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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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Even my closest and dearest friend. My Italian amore. Misunderstands me.
Often enough. Everybody does. But that's all right. I was born to be
misunderstood. Because we all speak different languages. It can take a
long, long time to be understood. I started out. As a babbler. In 1935.
And here I am. Eighty years later. Still babbling. But in a more
sophisticated form. I love to babble. Maybe it's the only way that I
know how to speak. To clarify my positions on the pursuit of life,
liberty and happiness. Yes, it's frustrating. To not be understood. Even
in moments of extreme clarity. When I most understand my own words.
--Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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Some people don't like me. Because I rub them the wrong way. Maybe it's
an attitude thing. They accuse me of being condescending. Could be that I
come across that way. I don't mean to be. It's merely my innate way.
Often, it's my sense of humor. Because I'm trying to be funny. By
pretending I'm egotistical. When I'm not. I abhor taking life too
seriously. Therefore, I poke fun. At myself. At others, too. That can be
misconstrued. As insult. When it ain't. Like I've said. Many times.
I'm misunderstood. That's a risk. That comes. With life. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I've made a living. As a writer. Of stories. For newspapers. Seems that
I've always been in love. With the written word. As a youngster. I
marveled. At being able to put words on paper. And actually see.
Something meaningful. That I created. A stream of words. And then to get
it published. That was a bonus. Very satisfying. Writing still is
my favorite pastime. Though I don't get paid any more. I'm unemployed.
Retired. Now I merely write for my own pleasure. Without an editor
looking over my shoulder. Real freedom. If others don't like what I
write. That's fine. Because I'm in love. With my own words. My own
thoughts. My own ways. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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Yes, I have launched a hard-hitting approach. To my dear friend Julie.
Every day. I'm reminding her. She's an alcoholic. A drunk. That she
seems to hate herself. So much so. That she doesn't give a damn. About
her own life any more. Otherwise, she'd go in for treatment. She'd truly
want to get better. She'd recognize her addiction. And get help. But
Julie isn't quite desperate enough yet. To take the big step. Julie
asked me. The other day. Whether I was disappointed in her. Yes, I had
to tell her. Very disappointed. I am grieving. If she continues along
this path. She soon will be dead. Of complications from alcoholism.
She's already more than halfway there. She has symptoms that mimic
Alzheimer's. She's forgetful. Alcoholism does that to one's mind. Can't
even remember full days. A total blackout. And I. And everyone else
around Julie. Allow this to happen. I'm ashamed. Of all of us. But I'm
merely disappointed. In dear Julie. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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My dear friend Julie is a tragedy. That has already happened.
But it could get worse. Ending in her death. By accident. A fall. A
traffic crash. Or from a lethal dose of alcohol. If that happens, I’ll
feel remorse and a little guilt. For not finding a way to save
Julie. From herself. But there likely will be heavier guilt. On those
closer to Julie.
A spouse, perhaps. Or other close relatives. The ones that have the
wherewithal to force Julie into treatment. For alcohol addiction. It's
my opinion. Julie is mentally ill. Grossly incompetent.
Unable to make rational decisions. I try to tell Julie the truth. Often.
I try the power of persuasion. Pleading endlessly. For Julie to check
herself in. Voluntarily. But to no avail. Now I am aiming my desperate
pleas. At those with the authority. To force Julie into
treatment. Over her protests. Believe me, I say, it’s the right thing to
do. For Julie's sake. Anyway, I’ll give us all a stark reminder. At
Julie’s inevitable funeral. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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Hard
for me to understand. Why some people fall out of love. With life. For
instance my dear friend Julie. She no longer seems to be in love. With
anything. She's in depression. And she's become an alcoholic. The
puzzling thing. She doesn't seem to want to do anything about it. Other
than to languish in her misery. If Julie were in love. With life. She'd
probably find something to savor. That's what people in love tend to
do. They practice being lovers. Of course, there's something that Julie
loves. Her daily dose of red wine. Unfortunately, it's harmful. A
destructive kind of love. One that may soon claim Julie's life. I
repeatedly tell Julie that wine isn't worth dying for. Better to die for
a noble cause. Husband Rick has made it clear. He doesn't want Julie to
die. Much better for Julie to live. So she can learn to fall in love
again. It ain't too late. But believe me. Julie is running out of time.
--Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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Proper ways. To achieve a goal. I'm frequently told. This or that way.
Is the proper way. Fortunately, I like to experiment. And take the
'improper' approach. Because it works. Not all the time. But frequently.
Yes, there are many, many ways to solve a problem. Such as the bugaboo
plaguing my dear friend Julie. She's been in the throes of depression.
And she's complicated the matter. With daily doses of alcohol. Plus an
eating disorder. Which has her looking gaunt. These ungodly practices
have been going on for several years. It's a wonder. That Julie has
survived this long. Maybe she deserves a medal. For beating the odds.
For beating death. Despite a wayward and improper lifestyle. Maybe Julie
has discovered the secret of survival. Think about it. Julie used to
have some friends and associates. That rigidly followed proper healthy
regimens. Religiously. And they're dead. Julie. Julie. Maybe you are the
genius who has found a way to live forever. Albeit, in denial. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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My dear friend Julie resists taking advice. Even from dear friends. That
should come as no surprise. Because Julie is an alcoholic. I'm told by
the experts that alcoholics strongly resist taking advice. From
anyone. Because they are in denial. Thinking they don't have a serious
drinking problem. Therefore, I've been advised. Don't ever give Julie
advice. Because Julie is likely to resist. Perhaps adamantly and
angrily. Better, I'm told, to pose questions to Julie. About her
situation. Thereby, allowing Julie to come up with her own answers. Some
of which may be an admission that she's got a problem. And that maybe
she should do something about it. Thing is. At the moment. I can see
Julie's problem more clearly than Julie. And I'm feeling helpless. Maybe
if Julie were a friend, she'd find a way to help me. Out of my dilemma.
Not by giving me advice. But by changing her behavior. Indeed, that
would be a true act of friendship. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I have friends. That come and go. Maybe they are convenient friends.
Nothing special. But there for convenience sake. Either for them. Or for
me. Of course I have close friends, too. Friends that I like to be
around. That I'd really miss. If we didn't see each other or converse
regularly. But there are more convenient friends than close friends.
More like acquaintances. I have no need for many, many friends. But I'd
hate to live without any friends. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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Maybe it's foolish. To try to change anyone. Better to let them be.
Maybe that even goes for my dear friend Julie. The drunk. Riddled by
depression. Just let her be. Love her for what she is. A basically
decent human being. With foibles. We all have destructive faults. Of one
kind or another. Could be argued, of course, that some people should
be saved from themselves. And it would have been best. For society. For
everyone. Take Adolph Hitler, for instance. Anyway, let's be practical.
Julie is real. At this very moment. It's not too late. To change
Julie's course. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I'm thinking tonight of my role. As a close observer. Of
the festering relationship between my friends Rick and Julie. And that
I'm sort of helpless. To do anything about it. Really, I can't do much
other than watch. I can't fix it. Only they can do that. It could
happen. But it's unlikely. First, Julie would have to quit drinking.
And become her old self again. And that's impossible. She's too far
gone. It's a study. In how a relationship falls apart. Disintegrates.
Crumbles. Piece by piece. And probably can't be put back together
again. It's probably going to have a sad ending. But still, it's a love
story. That went awry. That makes for a good novel. But in this case,
it's real. I've long said. That life is like living in a novel. That's
what I am doing. Therefore, there's no need for me to write a novel. I'm
living my own novel. A continuing love story. Fortunately, with more
upbeat and happy twists than the Rick and Julie love story. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I like love stories. Except for the ones that end tragically. And even
then, there's something nice to salvage. All the love that went on.
Before things went awry. Too often leading to an unhappy ending. But one
should be able to fragment the story. Break it down into chapters. So
that one can focus on the good times. When things were going right.
Instead of wrong. That's the beauty of life. Full of more ups than
downs. One has to learn to accept the moments of sorrow. That's an
ingredient of a true love story. The ability, in the end, to savor the
joy. --Jim
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Joined: 8/6/2015
Posts: 1736
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My father led a life as Julie has chosen. I waited years for him to change directions. He could not even tell you his children's names in the end. We are talking 60yrs.
Alcohol is a terrible stealer of life. It steals the precious memories one should have, when the skies are grey and loneliness visits. It makes promises, that are never to be kept.lt takes a parent and leaves a child wondering why he wasn't enough for a parent to stick around. It takes a mate and turns love into small moments in between the next drink. It steals your good work. It steals good health. Why do we go to war againt that?
I have. Every New Years my home is filled with young people. Cider is as exciting as it gets! They keep coming usually, around 30!
2 of my children are mentally retarded because their moms enjoyed alcohol too much.
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Joined: 12/2/2015
Posts: 1
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condolences with family friends, wrong to drink too much wine women http://1tour.vn, khach san vung tau, khach san nha trang
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