Powers of Observation

November 6, 2011

The next time I go into a crowded coffee shop, I plan to splash some water on the floor, fall on my face, and lie there, counting the hours until someone speaks to me.
And while I’m lying there, I will ponder life’s great obstacles.
Life’s hard. I get it.
Many days, there are absolutely no reasons to smile. Yeah, I’m aware.
But why does that give anyone the license to ignore, body check, and reveal total unconsciousness when a fellow human being is talking?
I used to avoid children. I could tolerate them for about an hour—tops—but after that, get me out of there. I never liked the pressure that I felt from them to be entertaining. Kids just want adults to play games and make them laugh.
I can’t take the expectations. I’m not that kind of girl!
But my stance is changing as my adult interactions increase with the passing years.
Children possess a love of life and innocence that pretty much disappears by age 16, and, for most, it does not return.
And that’s not surprising. As we age, we deal with health problems, economic pressures, and failed relationships; disillusionment with life replaces our starry-eyed youthful hopes.
Even if we manage to maintain a level of sunny-ness into adulthood, it is constantly under attack by everyone who resides permanently under a dark, thunder-y raincloud.
It’s a wonder the whole world hasn’t already imploded.
Maybe that’s because we have not bothered to notice that everyone else is as miserable as we are.
I think Gaga has it right. She has obviously cracked the secret code that dressing loudly brings the same effect as yelling, but with more respect. Her outfits mirror childlike tantrums in department stores. Try as you might, ignoring is not an option.
I am still working on attaining the level of personal esteem it requires to don a meat dress or a bubble bodysuit.
So, until I do, Grumpy Man hovering in front of the napkin dispenser, oblivious to the 20 people with spilled coffee desirous of a linen, and Entitled 10-year-old Cheerleader in booty shorts and Uggs in desperate need of a healthy parental figure, I know you know I’m here. But until you gain the maturity to acknowledge me, I will continue my personal pep talks. And remind myself that with my powers of intuitiveness comes increased knowledge of human failings.
Just call me Observergirl.
I’ll work on the name.