Today i found a seashell that is 16 million years old...

I know this because my irish-archeologist-somewhat-insane-geology lecturer tells me so. In conclusion, spending 9 hours on a bus with people who's primary fasciation in life is small clumps of soil...not fun. I stand corrected... sometimes those lumps of soil are quite large. But I say, a rock is a rock...is a rock is a rock is a rock.

But holding this little shell in my pastey pastey hands, I felt a little disenchanted. I don't know if it was the severe lack of sleep due to abusive phone calls this week, or the two cheap beers I had drunk on the bus on the way there (... so, I happened to make friends with the 25 year old guy who had been at a two day long house party prior to the excursion, and arrived fresh at the bus after his last drink. So naturally, we decided the cure for his pre-emptive hangover was to have a few more on the bus, bitch about the subject and listen to some electro-trash for three hours)... where was I? Oh right, so I don't know if it was the lack of sleep or the excrutiatingly cheap beer, but holding the tiny home of a 16 million year old creature in my hands made me think of all the little things that have been niggling away at me for the last week, or even, just that day.

It made me think of the walk towards the beach, when the two guys behind me saw a youngish lady swimming in the water. They decided she couldn't be 'a chick' because 'her tits were way too small'. Apparently the lack of playboy-esque proportions made her no longer even female. So when I turned around to point out to them that maybe they should talk about her like a human being and stop acting like absolute pratts (I must say it was probably my most feminist hour yet), they simply stared at me and continued on.

Which made me think of the petty way in which people have used social networking on the internet to get their kicks. At least five calls last week, from a person on a friends list, calling me 99% of existing profanities and then threatening to 'stomp my face in'? Not what I call networking really, more like, psychotic/ sadistic experimentation. Freud, anyone? ...no?

Which made me think of the mildly insane and homeless man who yelled at me on the train this morning. I'm not sure what he was saying. But I'm quite sure he knew. He wasn't yelling at me. More to me. I sat, relatievly patiently, slightly worried, but nevertheless, attentively. He shouted obscurities at me and referred to the haikus that tragic 49 year old women write and send in to be plastered on train walls...
'sitting on the train
I see the homeless man beg
my inintial response is to write a haiku about it and enter it into a schmoozy arts competition this will really be helpful to him and make it seem like I care wont it?'
And that's not even a typical five-seven-fiver-er...

Which made me think of seashells, and how when you hold them to your ear they tell you the rushing sound is that of the ocean, captured inside and crashing against the walls within... but the sound is just your blood, captured inside you and crashing against the walls within.

Today I found a seashell that is 16 million years old. I haven't even tried to listen to the sound of 16 million years of salty water. I think I will give it to someone who is more careful and caring than I am, and maybe it will last 16 million more.

xxxx