The Capacity to Survive

What gives me hope for the human race is that we usually manage to handle what we have to. Somehow or the other, we survive. We finish the project. We calm the crying child. We accept our grief. We survive. 

I never thought I could handle laundry and food and cleaning and generally running a household before I moved out. But I could. I never thought I could survive that History course in college. I did. And let's not restrict this to the little things. There are people my age who are mothers. I don't think I could handle a child. But if I were put in that position-I think I would. When the Arctic circle melts and global warming is unbearable because we as a species suck at long term planning, I think we'll figure out a way to handle it. When flying cockroaches take over the world, we'll figure out a way to handle it.

Because we survive. Scarred, wounded, hurt, traumatized, one way or another, we survive. And we heal. And we move on, to survive new things. 

Because survivng is human.

~Sam

More ramblings. (This is what I do when I have things to say but not enough to make an entire post.)

Hi.
If you're a hyper-sensitive guy well aware of his manliness who refuses to carry his girlfriend/mom's handbag, you should probably leave right now.
As should sane persons and other people who like coherence in their blog posts.

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So first up, if having a baby is anywhere near as uncomfortable as the processes that make childbirth possible, I'm never doing it. Screw experience, one magical moment is not going to make up for nine months of torture. I'll just adopt and pledge my soul to Greenpeace instead.

(Greenpeace because I'm being all eco-friendly by not adding to the population, and because everything-literally everything, from sushi to sanitation- can be linked to the environment. And therefore by extension to Greenpeace.)
(Also, congratulations. You now know that I've never experienced the joys of childbirth.
 (or have I?)
 Bravo.)

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God.
Why, God, why? Why do you hate me? And if you don't, why do you act like you do? Why do you ignore all my sorry's and pleas and thank you's? Do you not care about me? Why did you make me, then, if your plan all along was to leave me?
Why do you not listen to me? Why do you not acknowledge my existence? Why do you ignore all my thousands of thought-messages? Are you not telepathic? But you're God. If you're not telepathic, what hope do the rest of us have?

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Google.

If Google was a person (a guy person) I would marry it. It has everything I want. It's amazing and it's popular, it's successful and it knows everything without being an idiot about it, it looks good and it plays pranks on people, it's unique and it's accessible, it's multifaceted and it has a sense of humor, it's ultra-cute and I bet if it had a smile, it would have dimples.
So there you go. My perfect man is a search engine. 

Though I totally love Sergey Brin, too. Marry me?

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And that is what PMS and a soppy Valentine video from Google does to me.

This post is probably going to come back to haunt and embarrass the life out of me later.

Meh. I'll go eat my Subway now. (Subway <3)

~Sam