Thursday, October 28, 2010

Karma and the myspace fight -

Sitting here with my messy desk, clearing it away, I find some dollar store fake rotten teeth, I had planned to use for the chase scene I filmed last Saturday. I find some tape from my art class 3 quarters ago. And I think about how I kept my cool yesterday when I was verbally assaulted from my neighbors, who with paranoid flair assume the reason their plant has no leaves is because my children are pulling the leaves off. It is clearly an indoor or tropical plant, the leaves are falling off from the cold biotch.

They nearly got violent on me and even called my 4 year old nephew "little fucker". Somehow, I was zen in that moment. What kind of people act like that in front of small children? I was even able to stay calm when a few hours later the lady flipped out again. I've found out that one of the very biggest crimes that a neighbor can commit is to spill a few drops of coffee on the stairs one-time. I swear these people are zipped up way too tight. And need a respite at a nice safe padded wall facility.

Working through all this over and over in my mind, trying to figure out why karma has thown that rock through my proverbial window, has gotten me finding a far fetched explanation. Maybe I yell at my kids too much? Or when I removed my ex-sister in law, and girlfriend of my brother-in-law from my myspace account last week, those actions hurt them so badly that karma went spiraling out of control looking for a perfect opportunity to teach me that my actions ramifications are much stronger than originally thought.

I hope I have not hurt anyone in the sheer idea of not wanting to see all that chisme, bullshit posted on my friendly family myspace. He said, she said, who’s sleeping with who crap that I really don’t have time for.
In analyzying everything I thought maybe there was a way to see through their anger. Or perhaps it is just the final straw of the universe saying its time to move. There’s no parking anyway.

Ok so now maybe that I’ve written this I can go back to my stupid assignment from poetry class and focus, because it is so unworldly important to write about reading about writing poetry. Seriously,  I believe that is bullshit. I really can’t stand looking at an artists work and reinterpreting it for what you think they meant. Either they tell you or not. And maybe you can say what it made you feel, but trying to figure out what they meant is just about the same kind of speculation required for watching your family in a myspace fight.

Ok so if you made it through that, it becomes painfully obvious my happy go lucky optimism has taken a turn sideways.  I guess I'll pray on that.  All this negativity is seeping into my cerebral oatmeal.

buenas