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Monday, January 31, 2005

The documentation that came with my Lava lamp says that the imperfections in the globe are put there deliberately, to give each lamp its own individual character. I donít know if I believe that or not, but I like the concept. Some of my best friends have individual imperfections. I have a few of my own.

Now, thereís nothing that particularly enhances my lifestyle in the fact that I have chronic allergies and fading eyesight and a wonky sciatic nerve. I canít say Iíd be the same person if I had a keen sense of smell, though. And maybe something comes out of the fact that I canít read the small print on billboards any more, although itís hard to see what it might be. And that limp I suffer occasionally — could that possibly have some kind of social value that Iím not even aware of?

Those are the kinds of physical imperfections that might be considered equivalent to the specks on the outside of the lamp globe. Theyíre a little like the lumps in my mashed potatoes (which also add to the character and mask the fact that Iím not an accomplished cook). Itís easy to say that the lumps are there on purpose. Itís even easier to accept them and overlook them.

All this clutter, along with the fact that I canít find the time or energy to get rid of it, is part of my identity. Thatís not a value judgment, one way or the other. It just is. Itís one of the tings that makes me different from the compulsive neat-freaks who must keep everything in its place. (Thatís not a value judgment, either. Or is it?)

Sleep deficit is something Iím learning to live with. Itís not anything Iíd wish on someone else, and itís not something Iíd seek out for myself. On the other hand, itís been part of me at least since I was a teenager (if not longer). The long wakeful nights give my days some of the color and shade they have. Iíd be someone else if I got all the sleep they tell me I need. Iím not sure I want to be someone else.

And come to think of it, I donít want anyone I know, anyone in my life, to be someone else, either. Iím very happy to know so many imperfect people, because there isnít a single one of them who doesnít give me something special that I couldnít get from someone who was perfect in every way. Thatís what I think, anyway, although there could be some slight flaws in my thinking.

26 January 2005

Sky, with slight imperfections.

Specifically (and I might be misinterpreting here), the paperwork says, ďThe imperfections are not defects.Ē Thatís a distinction I like. I can live with my own imperfections a little more naturally if I can stop thinking of them as defects. I only wish I could sing. Iíd give up any hope of a sense of smell or eight hours of sleep if I could just carry a tune.

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And letís not even talk about my uncontrollable hair, or the fact that my eggs are always runny and my pancakes always black, or the mistakes I keep making with the left-handed mouse, pasting when I mean to copy and vice versa. Nobodyís perfect. And if weíre being truthful, everybody is probably just a little bit defective.

Recent recommendations can always be found on the links page.

One year ago: Second Hand
"It means a lot to me that her well-being matters to so many people."

Two years ago: Surveillance
"This is the price we pay for upgrading, when 'upgrade' means the same thing as 'let me see how much more I can insinuate myself into your life and do your thinking for you.'"

Three years ago: Prerecorded
"'Blue-eyed soul,' they used to call it, before the racial implications of that phrase made it obsolete. Rhythm and blues from the streets of New York City, smooth and mellow (unlike, so I'm told, the streets themselves)."

Four years ago: Meet in the Middle
"Monday was a day when I just couldn't see the forest, because all the trees kept falling on top of me. Today they're just throwing apples, and I'm dodging."

Five years ago: Don't Blame Me
"The Boss tells me (and I get paid to believe him) that we are not responsible."

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