Livin' Theories

Mark my words:

To live in the present is quite interesting.






(The photo above was taken the moment I started this post; simple symbolism that connects your brain to the idea I'm trying to convey.)

Recently I've taken a great amount of care to forget about past events (the bad ones, usually) and to stop worrying so much about the future.
Old fashioned ideals may state that to live in the present is to live like a fool, because they think this means that we young people aren't making responsible plans, responsible decisions, or responsible anything.

Is living each day as if it were your last an irresponsible thing to do?


Theory 1: Less Thinking, More Living

The Foam Cabinet is getting old, I must say. However, the great thing about the Foam Cabinet is that not much thought is required to open the Foam Cabinet.

I've heard a friend state that their cousin goes to a Catholic school somewhere, and he asked some logical, meaningful question to his professor. The professor's reply was along the lines of: "If you don't think about it too much, it'll make sense."

The more I think about the pros and cons of something, say: "Should I fill out a college application today?", the less productive I become. My initial thought is: "Yes! It is good to fill out college applications! Do it!" Eventually, that thought spirals downward through asking myself why? and why not? and what's the point? that I spent two hours mulling over the very thing I could have finished in those two hours. If you haven't experienced this, I admire your ability to not analyze every aspect of your thoughts.

Back to the Foam Cabinet: I opened the Foam Cabinet today and found a small variety of options. Here are what they were:

- Clean
- Sleep
- Eat
- Laze
- Write
- Anything Else Unacceptable

Being the person that I am, I immediately put labels on these words:

- Clean *productive
- Sleep *refreshing
- Eat *pleasant
- Laze *preferable
- Write *work
- Anything Else Unacceptable *not true!

With the door of the Foam Cabinet still open, I continued to dissect the meaning of each task (or lack thereof):

- Clean *productive (I've been told to do it many times, and although it is cold upstairs, I might as well do something before 3:00...)
- Sleep *refreshing (I'm probably suffering from too much sleep, though the idea of escaping from reality for a bit does sound fabulous...)
- Eat *pleasant (My mother already made plenty of good food, but food is still available, and I could probably snack on something minor while thinking about what to do next...)
- Laze *preferable (I do it all the time, and society looks down upon such behavior, but everyone else is doing it; why can't I...)
- Write *work (My blog hasn't been updated in months, and it was a commitment that I made to myself; I don't want to break commitments if I don't have to...)
- Anything Else Unacceptable *not true! (There is a plethora of things to do, and as long as something is done, anything else could be acceptable...)

I didn't get much done for a whole ten minutes, and didn't make a decision until after all my thoughts started to give me a headache. The good news, though, is that I chose: Eat, Laze, Clean, Write, Anything Else, and finally Sleep. Sadly, it took me longer than necessary.


Theory 2: It's Counterproductive to Live Anywhere But in the Present

This is purely opinion, but I can certainly back this up with facts:

- I already think enough as it is--thinking about the past too much wouldn't get me anywhere, and I'd probably die from pure reminiscence.

- Dreams of the future are just that: dreams of the future. They won't come true until they become goals, and those goals won't be accomplished if no attention is placed on the process of achieving them.

- Every time I live with the mentality that today is more important than yesterday or tomorrow, my motivation skyrockets, and I get things done in joy.



All this said, I'm not saying telling stories or making plans is a stupid idea. What I'm saying is that one should not live in those stories or dwell upon those plans. Just get the unpleasant stuff over with and have fun with everything else.

Now for closing: another picture of the present!

And Everyday

"And everyday that you wanna waste, that you wanna waste... you can!"   -- "Waste" by Foster the People

This statement is true. Does it mean it's right?

Look the song up, though. It's kind of catchy. *hums the tune*

Anyway, to prove a point, this post will be short.

Don't want to waste any of your time, now do I?

WAIT!!

I just had to waste a couple more seconds of your time to show you a couple terribly dumb pictures.

I just had to. Because I can.

Kitty Litter

Have you ever smelled that dusty, dry scent of cat litter?

Do you smell it every day? I do.

Fear not! For it has not been proven to give you cancer! (Though, eating it is not advisable.)



The Foam Cabinet, in all the Foam Cabinet's glory, gave me some kitty litter today. The stuff is rather unpleasant when whiffed in large doses (no, I do not intentionally inhale it), but it does serve a highly useful purpose: feline toilet.

Even though this rather drab box of grey pebbles doesn't look or smell pretty, it somehow keeps the feces of adorable little kitties away from bedspreads, walkways, kitchen counters, and piles of unkempt laundry. Praise for its usefulness!

I suppose the Foam Cabinet was telling me to do my daily chore of emptying these bundles of joy *sarcasm*. Either that, or the Foam Cabinet gave me a glimpse of what else in life is unsavory-yet-productive-and-beneficial.



Take plumbers. 

These guys get into your piping and use their superior skills to keep your water running. There's no fun in a toilet that doesn't flush everything down, or a sink that keeps gurgling up mystery goop. I personally would not like to be a plumber, but they do their jobs, make us happy, and earn decent coinage while they're at it. The average plumber makes $40,000 to $70,000 annually. Compared to a cashier at McDonald's (who would make from $10,000 to $21,000 a year), plumbers get quite the deal. Especially if they actually enjoy their job.

http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1851673,00.html
http://www.careerleak.com/salaries/mcdonalds/cashier/


Now how about janitors?


They have the lower end of the rope, really. They probably do a whole lot more work than most people, and they are subjected to the same average salary as someone who works at a fast food restaurant. What if they didn't do those unfavorable jobs? Wal-Mart wouldn't have shiny, squeaky floors. School bathrooms would be nuclear waste sites. No one would know how to get that vomit stain off the recreation center ceiling. Considering all the things they do, and all the things I wouldn't do, I'd probably pay them more.

http://www.infobarrel.com/Janitor_Salaries_Listed_by_State







Those two occupations are a couple of the many "kitty litter" careers. They aren't the only things to think about though, when it comes to litter boxes. What about partnering with the weird kid in your class? (Like partnering with me! The horror...) It's not necessarily the first thing I'd choose, and I could say the same for most other people. But, it is the best choice. Your teacher would probably secretly appreciate your cooperation. The weird kid might actually be a few more sprinkles of awesome than you. You might get a scholarship or win a big prize! All right, that may be stretching it, but you get the picture.

Cleaning the dishes.
Doing your homework.
Paying bills.
Sprucing up the house.
Walking the slobbery dog.
Cleaning the litter boxes.

All are tasks that have benefit that might actually equal (or outscore) the cost!

We all have jobs for a reason; we all work for some purpose. Even if it doesn't make sense at first, it's better to do than to drag your feet. I certainly can take a lesson from the kitty litter that the Foam Cabinet gave me this afternoon.

Rescue

There was much struggle, but I have found the Foam Cabinet at last! As it turned out, the Foam Cabinet left due to a case of investigation. The Foam Cabinet was obtaining more information to give me, and however rude and abrupt the Foam Cabinet may have been, the Foam Cabinet makes every absent moment up with high quality presentations.



Most people live, all people die. What I mean by this is that many people HAVE in fact discovered a purpose to life, and they follow life's course with vigor, passion, and routine enthusiasm. Then, at some point sooner or later, they die. Every single one of us is destined to exit earthly existence and move on into the realm of whatever happens after death. I am not certain what happens, but I am assured that there is a place filled with pain, and a place filled with joy. I'm going to one of those places, whether I like it or not. I label them simply as Heaven and Hell; many people do, but some religions tag them under different titles.



Anyway, back to "Most people live, all people die". Did you notice that I said most people live? You observe correctly! Your eyes do not deceive you! Believe it or not, there are people out there who waste away their whole lives doing nothing but survive and indulge. I have nothing against people who live this way...


I just feel pity for them.


What fun is it to be cooped up in front of a television screen watching dramas or playing countless hours of games 24/7? You order out, or sometimes go shopping for essentials like Hostess treats and sodas, but all you are dedicated to is the addicting pleasure of screen-staring.

Another example is the void drug addiction can give your life. If you have a job, you work to feed your addiction. If you have a family, you aren't able to give them the kind of attention they deserve because you've fallen into a pattern you don't feel like breaking until it's too late.

Alcohol addiction.

Hoarding addiction.

Eating addiction.

Reading addiction.

Sexual addiction.

Addiction burns you, and many times we tend to just watch it burn on. We're entranced by what it gives us, ignoring the harm that will come.

Before I keep going, I must say that I have had weeks where I was addicted to something or another. I'm positive every human being is tied to something that they can't ever get rid of. If it's ridden, something else fills the position of dead weight. This doesn't mean that we're all failures, or that people with major addictions suck at life. No. Every human is valuable and precious.

The problem is that some humans gave up trying to get rid of their hindrances, and now they suffer the consequences. The people who see them suffer think that it isn't their responsibility to help them--that the person with the life-draining addiction needs to take full responsibility. Is that what we're supposed to do, let people prohibit themselves from life? Or can we rescue them?



I can rescue. The Foam Cabinet opened up to give me the truth of choice. I see many people who have wonderful lives. Yes, it's okay to take a break. Yes, it's awesome to indulge every once in a while. But no, it is not okay to live to please yourself every day of your life. It brings you only what you can imagine, and it feeds your flesh. It's not easy to be eager to work and try new things and submit, but the rewards extend far beyond what is given to you. Other people benefit from your blessings if you use them properly. I can live for myself and get what I think I deserve, or I can put my desires aside and give what others do deserve.

It's time for me to get off this roaring computer and benefit someone else's life for a bit.

To Carry Out A Threat

After much pondering and searching and Googleing, the Foam Cabinet has not yet returned. I know the Foam Cabinet cares for me and stuff, so I've decided to post scary images in case the Foam Cabinet happens to be stalking me.



Advance with caution! If you do not like guns or chains or dead things or Super Why, I highly advise you to look no further. Unless you are the Foam Cabinet.










I warned the audience, so if you get freaked out it's your fault, not mine.










Dear the Foam Cabinet.
My heart will cease beating if you do not return.

Why will I stop living? This is why. This is what will happen if you do not come back!

Without my life, this whole world (actually, only the blog) will rebel into Anarchy!

I know you don't want that. If you do, however, I will carve you into the burning flames you want to be, WITH MY BARE HANDS, like this eraser who misbehaved...

If you don't respond to my pleas, I will send THEM after you. All of them.

Don't worry. You shall return.

Very soon.

Sincerely,
Cale Josten






Thus ends the scary stuff. It was necessary, I assure you.








I am pretty certain that the Foam Cabinet will come back now. I will then tell you all what the heck the Foam Cabinet was doing absent in the first place. It had better be worth all this trauma!

Baby, Come Back!

My apologies, dearest children. (Don't argue that you're older than me; we are all kids.) I misplaced the Foam Cabinet. I was meaning to post as soon as I found the Foam Cabinet, but the Foam Cabinet has yet to show. I think the Foam Cabinet is getting tired of things relating to me.


I think the Foam Cabinet is fed up with:

-The scent of vanilla on my skin. (Perhaps the Foam Cabinet has vanilla allergies.)


-My ever growing fiery red hair. (Perhaps the Foam Cabinet no longer recognizes me!)


-An abundance of disturbing images on my skin. (Perhaps the Foam Cabinet thinks I'm a maniac who will grow up to become a serial killer.)


-The friends I keep company with. (Perhaps the Foam Cabinet misses SoccerBoy#13, Tweety Bird, the WRHS posse, and all Georgians big and small. After all, the carbon-based life forms here are quite the wackos.)


-Being used. (Perhaps the Foam Cabinet doesn't appreciate being opened and talked about all the time.)


That all being said, I think I'll make it clear that if the Foam Cabinet does not return in due time, I will construct a contraption with hubcaps, rope, windshield wipers, and railroad spikes, among other various object found in Washington State.

(That was a threat, Foam Cabinet...)

Look

There is a great adventure in every bit of life.


Notice that when someone moves, it changes the life of everyone involved.
Notice that when a new life enters the world, it changes the life of everyone involved.
Notice that when a person is murdered, it changes the life of everyone involved.
Notice that when there is a new found sum of money, it changes the life of everyone involved.

Notice that when something of value goes missing, it become the most important thing of all.


I wanted something new and exciting, and at first the Foam Cabinet didn't seem to hear my desires. I walk up to the Foam Cabinet, and the Foam Cabinet opens easily enough. Inside I see my reflection. I remember seeing my reflection in the Foam Cabinet a long while ago, but this time it was unaltered and crystal clear. Behind me in the reflection was exactly what was behind me in reality: a couple good friends, a few half-read books, a cat, a disassembled drum set, an old acoustic guitar, a collection of past artwork, empty pens, crumpled papers, gum wrappers, and that ever-looming Xbox.

My discontent sparked at the dull familiarity of these objects, and I closed the Foam Cabinet.















A few hours go by.















I feel the urge to do things.

















I feel like playing Xbox first. I gather the necessary components of my normal gaming experience. I sit down, get comfortable, and reach for the controller. My groping is in vain. I cannot find the controller. In a disgruntled sigh, I head up to my room to read one of my books.

I turn on the reading lamp, and its glow resonates in a high pitched buzz in my ears. Again I settle down in a comfortable position. I pick up the nearest book, grateful for its existence, and turn to my bookmarked page. The page is blank. Confusion becomes the only feeling I can register, and this feeling pulsates faster and greater throughout my body as each new page I turn is the same amount of nothing.

The flooding of mixed emotion started to make my skin tingle, and I reach for a piece of paper. Words and images stream through my mind with such force that my eyes can see nothing else. Pen in hand, I record what fills my sight. After half an hour, the images settle down; instead of rushing to get out into the world, they seep tantalizingly over each other as glaciers roam the mountains. As soon as the last character disappears, I can see the paper again. The paper is scratched up, torn, and dented. But, it, too, is terribly vacant of anything other than paper.

I look at my right hand, and the pen is just as it was before: dry.
















I turn to the guitar, hopeful that I can get her to sing along to my frustration and soothe my nerves. Distraught is all that comes to me, though. My guitar is broken.















Late is the night, and only a few friendly souls remain awake. In a few touches I send out cheerful messages to a handful of my friends in my phone. I fall asleep waiting for a response.






I wake up and see that no message sent in the first place.





I pray to God that my morning at school starts off right, and I leave the Foam Cabinet behind without a second look. The bell rings just as I enter my classroom. The teacher starts us on a silent assignment, allowing no other options.

The whole day goes by.

Not a thing sparks my interest.

My spirit is weighed down by dullness.

The world becomes clouded and grey.

Once I get home, the only thing I can think of is the Foam Cabinet. My irritation of the hours before has foamed over into a puddle of sizzling anger. I open the Foam Cabinet.































I see...

























A reflection of myself. The background is the same as before; the only changes are that my expression is more worn, and behind me is less order. I feel enraged at the audacity of my own Foam Cabinet.







This goes on for five weeks before I check the Foam Cabinet again.























The same thing.


























Five more weeks, and I am so tired of the same old nothing that I take with me a paint brush the next time I open the Foam Cabinet. When I open the Foam Cabinet, I am not surprised to see myself staring back at me staring at myself. Staring at me.

I take my brush, and somehow have materialized a bit of paint on its tip.

I circle my face.

My face remains blank with boredom.

A few seconds later, my brain registered the poorly-drawn black circle on the reflection screen.

My brain enjoyed the newness of a lame little circle.

Then the reflection split directly across the upper left and lower right corners of the screen.

Now my black circle has a diagonal slash straight through it.

My face is broken.

But the background...






Becomes more exciting.





I leave the Foam Cabinet open and explore the return of the familiar objects of months ago. The Xbox has a controller, the paper is covered in inspiration, and my books are restored. I rejoice. I look. I look back at the Foam Cabinet. The inside changed! Now the Foam Cabinet displayed a reflection absent of myself. Everything else was there. Everything else was so bright and intriguing and colorful. I was practically transparent. Yet I felt so happy.


For the rest of the day, I enjoyed looking at everything as if it were a new found treasure. I appreciated what each object and friendship was worth. My schoolwork in that class expanded my curiosity. My friends invited me to events that I no longer found boring. I had so much fun. I felt reborn.


And I didn't even notice when everything disappeared again the next week.
I was still content.
It was a great feeling.

Bear and Brain Fur

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.

Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.

And you know the rest.

What do you do when the Foam Cabinet lets loose a hairless bear?

Yeah, I don't know, either.

So I have this thing called a brain. (I bet you have one, too.) The brain is the most complex thing we can hold in our hands. (Besides a person with a brain inside it.) Hold a brick, and you've got some fired clay. Hold a computer, and you've got some bits of electronically stimulated metal. Hold a brain, and you've got someone's entire universe.

Or do you?

The brain's primary function is to store and convey information. You get kicked in the elbow, and your elbow starts hurting. You see a familiar person, and you either smile, or kick them in the elbow. 

Did you know that if the brain wasn't suspended in gooey gel stuff called "cerebral fluid" inside our skull, it would crush itself under its own weight?

A crushed brain does you no good. 

I also have this thing called a heart. (I'm pretty sure you have one of those.) This muscly little powerhouse is possibly as equally complicated as the brain is. If not for the rib cage and spinal cord, a simple little jab could destroy the bloody pump. Not only does the heart supply blood flow throughout the body, but it stores the most powerful emotional memory of any body part; even more than the brain. People who've had heart transplants sometimes "remember" things that happened to the person who previously owned the heart. 

It's almost as if the soul is stored there...

Both of these organs make up the basis of who we are inside. That, plus whatever a soul and spirit is. I haven't quite figured that all out yet. Anyway, these organs are heavily guarded. To damage them would be to damage your entire life. 

How do you know if your heart or brain is damaged?

How can you tell when you're truly hurt inside?

For one, you can usually feel the pain.

If someone offends you, your chest hurts. That's your heart. Your heart is telling you that you have been unloved by another living soul. Some people just ignore it. Some people develop anger or hatred. Some people turn it back around and become stronger. And some people break completely. 

If you fail at something, your head hurts. That's your brain. Your brain is telling you that, although you may have tried, and believed that your methods of action would work, a calculation had gone wrong, which resulted in failure. Some people develop a strong sense of frustration, which starts to hurt the heart as well. You can't focus. Some people just ignore the failure as if it never happened. Some people simply try again, developing a sense of perseverance. And some people just cannot get over it, and become stressed. 

What would it be like if you could strip away all your bear-fur and see what the essence of your heart and brain were? Imagine if you could look at your heart, and know exactly what was wrong with it. You could see exactly what causes it pain. Then you could figure out how to make it better, right? Imagine if you could look at your brain. You could see the broken problem clearly, and find out how to fix it in the blink of an eye. 

If you were to be able to see these things, would you do anything about it? Would you become a better person? Would you be a strong, fierce bear, or a quivering little skeleton? 

What if I told you that you CAN see your own heart?

What if I told you that you CAN see your own brain?

You see, these two organs are connected. Your brain tells your heart to pump blood, and your heart pumps blood essential to the brain. It's a cycle. 

If you think about it, and look at your life, you can probably find the plank in your eye; see who kicked your elbow.

If you can't see the problem, I'm sure someone else can tell you for you. 

I'm saying all of this because it has happened to me: the realization that my heart (and brain) were/are kind of REALLY messed up. Usually it only takes an hour in the shower to figure it out, but sometimes... sometimes it takes an army of brave, courageous people to shave the little bear that I am.

The Foam Cabinet gives me strange analogies, doesn't it?

Storytime

There's a time for everything, and the Foam Cabinet revealed that now is the time for stories. I have a ton of 'em, because I've lived for over 16 years. That's more than 180 months. And over 5,800 days! Each day has multiple stories, and they all compile to form my life story.




I'm not the only one.


You.

You have probably lived well over 3,000 days, which means you have well over 10,000 experiences. In those experiences you have hundreds of thoughts, some larger than others. 




You're not the only one!




There are over 7,000,000,000 people currently living in the world. The average life expectancy for this world is  about 65 years of age. That's about 455,000,000,000 years of unique stories in the brains of people living today. 5,460,000,000,000 months. 166,075,000,000,000 days. Trillions, if not quadrillions of thoughts and opinions. TODAY. What about all the people from all of time's existence? You'd probably reach the quintillions, sextillions, or septillions of unique little bits of information. If you want an original story, there are plenty out there. You just have to ask the right questions.

With all that said and done, why don't I share a story with you? I wasn't even alive when this little thought-process took place, but it pertains to me.






Once upon a time, my mother was a child.


In her youthful days, she often visited her grandmother.


Her grandmother lived primarily in Colorado, and this is where my mother went one day.


After a while of chatting and gamboling and frolicking and stuff, my mother needed to go to the restroom.


Upon the finishing of her business, my mother always washed her hands.


Her grandmother never failed to keep her bathroom stocked with a bar of rose-scented soap.


This scent of rosy bubbles set my mother up with a permanent sense of sweet nostalgia.


Fast forwarding to the semi-eventful day of my birth, my dear mother and father wanted to name me.


They gave me the name Carolyn, for my mother loved the ring of the name.


When she wanted to choose my middle name, she was reminded of the days a good while ago.


As she remembered her favorite smell of soap, she named me Carolyn Rose.


Therefore I am named after a hundred-year-old bar of rose scented soap from Colorado.


The end.

It's simple stories like this that can make great conversation enhancers. Perhaps after telling an excerpt of your life's makeup, a good friend of yours might share an interesting, entertaining, or touching little tale of their own. Thus culture is continued, and life is a little more filled with substance. 




Go tell a story! 




I dare you.

An Update to Prepare for an Update.

The Foam Cabinet appeared to me today in a new format: it was slightly larger, and was a slightly different shade of grey. 

I don't know if this means something symbolically, but it happened.

Curious as to why this Foam Cabinet of mine had changed, I decided to open the Foam Cabinet. 

Inside, I saw this:

I think an update is in store, but I'm not sure what it is. You can interpret the images however you'd like... 

But I see CHANGE on the horizon!

Be prepared.

Be very prepared.

Ties. Like A Knot.

Hello, hello.

Previous days have shown me something important. Previous days and the Foam Cabinet, of course.


As I taste the delicate pleasures of sugary coffee every other morning;
As I feel the silky smoothness of my fresh clean clothes;
As I glance at the ever-changing digits on the clock;
I leave the house for the day.


My nose stings from sudden chill.
My hair rustles from common winds.
My feet set course for a new day's beginning.
I arrive at school.


The silence of the outdoors is replaced by the clamor of socialization.
The deep thoughts from my solitude are replaced by the small talk of friendly life accomplices.
The can-do attitude of the previous late night is replaced by the emotionless droll of an early morning.
I finish my classes.


Afternoon instills relief as I walk away from half my life.
Evening provokes inspiration as I converse with peers and fill my stomach.
Night ensures a deletion of memories from the weeks and months before, making room for new ones.
I wake up, and my life continues.


Not every day is exactly like the next. Each is filled with different thoughts of different people. How I can either  express myself or fit in; both are relatively easy. How I can change habits to better someone's life, make new ones, or destroy every remnant of displeasing ones. How I can choose to be upset, or choose to be happy.

These days are "normal" days.

Boring days.

Solitary days.




Now, when I look at a new classmate, I should realize that she probably already knows of my existence. Who else in the school has radiant red hair and a completely gender-confused wardrobe? Will I choose to be boring and forget she exists? Just sit there and pray that her days are good?


Or will I get out of my conceited little bubble and be a friend?


Turns out, every person I meet is important. This fact should not surprise me.
Not only is every person important, but each of us are tied to each other in spectacular ways.

I'm not talking about the gibberish of "we're all connected through magic" or "our ancestors were all monkeys" or any other junk like that. I'm talking about the ties we make ourselves by getting out in the world. The ties of family.
The ties of childhood friendship.
The ties of common interest.
The ties of authority.
The ties of similar drives.
The ties of respect.
The ties of love.
The ties of trying a little harder to simply get out there and make someone's life all the more better.

And who we're tied to determines who we are ourselves; what we do and how we do it. If I don't like the knot I see, then the simple answer to my problem is to break the tie, or form a different one in a different way. If I do like the knot in my rope, I can pull it tighter, so it stays a little longer.

So guess what the Foam Cabinet had shown me?

This and That

The Foam Cabinet has a truth.

This truth is as follows:
Inside the Foam Cabinet is everything; all answers, all emotions, all connections...
Everything that makes me who I am.

There is a second, equally important part to this truth:
The Foam Cabinet is confusing.
The Foam Cabinet has many flaws. (Such as, the Foam Cabinet CAN catch on fire. I learned this recently.)


That being said, the Foam Cabinet revealed something peculiar. A commonly-used object of incredible purpose and simplicity.

That's right. The Foam Cabinet is home to none other than the black Sharpie.




Why?


Why not?


A black Sharpie means a lot to me; a lot more than a mere tool of yet-to-be-unleashed creativity.
It symbolizes possibilities, and what I've done with these options.
It reminds me of my past reactions to weird emotions.
It tells me stories of far away creatures... (not really)
It creates a sense of question in my soul.

Sharpies are generally happy objects.

They certainly make me joyous.

However, when the Foam Cabinet showed me this Sharpie at this particular time in my life, I felt a painful stab at my ego. I am not better than anyone else. No one else is better than anyone else. We all ought to be loved, respected, and cared for.

What does this have to do with a Sharpie?
Sharpies claim to be permanent. They can be... but only on specific textures, or applied in particularly painful ways.
Friends claim to be permanent. They can be... but only if you trust each other enough to stay together, and work through a painful situation instead of running away from the problem.
Life claims to be permanent. It can be... but only if the right Person is followed, or else that life could disappear quicker than the blink of an eye.



And so on.
This, that, and all the rest...

Sharpies are quite nice.