The Zebra Crossing

I just had a thought the other day. If the Mayans are right, 2012 would be the last year of life as we know it. If the world were to end, this time I don’t think I would mind.

Tonight I spent a good two hours researching about harmful ingredients found in everday cosmetics and non-food household products. I found out that 100% of the stuff I use for bathing and making myself up (not double talk) contains at least one harmful ingredient that is either not environment friendly, a carcinogenic, or just downright dangerous to your body.

To date, it has not yet been determined how far along in life one might experience the side effects slash consequences of using such products. The side effects themselves are still unmapped, unknown much like a black hole in space.

I considered throwing away everything and investing in organic, non-harmful products for my skin, face, and hair. But as I was bathing, I thought: aren’t I already exposing myself to possible carcinogenics and environment hazards? My footprint (was it environmental, biological or ecological?) must be as huge as Big Foot’s. Lengthy but whose existence has yet to be validated by Science.

So. What to do now? Aren’t we all “dying” already, anyway?

F it. I’m keeping my lipsticks.

1. Jake Ryan will forever be the epitome of my Hottie High School Senior.
2. In many ways, I am my own Samantha Baker, whiny and awkward, but meatier.
3. My parents are celebrating their golden wedding anniversary in two days. I hope when they wake up on Friday, they will remember how they felt like when they first fell in love, and will feel that way once more.
4. The evenings are cooler now. Welcome, December.
5. Thank you, Universe for making today easier on the heart than originally perceived.

It’s been an interesting and heartbreaking couple of months. I’ve been busy catching up with work and with life in general, post-exhibit. Since mid-October, I have witnessed all my family members grow a year older. I have grown a year older and hopefully wiser, in the sense that now I know better to do or not do something depending on the situation.

Then there was Harry just being his playful self one day and being dead the next which until now, I haven’t gotten over. It’s only been around two weeks since that dreadful Saturday morning and I still feel sad and regretful whenever I think about him. I know I am probably bordering on insane by now. After all, it’s a cat. Technically, we never shared a conversation, never really got to know each other. But in many ways, I was much closer to Harry than I ever was or will be with my real Father. So, no, just because Harry was not human doesn’t mean I cannot mourn the loss of that inexplicable connection that I had with our cat of less than two years.

For weeks now I have been tempering the urge to write. Write what specifically, I do not know. I just had this growing feeling that some words needed to be written. I tried making lists in my journal (Things To Do Before 2011 Ends); calculating home much I owed the credit card company (more than what I could afford; I am an impulsive shopper); and replying to e-mails I should have replied to weeks ago. These still did not quell the urge.

Which is why I turned to this medium, even though I know the number of people who’d actually take time to read this would not be more than three (I hope you know who you are. Don’t let me down!). It feels comforting to be laying in bed with your hair still wet, baring your soul at past midnight to an audience of two.

At least I need not worry about speaking too fast, afraid that if I slowed down, you’d lose interest in me and start a new topic of conversation.