though that there would be some who would want to prolong their lives and hope for immortality. I guess that would be interesting if some cool evolutionary mutation and/or artificial intelligence became the successors. Hopefully, they would treat our planet better.
But, imagine if those who were left decided to say “Fuck it.” and enjoyed what time they had?
In a world devoid of sickening voices of valley girls and obnoxious, craft beer-drinkin’ millenials, these mature folks could go out and enjoy their neighborhood in peace and serenity. They could travel without a bajillion other people. They could road trip and drive as slow as they comfortably please.
They could swing dance in the streets at 2am when they can’t sleep. Or gyrate their hips to some suggestive hip hop. Whatever floats their boat. More power to ’em.
They could play chess in a quiet park on a sunny afternoon without the squalling of a million youngsters. The only other sounds heard would be laughter and chatter from some ladies slinging back a bottle of whiskey and some chill dudes strummin’ some tunes on their guitars.
They could stroll as slow as they want down the sidewalk or across the street without getting impatiently honked at or run over by a bicycling hippie or a punk skateboarder. Shit, they could just stop mid-stride without disturbing a single person while they figure out what they’re doing, where they’re going, or who the fuck they are.
They could smoke all the pot. They could drink all the booze. They could eat all the red meat and twinkies without anyone chastising them about their cholesterol or blood sugar.
They could enjoy each and every moment for what it is and take what comes their way without a worry in the world of what or who they would be leaving behind. Because they would know once they cease to exist they would be leaving the world a better place. A world that could hopefully thrive on its own once again without the interference of humans.
As the presidential term of our 45th president looms ahead and we approach 100 days of a gloomy, frightening USA, I have often wondered how do his voters feel now? I know the diehard conservatives who are all ‘America first!” and “Yeah, fuck women’s rights!” and “Get those foreigners out of our country!” probably still think Trump is the Second Coming of Christ.
But… what about everyone else who voted for Trump and maybe have a shred of sense in the heads? Ya know, the ones who managed to overlook his racist, sexist, and xenophobic platform in a poor attempt to keep “politicians” out of our government. “I’m not racist. I just think he speaks his mind. Anyone but Hillary. Amirite?”
Remember those voters? The ones who had some misguided notion of Trump restoring dying industries of jobs to the common folks and crafting easy, inexpensive healthcare out of a mixture of unicorn poop and fairy dust.
Now, you remember who I’m talking about. Yeah, those people. Those people who now seem to be silent at least from what I can discern from my brief information-seeking forage into the scary land of social media from time to time.
What do they think now? What do they have to say to the rest of us they brought down with them? What will they do to help us make this fucked up presidential pile of asshat shittery go away?
According to some survey of 25 Trump voters, he has a 100% approval rating from them. Various social media outlets like Twitter seem to portray a different story from his voters with #TrumpRegrets. And, the FiveThirtyEight poll of how (un)popular our President is… well, isn’t looking so hot.
So aside from Twitter hashtags, where are all the other regretful Trump voters expressing their discontent with our president? I imagine they are just sitting at home blissfully unaware and/or apathetic about what their vote has done to our country. And that, my friends, makes me even angrier than the careless and uninformed vote they cast in the first place.
I find it very sad that it is almost always the ones who did not fuck up in the first place to go out there and attempt to fix things while everyone else either pretends it’s not happening and that they had no part in the asshat shittery or actively tries to fuck it up even more.
Below is what I shared on my personal Facebook the day after the election. I thought I would share it here as well because sadly, we are still very much a divided country. Hopefully, more of us (read: all the regretful Trump voters) will join the rest of the country in resisting, fighting for fairness, and creating change that is good for everyone.
Let me tell ya… growing up as little Asian girl in southern Ohio, I never felt afraid. Self-conscious and like I didn’t belong, yes, but never concerned for my safety. Mean, hateful words never physically hurt me.
And while Asians have not been an outright target in this election and I probably have nothing to worry about, I know I will not be able to help feeling wary in the future, especially when traveling in certain areas of our country. I feel it will be grade school all over again except with bigger, angrier bullies shouting racial slurs in Walmart parking lots.
So, now my tears are of sadness, anxiety, and disappointment. I have never felt so uncertain and afraid after a presidential election. Not for me necessarily. I married a white, privileged male. If anything, Trump would see me as a successful white man’s token Asian wife. No, I worry for other beautiful American minorities… people of different cultures, religions, ethnicities, and sexual orientations.
I did not vote for Hillary just because she’s a woman. I voted for her because she was our best option who I had hoped would beat the odds and the sexism to become our first female president.
When I voted, I thought about who would be the best fit for our country as a whole because that’s a significant part of being a democracy. We are one big community who should be thinking of each other and taking care of one another.
Who did you think of when you voted?
Stay strong, folks. Create. Speak up. Resist. ✊
A good writing space is essential. And every artist is different. Each and every one of us will thrive in a completely different environment from the next artist.
I hate that stereotypical perception that all creatives are messy. Maybe I’m not as creative as I hope I am (most likely not), but having a cluttered workspace and a litter-strewn desk is not helpful to me at all. It is not productive to the creative processes in my mind. It’s distracting. Because my procastinatin’ brain will find every little excuse possible (clean all the things!) to not write.
Hence why I need a clean, minimalist workspace. Plus, I just love the look and feel of minimalism. I like having only what I need (or maybe want, if functional) and having a proper space conducive to the task at hand.
I like the feel of clean, bright openness. To me, that frees my mind to think, to create. It’s as if it opens a portal to all the stories hidden away in the nooks and crannies of my mind.
So, I am jonesing on the above image I came across yesterday. The natural wood, the white desk and chair, and a large bright window are just beckoning me to sit down. To write. To create. It also helps that I love snow. ❄️
How the fuck is it past mid-April already!? Arrrgh. So much for a whiz-bang start to the year. I was hoping that 2017 would be less stressful than 2016, but so far, it’s been about the same. Yeah…
I’m hoping beyond hope right now that we’re on an upswing though.. that some fucking stars or planets (or shit, I’ll take some black holes at this rate) will align in my favor any minute now and life will just calm her shit down so I can get shit done.
However, as I keep getting older, I have come to realize there will be no better time than now. Funny how that works out. I cannot keep pushing my writing, my desires, my goals to the background of my day to day life. If I had a “real job”, I wouldn’t be doing that. I’d be sucking it up… the aches, the pains, the fatigue, the stress, the other stupid life shit that pops up from time to time, and I would just deal with it as I do my job.
I was once a young woman in her early 30s who dealt with a heart-wrenching breakup, a move to a new place back on her own again, more work responsibilities, an emotionally draining relationship with a mother two hours away who had broken her hip and needed assistance, AND a new romantic relationship all within a span of about three months. I look back on that time now and shake my head in amazement. Did I take speed and not remember? How did I have the energy and stamina for all that? Both my brain and my body must have been thriving on pure adrenaline and endorphins.
So, why the fuck am I treating my writing for this website as well as my dreams of finishing a novel as if it’s just some inconsequential hobby? It’s important to me. I have never wanted anything else so much as to be able to say to myself: “You did it. It took you a long-ass time, but you did it. You wrote a novel. Fuck yeah, bitch.”
And after that moment of self-congratulatory goodness, I high five myself but miss and in the process knock my artsy, cat-eye frames off my smug face. And like a baby giraffe taking its first steps, my legs get entangled with each other and begin to buckle as my glasses evade my grasp. I then stumble for a few more steps, miraculously regain my balance, and feel a brief second of triumph for not falling on my ass before hearing the inevitable crunch that makes every nerd cringe with despair. Broken glass and shards of hipster plastic lay beneath my feet.
Because being a klutz and accidentally hurting myself or breaking something is all I know, people. It’s all I know.
Anyway, so yeah… where was I?
Oh yeah, this thing called writing that I’m supposedly doing. Yeah, I gotta start doing it. Like for reals. It’s now or never. And ya know what, now is as good as time as any.
It’s time for me to shit – er… write or get off the pot.
Actually, I may have to shit now too. The husband and I are currently torturing ourselves with a slightly modified Whole30 bullshit diet. (We’re only eliminating wheat, dairy, sugar, and alcohol – fuck the system for saying no to legumes and a limited amount of healthy grains.) We just thought our stressful lives could be made more fun without cheese, beer, and a fucking cupcake sundae for a whole month. Hahahahahahaha.
In reality, a new doctor recommended I try Whole30 to give my tummy a rest and a chance to heal as well as to see if it helps with any of my ailments. But I tell ya, if I eat any more goddamned eggs, I’m either gonna hurl or be sittin’ on the toilet for a long, long time.
And with that, I leave you.
Tired of life.
Tired of being an adult.
Tired of being tired.
Tired of carrying what feels like the entire weight of an elephant in problems upon my achy shoulders. Some days, it’s a baby elephant. Other days, it’s like a papa elephant. Always a goddamn elephant. And yes, baby elephants are fucking OMG-adorable but not when you gotta fucking carry one on your shoulders.
Tired of feeling invisible.
Tired of feeling like a victim… who fucking feels invisible.
Tired of trying to make others happy.
Tired of trying to keep the peace and not let that metaphorical boat rock too much. Have you guys never been in a boat!? They fucking rock! Both literally and figuratively.
I probably sound way more excited about boats than I intend to.
Tired of putting my life on hold.
Tired of not knowing better.
Tired of living in a semi-quasi-sorta ‘Groundhog Day’. If only that wise and wacky Bill Murray were here in my little bubble of the world. He’d fucking know what to say to make me feel better. Or we’d just drink whiskey.
Tired of feeling alone when I’m not alone.
Fucking tired of allowing myself to be the victim, to be a ghost, to be the faint shadow of what I could be.
Already fucking tired of this fucking post and my fucking whining.
Tired of not using the word ‘fuck’ more often.
That’s kind of better. I’ll work on it.
Tired of scientists not figuring out how to make unhealthy food fucking nutritious, powerhouse foods. I just want Taco Bell and a fucking Twinkie to give me all the nutrients the body needs. Is that too much to ask?
Tired of doing every other goddamn thing besides writing.
Tired of not believing in myself.
Tired of having to be strong. Like, emotionally. Physically, I’m a bit meh.
Tired of always remembering, at times of emotional turmoil similar to what I’m currently experiencing, when an ex once told me I was one of the strongest people he knows. I think he probably only knows like three fucking people (not really) so what the fuck does he know?
(And you, lucky reader are thinking, “You!? Experiencing emotional turmoil right now? Nooooooo. This post is so jolly. Filled with words of pure fucking joy.”)
Tired of not knowing when to quit.
Yeah, I know. I’m too legit.
Tired of getting right back up the next day and taking another crack at this stupid fucking thing called life for whatever fucking reason. Because no matter how shitty life is and how much I so fucking want to quit doing it sometimes (I’ve quit every other fucking thing), livin’ is the one thing that I know how to keep on doing.
Have a great fucking day, y’all.
*I needed a good ventin’. Thanks, Internet!
*Image of trees snapped at The Grotto in Portland, OR
It’s been a while since I’ve done a gratitude post, so this is long overdue and very much needed on my part. This is a fucked up and rather scary time in our country, folks. We’re so close to a political disaster, so try to keep the good things in life present in your mind at all times. The little things that make you smile will keep you going.
my little love notes of gratitude…
♥ Marching with my husband and thousands of other people on January 21, 2017. I’m so happy my husband isn’t an angry, racist, bigoted white dude.
♥ This Countable app. Makes it so easy and kind of fun to stay informed of the issues!
♥ Health insurance! I have it so much better than a lot of people… sooo thankful my husband has a good job he enjoys and we receive decent health insurance. Something I wish for everyone.
♥ Healthy pups! They’re getting older, but they’re still puppies at heart… and at brain for that goofy muppet one.
♥ This image of Justin Trudeau’s butt that’s got all the internets going gaga. Canadians are the envy of most Americans right now. Rightfully so. 😍
♥ Chiropractor! I’ve just begun sessions to correct some shit that’s been going on in my spine. A few things I already knew about, but one pretty serious issue I did not know about is my cervical neck is rather jacked up. No wonder I’ve been having neck/jaw/shoulder/upper back pain! Yeeesh. Hopefully, chiropractic care gets me all sorted out.
♥ Freedom and love in the USA. We have the right to speak our minds, voice our concerns, protest the atrocities our current administration is trying to enforce upon us, and fight their hypocrisy. Use the power of the 1st Amendment that our Founding Fathers bestowed upon us. Be the dissenting voice.
“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”
*Image snapped during the Women’s March in Seattle on January 21, 2017.
So yeah… it’s been four years now, right? It’s 2021? We’re all good? We got over our dumb moment? A moment that will live forever in the history books but did not doom us. Because we squashed that shit early in the beginning and didn’t suffer too dire of long-term consequences.
It’s still 2017?
It’s only been three fucking weeks!?
Are you fucking kidding me?
Let’s keep doing this stupid shit then. Continue reading
Alright, Seattle. You must have heard me whining last time about missing proper seasons and the smell of autumn. Because this winter, you’ve been bringin’ it with some legit snowfall. Well done, you!
I think the whole greater Seattle area has declared it a snow day today even though I only see a couple inches of actual accumulation here in the city. But ya know, the residents aren’t used to driving in snow, and we got some serious hills here too. So yeah… it’s best if no one drives in the snow here.
The park we live across from has been flooded with parents, kids, and dogs all morning. All of them playing in the snow and wearing down what snow has stuck with each run of the sled and each flop to the ground (by child and dog alike) to execute that perfect snow angel.
The husband’s coworkers are snapping snow day pics and sharing them with one another while cheering about breaking out the “snow sled”. Snow sled? Yeah, I am not too familiar with other kinds of sleds Seattleites use, but shhh… just go with it.
Because if I have learned anything living in Seattle is that snow brings out the city’s innocence. For those of us more acquainted with the beauty and joy of an actual winter wonderland, we may just step back and let you have this Seattle snow day. We will observe and smile, all the while thinking “Oh Seattle, you’re so cute.”
Happy Snow Day, Seattleites! You deserve it. ❄️️
*Image snapped on a snowy day in Seattle’s Fremont
“Go back to where you came from.”
Such a vile statement.
Such a statement that I thought would maybe be phased out of our dialogue.
Such a statement that has sadly made a resurgence lately.
Let me first say my intention is not to pit whites against minorities here. If you have never had this phrase spat upon you, you have no way of understanding. I think we can all agree on that.
My intention is to explain how a lot of us are feeling after this election and even more so after the inauguration of a man I currently view as one of the worst human beings in the world. To truly understand racism or prejudice, you need to experience it firsthand. Continue reading
Saturday, January 21, 2017.
Saturday, the day after the inauguration of Donald Trump as the 45th president of the United States.
Saturday, a glorious, sunny day instead of the usual dreary, winter day in Seattle.
Saturday, an outpouring of love and support all across the globe. (Who knew this movement to march had gained such momentum!?)
Saturday, a day to make our presence known and our voices heard.
Saturday, a day to say, “No, we will not stand idly by while you take away our rights and threaten our lives, our health, and our freedoms.”
Saturday, a day where I was proud to stand and march with my fellow Americans: Muslim, Christian, atheist, deist, whatever the fuck you wanna believe, white, brown, black, yellow, all the fucking colors of the goddamn rainbow, gay, straight, transgender, male, female, young, and old.
Saturday, a day where each and every person was essentially saying to one another, “I got your back.”
Saturday, a beautiful day of peace and solidarity. ♥
Now, to those who say the marches did not/will not make a difference (especially you women and minorities… really baffles my mind, btw), check your blasé attitude at the door. Continue reading