Not so much a horrific head wound as an attempt at cuteness

I thought this morning, as my hair was getting in my face, that perhaps some bobby pins would help.  Or a headband of some sort.  "Oh look," I think, "I have this one right here...it doesn't really go with my casual attire, but oh well...maybe it's cute anyway?"

While I was getting coffee at work today, our Health and Wellness Editor looks at me with concern... "What's going on with your head?" he says.
I realize he might be talking about my maybe-cute-maybe-not headband.
"There's a flower on my headband," I say.

"Oh, I thought it was a bunch of gauze or something," Editor says.

There's nothing to dispel your notion of something being fashionable quite like the feedback of an educated adult who thinks your attempt at feminine cuteness is a horrific head wound.  At least it will stop the bleeding.

Flying in a Chair with John Hagee

Okay, so, years ago I had a dream wherein I was sitting on a flying throne of some sort with John Hagee, and we were of course, flying, and he asked me a very intriguing question.  He asked me what the Degree of Reciprocity would be for my life.  It was more of a challenge and less of a personal question.  I don't think I've ever heard anyone use the word "reciprocity" before; in fact, it might not be a real word.  I assumed it was from the word "reciprocal" or "reciprocate."

I was suddenly reminded of this dream a moment ago when I saw a quote by Albert Einstein that one of my customers tacked on to their email signature.  It says, "It is every man's obligation to put back into the world at least the equivalent of what he takes out of it."

This perfectly describes what John Hagee was talking about in my dream.  If someone were to give the world exactly what he took from it, his life score (his Degree of Reciprocity) would be zero.  After I had this dream, it made me think differently about life, and that there should be a human desire and privilege, if not requirement, to give more than one takes: a life score in the black.  Before, I had a more American Dream sort of perspective, where my main goal was to "do pretty well for myself" (as some people say in reference to rich people) and avoid discomfort of any kind.

My coworker Dan mentioned that he thought today was the anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s assassination.  I like the fact that he was named after another great reformer--so prophetic.  Dr. King had a pretty impressive Degree of Reciprocity, as did the original Martin Luther, and so did figures like Gregor Mendel and Corrie Ten Boom.  I'm pretty sure that in our eternal bank account, all we'll have to keep from this life is the difference we made in the lives of others. Cha-ching.

Doe Snot

Okay, so, there was a very minor typo I came across today while reading a book proposal. It was a spacing issue, really. Y'know, I understand; you're typing away and the keys are clicking and things can get pretty outta control. One thing leads to another, and whoops! In sneaks a stowaway space that turns your typical phrase, "does not" into something that instead conjures up images of a female deer with a runny nose.

Which brings me to a minor and major issue of communication: it's all in the details. I myself still haven't learned how to communicate with another human being successfully. Here I thought, all these years, that all my incessant talking might have done the trick, sometime, for someone. But I'm starting to realize that communication is experience-based, and while I might find what I consider a fitting way to describe what I'm going through, it usually doesn't mean anything to whomever I'm trying to enlighten. More importantly, I'm beginning to realize that I simply don't care enough about people to listen to them; I simply enjoy hearing myself talk, because hey, at least that I can relate to. I'm shocked that people have relationships at all, because if everyone is at least half as self-absorbed as I am, the possibility of real communication is a lost cause, simply because it necessitates a skill called listening.

Perhaps this is why I blog. I know no one reads this, but re-reading it a few times myself is maybe what I was after all along. "Wow, that's just what I was thinking," I say to myself as I read.

I definitely enjoy reading, so perhaps I should limit all of my interpersonal communication to the written variety. If you write something for me, I'll definitely read it carefully, and cringe over typos. But if you say something, I probably won't listen to you.