Jumping, with Vigour

I've decided to dedicate this entry to my dear friend Ciara, one of my top five human beings, and one of the five-or-so people who actually read this journal(I assure you, not the same five as the top five). Although it goes without saying, I will say nonetheless, that were Ciara not a part of my life, I would be foreign to myself. There is no question that we could not be the same people that we are today without having met the people that we have. Our actions and interactions with these people, and our actions not directly associated with any recognised relationships, of course, also have a significant impact on who we become. The question is, how do the things we do impact the lives and paths of others? If, for example, I had stayed in London for university, would others have been more likely to do the same? If I had swallowed my pride and my intolerance for immaturity, would a few certain people have followed a safer path? The what if questions tend to be killers. When our elaborate worlds start to unravel, we begin to doubt ourselves, and when others seem to take some devastating blows, we fear that we have not done enough. We let ourselves forget that there were reasons. Good reasons. It's easy to think you have failed if you do not recognise the small successes, the wise, and sometimes selfish, decisions that have led you to your present stance. Recognition is not an easy state to achieve, but it is what helps us to maintain the slightness whereby we do not sink deeply and passively. If we do not acknowledge the good, we cannot feel it as it seeps into our skin.

Jeeves the Inept

I have long been under the impression that Jeeves could answer any question posed to him. I believed him a bastion of enlightenment, and his website a mecca of knowledge. So at 12:20 this afternoon, when I could no longer restrain the curiosity inspired by my lunch, I sought Jeeves' wisdom. I asked him, respectfully, "Why does a pita sandwhich taste better after being stored in aluminum foil than it does after being stored in tupperware?" He did not answer. Or, if his response could be considered an answer, he did not answer well, and did nothing to merit my reverence. In the eight minutes since, I've been projected into a tailspin of loathing and doubt. Is Jeeves, in fact, a spurious idol, a clever ruse designed to lull the masses into tepid semi-cognisance? Or am I simply unworthy of the wisdom of the sagacious Jeeves? I leave you with these questions as I part in search of some deity who can soothe my restless mind and quell my fitful curiousities.

Yogurt-Containered Peaches

Several years ago, my mother received a recipe for canned peaches. She would use the peaches from our tree, a peach tree, no less, and store the peaches in old yogurt containers (usually Astro, with the lime green graphics). I loved peaches. I adored them. I was infatuated with peaches. My mother has long since been divested of her domestic goddess status, the peach tree was cut down by irresponsible and unsavoury tenants, and all that remains of my infatuation are the smoldering remains of a peach cobbler. Note to self: find out how to cobble a peach. I wonder though, what ever became of my love for all things peachy. Did I simply grow out of the relationship, as I did with my love for all things purple, or is there a deeper cause to the rift? Have I, my tastes, and my thoughts changed so very much that I cannot reconcile myself to produce? If I can renew a friendship with a person I did not see for 10 years, why can I not renew a love that I have always cherished? Given that love changes a person, why does it change a person to the point where they no longer feel only that very specific love? Now that I've successfully read too much into fruit, I'm going to go back to being a productive member of society.

Fruitful Vexation

I once knew a person who ate kiwi - the fruit, not the bird - whole. Fuzzy skin and all. Most people I know tend to eat their peaches with skin as well. It's a curious thing, really. I cannot help but wonder what the nature of the natural human instinct toward hair really is. If most can tolerate the tiny amount of fuzz on a peach (which, for the record, I personally find rather irritating, as it causes my lips to itch), then why not simply buzz-cut all of our cows and chickens before we eat them? Now before you all start haranguing me with a chorus of Ewww! Gross!, I would like you to really think about this question. Give me your answer, and then you can tell me how repugnant you find the suggestion.