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On being misunderstood.
Jim Broede
Posted: Saturday, September 19, 2015 6:01 AM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Saturday, October 10, 2015 12:10 PM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Sunday, October 18, 2015 9:03 PM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Monday, October 19, 2015 11:45 AM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Thursday, October 22, 2015 4:18 PM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Tuesday, October 27, 2015 11:02 PM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Thursday, October 29, 2015 11:44 AM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Thursday, October 29, 2015 11:55 AM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Friday, November 13, 2015 12:12 AM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Friday, November 13, 2015 2:41 PM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Tuesday, December 1, 2015 11:26 PM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
Jim Broede
Posted: Wednesday, December 2, 2015 5:02 AM
Joined: 12/22/2011
Posts: 5462


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
sharon11daugherty
Posted: Wednesday, December 2, 2015 5:10 PM
Joined: 8/6/2015
Posts: 1736


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.


ivankamart
Posted: Wednesday, December 2, 2015 8:55 PM
Joined: 12/2/2015
Posts: 1


condolences with family friends, wrong to drink too much wine women 

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