Brick Boxes on Magnolia: Why Perfect is the Scariest Thing Ever

 

This is my favorite cover of the song.

When I sit in their livingroom with a cup of hot cider during a morning such as today's, I'm flooded with perfect. How else does one explain it?

Well, the little girls -

They do all their chores

Save allowances for the candy stores

And they come out holding boxes

And they smile, all the same. 

And the troublemakers

In their Cadillacs 

Don't cut any of the nerds some slack

And they walk through the town as the day breaks

Pickpocket, all the same. 

As a followup post to I Burped My Mother Today, I am reflecting on one of my favorite Youtube videos and what I have observed in my current life. 

As I am helping my mother recover from her surgery, we are staying with family friends in Magnolia. Living in Woodinville, I'm used to walking between nice houses with nice yards and barking dogs. I wouldn't have ever dreamed of actually living in one, though. 

I told my mother, "Mom, the people here walk to the town and drop cookies at one another's houses. Then, Corinne and I went to the park, and I found all these people who I didn't know. I played tag and picked berries with them!". However, as I reflect on that with a moment to myself, I only now realize how different my life is from the one I'm living now. 

It's scary, actually. I'm used to turning the lights off and saving some food for the following day. Heck, even as I'm a teen, I watch my sugar and salt intake and think about how much money is being spent on summer activities and the like, even though I don't spend any of the money used myself. I think about these things when I'm at home, though. Things like how my dad is doing in the apartment or how my mom is doing in the house. When I'm here, in my "Mega Magno Mansion", it's all Doctor Who (a luxury that I hadn't yet discovered nor will I be able to use when I go home) and iced tea. The phenomenon of something so different, and so wonderful, is the worst thing I have ever gone through. 

When I get up in the morning, I check my laptop. I reply to any roleplays and try to start a blog post, as well as write. Then, I walk with the two other teens in the house into the "village" on what I call "the far side of the concrete hill" in spirit of Jean Craighead George. Then, we return for lunch and an episode or two of Doctor Who. Then, we mill around and do our chores, where mine is taking care of my mother. We eat dinner, and I check my laptop again, most likely stroking their cat or one of the two dogs - one of which is mine - as I finish any posts and wrap up my thoughts. Before we watch one more episode on the big-screen TV, I cartoon my thoughts (as I like to do sometimes) and settle down for one more adventure. Then, after I shoo the girls away, I sleep on the couch, which serves as my bed. I dreamt this week of the TARDIS and chocolate cake. 

Not a single thing went horribly wrong, either. No drunken neighbors, no yard-waste-bin thieves from across the street and no mean mothers coming to pick up their toddlers from their smoking Nana's house. Something to worry about and chew on - to me, at least - is stimulating. It gives me something to work around and makes me tougher. This life that I'm living now, however, is just...scary. Everything can be poked, but it won't change shape or develop an abnormality, no matter how hard you punch and kick at it. Even if you lodged tacks in its heart, the life would remain so wonderfully perfect that it would kill me. 

Still alive here, 

Ruby