A few months back, we got a new kitten.
Like anything new brought into my home, I wanted to make sure she was nice and clean. With dishes, I do this so I can eat off of them without worrying, but with a kitten it’s more of a “I want to rub my face in her fur without imagining her sleeping in or near her shelter litter box.”
I had to wait until I was sure she’d healed from spaying, as her stitches were water-soluble, and while I waited I looked around for some cat shampoo that wasn’t flea and tick.
I couldn’t find any at our grocery store or home improvement store (both of which had pet aisles). I’m sure we could have hunted up a pet store or ordered some online, but I only wanted to give her one bath, so I decided to look up whether or not it’s okay to bathe your cat with human shampoo.
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I’d extend my home security system to include an extra pet.
Like a lion or a tiger.
And I would design my yard so that I could let my guard-tiger run loose around areas of entry while we’re out.
Then I’d install a ton of cameras because, dude, if you get a burglar and he sees your guard-tiger, you want a clear shot of his expression.
*giggle*
(Would never actually do this. I wouldn’t have enough time to take care of one properly, and I wouldn’t want to own as much space as it would need. The idea is charming, though, and the thought of a burglar’s face walking into a house and being greeted by a giant cat has to be the funniest thing ever.)
I guess the best description of me in high school could be pulled from the INFJ personality profile:
“INFJs have a rich, vivid inner life, which they may be reluctant to share with those around them. […] [T]hey are guarded in expressing their own feelings, especially to new people, and so tend to establish close relationships slowly. INFJs tend to be easily hurt, though they may not reveal this except to their closest companions.”
I’ve always been very reserved — sometimes perceived as standoffish or uncaring — due to extreme emotional vulnerability. The people who most often recognized me behind my reserve (before I ever said a word to them) tended to be other introverts. The best (though not the only) example would be my friend Dee. She approached me softly and unexpectedly in gym freshman year and I felt an instinctive understanding with her. I saw some of my own shyness in her, but she’d reached out in her own quiet way and made it easy for me to feel safe. I believe she knew how to get past my reserve simply because she knew what it was like to be afraid of opening up.
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Crazy, stupid, offensive people sell a lot more newspaper headlines than sensible, rational people do.
Thus, the crazies often get 98% of the publicity for any particular group. Think about Muslims and what they have to deal with when the terrorist sects are all some people know about their religion. Or consider how Christians only get publicized by nutjob hate groups anymore.
The crazies are not usually the community leaders of a group. They just stand out of the crowd more. There are other crazies who listen to them, sure, but every time a crazy says something stupid, the sane part of their community has to live it down.
Thus, those of us who don’t want to murder anyone really don’t appreciate when the crazies crawl out of their holes to make headlines.
They aren’t our spokesmen.
They’re nutjobs.
Just so you know.
I should have mentioned this to my brother.
I went to church with him last week (it’s an hour drive and I have trouble getting up early, so I rarely go) and got to listen to a pleasant elderly man tell me how I should write about his life because he’s been so many places and done so much stuff.
I smiled and nodded, but it was pretty painful. And awkward. Ohmygoodness, the awkward.
People think, and it’s really not their fault because they aren’t writers and don’t get it, but they think that just because you can write that you can write anything. That just because you’re interested in writing, you don’t discriminate in what you write.
This is a false assumption.
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