I am a contented introvert and don’t mind admitting it. I can socialize without awkwardness, but I’d rather have my privacy than interact with a crowd. Unlike extroverts who draw energy from social gatherings, I’ve never felt the need to surround myself with people. I prefer to enjoy my solitude and be alone with my thoughts at this stage in my life. I found it interesting to learn that, according to Business2Community.com, some celebrities have been identified as popular introverts, including Harrison Ford, Warren Buffet, and Anthony Hopkins. I chuckled when I read that Hopkins said, “We are dying from overthinking. We are slowly killing ourselves by thinking about everything. Think. Think. Think.”
I admit I do, do, do spend much time in my head, and if it’s true that overthinking leads to procrastination – well, bingo! That explains a lot.
I don’t just think about contemporary things; sometimes, I contemplate the past. Take the declaration made by historical figures like the alleged promoter of personal freedoms, Patrick Henry, who said, “Give me liberty or give me death.” But, of course, that has me thinking, “Wasn’t Henry a slave-owner?” Go figure.
Speaking of death and briefly putting sarcasm aside, I must vent about something. (That’s one advantage to having your own platform.) I can’t stop thinking about the most recent tragic shootings in Buffalo, New York, and Uvalde, Texas. What kind of deranged person shoots down people shopping for groceries and little elementary school kids like he’s playing a violent video game? Some folks say that the perpetrators are (or were, in the case of the Uvalde shooter) mentally ill. Do we know that? DO WE KNOW THAT, or is it just a lame excuse alleged because the act was so unconscionable? I think such evildoers are mad with the world, and because they are dissatisfied with their life, they can’t stand to see anyone else happy. Undeniably, misery loves company. I don’t care what the killer’s race or ethnicity is. I don’t care what political or social mandate they endorse; there is no justification for the cold-blooded, ruthless killing of anyone, especially children. Killing people is not a black or brown thing. It’s not a white thing. Maliciously killing someone is an evil act, regardless of who the moral degenerate is behind it.
God – if S/He is still alive – must certainly be disappointed in humankind. As if the original sins are not enough, centuries of people have added a multitude of unnatural transgressions, keeping the hellfire burning. I imagine that contemporary Moses will have at least 2000 Commandments saved on a computer tablet instead of ten inscribed on two stones whenever there is a world reboot.
Every time I scratch my head, I think about hair. Hair is a sensitive subject for Black women. It’s one of those topics that we aren’t supposed to talk about in public, like politics, religion, and sex. But Black women aren’t the only ones who wear the fake stuff. According to the Ultimate Looks blog, “Hollywood hairstylist Priscilla Valles, whose clients include Kylie Jenner, Chrissy Teigen, and Christina Aguilera, estimates that 97 percent of all female stars wear hair extensions — both onscreen and off.”
I wonder how some folks would cope if the fake hair industry suddenly went bust? Can you imagine how many celebrities and wanna-be celebs would lose their minds if they could no longer buy those long tresses? Never say never, readers. It could happen. Anytime there can be a shortage of toilet paper, paper towels, and even baby formula – baby formula, for God’s sake! So then, what’s to prevent fake hair from suddenly becoming unavailable? I imagine that some of you readers are saying, “don’t even think about it.”
After seven straight years of going to the gym three days a week, my routine got canceled by the pandemic, and I haven’t been back. My wallet appreciates the rest, but my body is punishing me by puffing up. Although I exercise at home, I am not as driven to stay on a sixty-minute, tri-weekly schedule as I used to do. When Coronavirus shut down everything, I had two months of credit remaining on my membership, but I suspect my credit has expired since I have yet to return.
Tamper-proof packaging has gone too far. I understand that the Chicago Tylenol murders in ’82 prompted the wrap rage, but now it takes a village to open a factory-sealed package, like that bottle of eye drops I recently brought. I struggled for several minutes to get the clear plastic shrink band off the cap before I could finally grip and tear its perforated edge. And then, as if removing the shrink band wasn’t tricky enough, the cap presented another challenge. I was twisting it and snarling like a pit bull mangling a chihuahua. The lid wouldn’t bug until I grabbed a pair of pliers off the shelf. Even with the pliers, it took several teeth-gritting, forceful turns before the cap loosened. I know that tamper-proof packing is to prevent wrongdoers from tinkering with products and protect young children from ingesting detergent pods and other poisonous substances. But what’s the point of safety sealed packaging if consumers can’t open the products? I wonder if the CDC Injury Center keeps track of how many people wind up cut and bloodied while struggling to open blister packs, clam-shell hard-plastic, and heat-sealed items. And OMG, the irony of the situation is that there is a prize created for products with the hardest-to-open packaging – the Oyster Award. Don’t take my word for it; ask Google.
And while it’s on my mind – I’m not a big fan of the idiot box. But, except for a couple of all-news channels, I have one favorite TV program, The View. I am so happy that the show is nominated for nine Emmy Awards. I can hardly wait until September to see how many of the golden statues they’ll win. The cohosts are intelligent and entertaining, and their hot topics always give me something else to think about (besides a preposition at the end of a sentence).
(Artwork for this post created by Khalil Brown-Royal.)
