How 'bout some boiled fish?

One of the scariest things happened this weekend. Well, knowing my life, just about anything can be scary, but read on.

I've had my fish tank with big black-and-orange Earl and red baron Monty for a while, about a year now. I've seen both of them grow from biddy babies to middle-age dominance. Earl himself is about 7.5" and Monty is 4.5" going on 5". Earl still tries to eat Monty, but things have been a lot more peaceful recently, perhaps because Monty saved Earl's life (I'll get to that). I also had two algae eaters, Big Succubus and Little Succubus (because they suck on everything in the tank, glass, gravel, plastic plants, filter, large pellet food, other fish . . .). Things were all good, until one fateful night.

In the past month, I've been having premonitions that the water heater was going to call it quits. I actually suspected that it would malfunction and electrocute the water, frying all my fish. Little did I know that it was going to attempt mass-homicide by boiling instead.

Pet shop employees should warn fish owners about this. Monday night, I notice that Big Succubus is lying against the glass upside down, so it looks like he's standing up. He's still breathing, and the other fish look fine, so I look away and immediately forget what I saw. Bad move.

An hour later, after having watched half of Chinatown (the movie), I remember that one of my fish was in danger, so I run back into the office to check on them. Shock and catastrophe!!! Both darling succubi are belly-up, Big Succubus is stiff as plastic, Little Succubus' mouth is twitching, and Big Earl is pale as death, shooting from one side of the tank to the other, up and down the sides, desperate to get out. He's making waves in the tank that cause the dead succubi to sway eerily, like living zombies in a graveyard. Monty, meanwhile, is acting normal and happier than ever (which I still can't figure out -- maybe being a genetically-mutated species has something to do with being resistant to heat).

Helpless and stomach turning, I call for my hero boyfriend who comes and says, "The water's too hot! Feel the side of the tank!"

Of course, I kudda thought of that myself, but I didn't. It was burning up! The water was probably 120 degrees. The doggone heater was the suspect. After unplugging it, we ran around and started emptying the tank, replacing it with cold water to get it back to a healthy 80 degrees. The dead succubi grew even more upset, floating around and making every nerve in my body tingle with revulsion.

Earl was barely moving a muscle, green as cardboard, and waiting at death's door. Monty probably heard him knocking. Believe it or not, the formerly bullied and cowering victim darted into action. Ignoring the two humans intruding in his tank, the buckets, and general chaos of cold water being dumped into the tank, Monty continuously throws himself into Earl's body, scratching him with his sharp fins, chewing and tugging on his lower lip, poking him around the eyes.

Caught between life and death, Earl responded by floating away, then he didn't respond, then he responded again, then he didn't respond. . . until Monty ended up pushing the big pale mass of a body 3 times the size of his own around the tank, wiggling his own small red one.

Eventually, Monty got to him somehow. Earl, most regally, in the throes of desperation, chooses finally to fight back. He grabs Monty by the head and shakes. Monty is unrelenting, he bites Earl's mouth and hangs on. Monty is unfazed by the defensive stance that Earl has taken, Earl's mouth gaping wide and making sudden lunging movements at Monty.

I've never seen either of these fish do what they're doing. Monty became the dominant overbearing bully and Earl the victim. It's moving to see a smaller fish stand up to a really big fish, especially in the face of such dire circumstances. I wonder.

Was Monty trying to save Earl by keeping him conscious? "Don't fall asleep on me, pal! You're gonna be okay!"

Or was he simply taking advantage of Earl's sickly plight to get his aggressions and final revenge out on the sucker? "You sonovabich, how'd ya like that! Not so great anymore, huh buddy!"

Or does heat trigger a passionate aggression in blood parrot cichlids? "Must. . . attack. . . big. . . fish. . ."

What was it??

Six days later, it is only Earl and Monty in the tank. Big and Little Succubus are forever gone, a lucky find for a cat or garbage-sorting technician. There's a new Visi-Therm Stealth heater and aquarium thermometer in the corner. There is no trace of the heroic comradery that Monty showed in the face of destruction, his compassion for his own bully, the forgiveness that he conveyed in putting his own life in danger by provoking the big bastard.

Earl is a little more timid, perhaps. A bit daunted in general. But he can still jump out of the tank when he sees his nutrition pellets, while Monty runs away and cowers behind a rock upon my approach. Earl still tries to grab Monty's fins and eat his scales. And he still steals all of Monty's food. How's that for thanks?

Meanwhile, I continue wondering about the miracle that happened in 100 degree water. How a boiled fish can be my role model. . .

Let us pray.

"Dear Lord, I thank you for this time to give praise to you, for your everlasting mercy, love, and grace."

This opening, albeit a standard kickoff, invokes a myriad of reactions depending on your experiences. Distaste, repugnance, wariness, triviality, incomprehension, defensiveness, hatred. Or it could be gratefulness, hopefulness, security, calming, warmth, understanding, focus.

It is globally understood, though, as an offering of a spiritual prayer - the beginning of the outpouring of an individual's hopes, dreams, worries, and angst.

"I want to offer up my devotion to you, and ask for your guidance during this time. I feel lost, Lord, unaware of my path, unknowing of where to step next."

Here is where it gets sticky. Replace the concept of the Christian "Lord" with a general "anybody out there" or "mom" or even your own name, then take away the religious wording, and you get the type of thought that most people whisper to themselves during times of crisis and doubt. The feeling, at least, is universal no matter what religion you do, or don't, believe.

"I pray to receive strength and comfort in knowing that you are here watching over me, and in knowing that the future is secure in your ultimate plan."

We'd all love to know that what we're doing at every point in our lives is contributing to a greater good, whether it be for humankind or any other desirable kind. To know would help us make decisions easier, take action easier, remain inactive easier, even let breathing come easier. In other words, living life easier.

Life, I find, is full of heaviness and unhappiness. By all means, please prove me wrong, please. Where does this dreariness come from? A lack of purpose? A grinding guilt emanating from our childhood? Our role-model caregivers? Capitalism and bureaucracy? The "War in Iraq/Iran/Syria/North Korea/Darfur/Israel/Palestine/Sudan/Afghanistan/Mexico/Mother Nature" and other global state of affairs? There seems to be no limit to the sources of darkness - if we don't see one immediately, we can readily conjure one up.

I've heard on TV (yay!) that this general malaise and apathy is a natural reaction of human beings toward being exposed to the goings on in the world today. That's reassuring. To combat it, how about this helpful tip from a "Positive Thinking" magazine: If you fake happiness, you'll eventually believe it. Radical. I also recall hearing some straightforward logic in which it doesn't serve any productive function to be negative - it gets you nowhere and only pushes you down - so, why not be positive and save yourself the grief? A somewhat convincing rationale, I must admit. The first time I heard it, I really tried to give positivity a shot. But somehow after the fourth and fifth times, I just kept forgetting about it and reverting back to mundanity.

Prayer, or its more popular second cousin, inner cries of despair, however, is another thing on its own. It naturally spurts out now and then, doesn't it? "Oh man, this sucks." or "Help me, someone... anyone?" or "I'm so friggin' tired of this." or "What the hell am I supposed to do now?" Asked, or rather, tossed out there into the vast ether of space and time. Interestingly, upon the utterance comes a definite moment of repose, an almost release from the heat of the moment. Perchance could there also be a split-second expectation of an answer to the mindlessness somewhere in that moment? One would have to analyze oneself honestly to find out, but I suspect it would be true.

"Dear God, thank you so much for your love and forgiveness. I pray that you will continue to fill us with warmth and a passion to serve you through the journey that we are each taking. I trust that you will lead us to glory. I give this time to you. Amen."

For those of us not on the religious bandwagon, there has to be a way to refocus our inner cries of despair and guilt into concrete thoughts, recognition of a fundamental trust toward life, disregarding of self-judgment, and developing true acceptance and thankfulness toward the life you are living, with the will to keep going on the journey. A meditation of sorts, where it's just you and "the ether of space and time" communing, no judgment, no expectations, no pressure. Perhaps that will be enough to rise above the deathly doldrums. For me, with enough daring and patience, that may be the way away from Lexapro-and-friends. Let me not forget...

Today among all other days to start again!

Hi hi. After 3 months, I'm back! Again! Gotta love how things remain the same when you're not looking...

This morning was the same as all other mornings, except that I seem to have developed a pain in my ass. I suspect it's from all my sitting in front of the computer, reading blogs. Among some are The Huffington Post, The Dilbert Blog, and LOCAL MAN. Yes, I've come back full swing to realize my interest in reading. Over the past few months, I've ingested:

• The World According to Garp, by John Irving - I don't know how a book can be so traumatic, yet funny at the same time. I actually thought this was going to be a political book about issues from the perspective of the farming world (with a name like Garp, can you blame me?), but I realized after reading the first line, that I was indeed mistaken. The only fighting I had to do was open to the first page, the book reeled me in with its first sentence and kept me absorbed, unknowingly. The best kind of book! It has the magic also found in Irving's "A Prayer for Owen Meaney," a book from my AP English days that I'm considering re-reading.
• The Accidental Asian, by Eric Liu - which motivated me, at the time, to look into getting involved in the Asian culture and reduce my tendency towards Asian self-hatred. I learned that most Asian mags/community are accessible on the West Coast. Go L.A.! I suppose my growling demeanor for Oriental-looking people has let up just a bit, but as always, I moved on to other things without a notion of closure. More to come of this, I'm sure!
• My Life, by Bill Clinton (Audio CD) - his voice makes me comfortable and puts me to sleep very nicely. He's a charmer for sure!
• I, Robot, by Isaac Asimov - who can resist good ol' sci-fi? This book's cover ($7.99 paperback) had Will Smith on it, but was NOT the same thing as the movie. At all. That's interesting... did I miss something, or was the title wronged?
• Foundation, and Foundation and Empire, by Isaac Asimov - These were the days that I forced myself to stay up till 3am to get in the last few chapters of this good stuff.
• Emotionally Weird, by Kate Atkinson - excellent use of language and semantics, good character writing, humor is slightly off-kilter.
• I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou
• The Doctor is Sick, by Anthony Burgess
• An Ambulance is on the Way, by Jonathan Wilson
• 1/2 of Spirit Matters, by Michael Lerner
• 1/2 of Positive Energy, by Judith Orloff, M.D. - I thought I was too New Age-y, but this totally threw me for a loop! I know I spent 2 hours at the Coop deciding whether to buy the book (which I somehow did. Why, I'll never know for sure now), I doubt I'll ever be ready for this one.

and I'm currently working on:

• News Flash, by Bonnie M. Anderson - to continue my new interest in news media domination.
• The 158-Pound Marriage, by John Irving - trying to start this one to see if it's John Irving's writing I like, or just the subject matter.
• Understanding Islam, by Thomas W. Lippman - haven't started this, but at least I've got it! The hope for this one is that I'll be able to react humanistically towards the Middle East when I see war violence on TV rather than apathetically. Will knowledge bring compassion for me? I need more love to give...
• Whose Freedom?, by George Lakoff (Audio CD) - another voice that puts me to sleep quite well. Although I pull myself out of my dozing inebriation and try to latch onto comprehension, because really, this book is very, very good - the author is very very intelligent. He talks about manipulative framing by conservative think-tanks in the news, and how it's affecting the nation unconsciously in order to shift our traditional notion of "freedom" into a more submissive definition of non-action and dependence. On a lighter note, I really like these audio CD's with words rolling over you - it's like having someone reading you a bedtime story. (Argh, I'm not regressing here after 6 months of unemployment, really. *sob*)

I think all this reading is my way of psyching myself up to take on some sort of writing project sometime soon. Writing is the goal here. Such tension, too much fiber, not enough writing. Maybe that's why my butt hurts.