Being an Adult is Realizing People's Lives Don't Revolve Around You

Kimber explains something that a lot of people don't seem to get.

Many people in my life have yet to learn the simple lesson that not everybody is thinking about them every minute of every day. People naturally think of themselves first, because they're the person they spend the most time with. Everyone else is secondary. This doesn't mean that people don't care for or consider each other, it just means that we shouldn't be so hurt when someone accidentaly overlooks us.

I could continue this blog to rant about how selfish people can be, and why they annoy me, but the truth is that I started this subject because of my own hurt feelings. I don't know why, but once I put my mind to something, I expect it to be an instant success. I always forget about the hard work and patience part, no matter what it is. I've been feeling down about my lawn because it didn't turn instantly lush and green after I started caring for it, disapointed in how slowly my house is becoming organized and clutter free, and downright depressed about my low blog-readership.

Projects, goals, and relationships all take time to cultivate; almost nothing that really matters can happen in a snap. If I want relatives to think fondly of me, I need to put in the time to write them letters, visit them, and take their phone calls. If I want my dogs to be well-behaved, I need to provide consistent training and guidance. If I want people to read what I write, I need to make it interesting, relevant, and well-publicized.

Really, I need to realize that people in general care about me and what I do much less than I care about me and what I'm doing. I'm more accomplished at this than several people I could name, but I'm not yet proficient at it to have the grace to let people become interested in my projects on their own time, rather than being frustrated when not met with instant success.

When You Give a Mouse Some Grass Seed...

Kimber relates a recent experience.

Today, as I was doing yard work, I found a little group of mice hiding in my garden shed. They've apparently been living very comfortably on a bag of grass seed that I had stored in there, so I took the grass seed out and attempted to get my dog to chase them down. Despite the fact that he was bred in part to catch and kill rodents, he was too afraid of the cement floor and dark interior of the shed to do more than growl at them from the door.

Because of this, I ended up spending my entire afternoon cleaning everything out of the shed, washing off all the junk that had mice droppings on it, and screaming like a banshee every time one of the mice ran across the floor. The neighborhood kids even gathered in my front yard to watch me swear as I hauled stuff out, and swear louder every time I thought a mouse had touched me.

In the end, all the mice hid behind a large book case which was too heavy for me to move. I thought this was a very anti-climactic ending, so instead I'm going to say that they bonzai-attacked me by jumping from the rafters into my hair, but I head-butted all but one of them into the wall, then let my super-brave, ferocious dog lick their bleeding guts. The one that lived ran away to be institutionalized in the country, where all he will say is "Can't sleep, Sparty will eat me". Oh, also, the neighborhood children now respect me an incredible amount, and the only new words I taught them were SAT-approved.