An Undefinable Woman

I am currently breaking a rule MJ and I set for this week. No computer after 11pm. In addition to our "walk Daphne first thing in the morning" rule- which I have adhered to diligently, but I second guess whether or not he has. But it's rapidly becoming 2AM and I am writing in my blog. Maybe it is revenge on MJ for trimming his facial hair to best make himself look like a molester/Civil War hero/Guy who can't get into Studio 54. Mustachioed. He is mustachioed. Maybe I am tried of this "break."

I blame this country's health care system for why I don't have time to write because I am constantly on the phone/internet with the insurance companies. It has become as essential to my daily routine as my post-breakfast cookie. It has less to do with my full-time job/ major project/ teaching dance/ running constantly/ planning a wedding/ having a boyfriend (who thank Jay-sus is just as busy as I am and doesn't mind when I stumble in sweaty and tired at 10pm eat a carrot, give a quick kiss while I park myself behind the computer to do more work) and more to do with health care. You see, figuring out how I simultaneously have three insurance options while having none at the same time swallows up most of my creativity leaving me too dessicated to wring out even the simplest of catchy social commentary.

I couldn't figure out what to write about. Then, Lakshmi (who watches over me) heard my prayers and sent a sign at 9:45AM at the store where I work on Madison Ave. The store does not open until 10, but the cleaning guy left the door unlocked and before I could stop her, Yoko Ono walked into my store. At first I thought the little septuagenarian Japanese woman with the hat and sunglasses just merely looked like Yoko. Three hoodie sweatshirts, a tank top, and an AMEX card (all items black) later, I realized BY GOD it is her. Her card said Yoko Ono Lennon. I got the shakes, and thanked her for... I thanked her and said it was amazing to meet her. She was adorable. She laughed a lot. She has a generation under her belt, and I could see it in her face.

And what has Yoko done? A gallimaufry of extraneous things the average person would not consider necessary for life. She is a simple artistic statement imbued with color and controversy. She lived the life of an Andy Warhol painting. She has at the same time done nothing. As ethereal as my insurance plan.

The lesson: Being a human is a career. Yoko is the hyberbolic character that moralizes this, a Chanticleer* of sorts. Her personality is enough, no excuses, no subtitles, no 5 year plan. If someone asked her what her job was, she could say, "Everything" or stare blankly in silence. Either way, she is right. When the pressure of coming up with something interesting hinders me from posting, I'm going to just "Dear Diary" a posting and hope that my daily trials, tribulations, and small-yet-amazing incidents do justice to Yoko's eclectic life. This is either inspiration from above, or delusions of grandeur.

The lesson is void if you are boring.

"Nobody told me there'd be days like these. Strange days indeed."




*If you forgot your high school English Canterbury Tales, this obnoxious allusion is to the Nun's Priest's Tale- read it and then you to can make these kinds of literary references.