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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I’d rather live than die. That’s my conclusion. Every time I visit a
dying person. I leave. With a greater resolve. To make the most of my remaining
days. Which means. Finding ways to be reasonably happy and content. With life. Also. I tell myself to not be in a hurry. To slow down. To take my time. To proceed at
a leisurely pace. In accomplishing my goals. As a romantic idealist, a
spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover and a dreamer. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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It’s nice. To define one’s self. Much better. Than letting
others do it for you. I even have a printed calling card. That defines me. It’s always the start of a
good discussion. Especially when I follow up. And ask others to define
themselves. Too many don’t have a clue. They know little more. Than their own
name. And some aren’t even sure of that. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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When a loved one dies. I don’t grieve for long. Because I’m
a blessed survivor. Ready to get on with life. Thing is. I really haven’t lost the loved one. I still
have his/her spirit. Which is virtually as good as physical presence.
Because I’m able to commune with spirits. In grand and glorious ways. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I like people. But especially those who think I’m
funny. If they don’t laugh. At or with
me. That worries me. Because I dream of becoming a stand-up comic. Capable of
making an audience go into fits of hysterical guffaws. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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Always, I have something to write about. A thought or
two. Random thoughts. That come out of
the blue. So important. For me. To put thoughts into writing. Because written
words tend to be more meaningful. Than spoken words. So much easier to ponder.
And to edit. I speak to others. But I mainly write for myself. Thoughts. Thoughts.
And more thoughts. Endless thoughts. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I’m fascinated. By what makes people tick. To understand
their motivations. I’ve been accused of being too nosey. Too prying. But that’s
one of my attributes. An inquiring mind.
Maybe that’s why I became a writer. For newspapers. My aim was to get people to
talk. To open up. To tell me secrets. To give me the full story. To hide
nothing. I’d make a good investigator. That’s part of the news business. Of
course, it’s become more of an entertainment business. Which I find hard to
accept. But entertainment, not news, is the big thing these days. Maybe I’m
more amused than fascinated by it all. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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No sense in losing sleep. Over virtually
anything. When going to bed at night, I cleanse my mind of negative thoughts.
It’s easy. Comes naturally. After all, I’m entitled to sweet dreams. Or no dreams at all. Sleep is a gift. A
blessing An opportunity to rest one’s
mind. So that one wakens refreshed. Thankfully, I’m not an insomniac. I fall
asleep within minutes of my bulky head hitting the soft pillow. As a prelude to bedtime, I generally sit down
at the computer. And write. In ways that put my mind at ease. Rarely do I sleep in a steady stream that
lasts for eight hours, or more. Instead, I like to wake in a few hours.. To
stimulate my mind. And to exercise my fertile imagination. About the pleasures
and benefits of going back to sleep again. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I try to have stuff on my mind. If not always. Certainly
most of the time. Maybe it’s that I am addicted. To thought. To awareness. That
I am a thinking being. That’s an essential part. Of being alive. And being
me. It’s possible. That I go through
lapses. Periods. Of a robotic type existence. Going through the motions of
living. Unconsciously. As if on automatic pilot. Anyway, I write. Daily.
Thoughtful stuff. To prove. That I am a real live and conscious and thriving
human being. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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For some people. Unreality is reality. That’s the case with
my friend Julie. The alcoholic and depression-riddled one. She’s mentally ill.
In a constant state of unreality. But
that’s her reality. And who am I to say that she’s being any more unreal than I?
Maybe we are all crazy. Julie has created her own world. Except, she has a
problem. She has trouble remembering or grasping the significance of her
existence. Most of the time she’s oblivious of it all. She doesn’t take time to
think. To ponder. Her aliveness. Makes me wonder if Julie is alive. Or if she
has lost all awareness. Despite going through the motions of living. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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It’s all right to be crazy. That is, if one is constructive
crazy. For which I qualify. I have crazy habits. Such as walking 10 miles
daily. Up to 70 miles in a week. I have crazy idiosyncrasies, too. Such as
being addicted to the Chicago Cubs. I dwell on the Cubs. They’re an obsession.
And I write crazy stuff. Daily. And I’ve fallen in love with an Italian. And
traipse off to Italy.
To be with her. And I’m in touch with her daily. On Skype. And I’m a romantic
idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a
political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. Yes, so very many crazy pursuits But I
do no harm. To myself. Or to others. That’s what I mean. Being constructive
crazy. Unfortunately, I know too many friends and acquaintances who are
destructive crazy. Such as my dear
friend Julie, the alcoholic and depression-riddled. She harms herself. And
others, too. I’d have no complaints about Julie. If she were constructive
crazy. I deal with Julie. In my role as a dreamer. I dream about the day when
Julie becomes good crazy. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I used to get angry. Over all sorts of things. But now. I hardly
ever get angry. Maybe it’s that I’ve learned to recognize. The self-defeating
nature of anger. Anyway, most of the time I have no control over the stuff that
pisses me off. Therefore, it’s a waste of time to get stressed and bent out of emotional
shape. Better to get on with the more pleasant aspects of life. Steering clear
of politics and annoying people and bureaucracies. And do you know what? It works. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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I wonder if lying is an art. Everyone lies. To some degree.
That’s all right. I accept friends who lie to other people. For good reason. Often
to avoid trouble. And to not hurt feelings. Those kinds of lies are tolerable. Acceptable.
Because I differentiate. Between good lies and bad lies. Unfortunately, I have
several friends that continually lie. To themselves. Often without knowing it. They
believe their own lies. If they merely
lie to me and others – well, that ain’t so bad. As long as they are honest with themselves. Acknowledging that they are liars. Often for the sake of convenience. And even kindness. But if they lie to
bamboozle themselves –that’s where the line should be drawn. Yes, that’s the worst kind of lie. Shameful.
To deceive one’s self. --Jim
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Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462
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My friend Julie is a liar. She not only lies to her friends
and to husband Rick. But to herself. That’s the worst kind of liar. I tell
Julie that she’s a liar. But Julie doesn’t want to hear it. So she runs away.
And hides. But I keep telling Julie. That I still believe in her. It’s never
too late to face the truth. I’ve been told that the truth sets one free. Yes,
dear Julie. Please put that adage to a test. --Jim
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