Again with the bullshit...
Today V.P. Cheney practically flat out threatened the country when he said that the wrong vote at election time could be devastating. The funny thing is, I couldn’t agree more.
I take no joy in beating the game solitaire…which is good because I rarely do.
Once in Logan I was out with Erica and Phil. We were at Smith’s standing in line to get whatever crappy foods we were getting behind a mother and her small boy. He was very young, just learning to figure things out on his own. Tonight’s particular lesson seemed to be gender differentiation. He pointed to Phil and said “he’s a boy.” We smiled, encouraging him. He then pointed to Erica and said “That’s a girl.” Her mother very proud then pointed to me and asked, “Is he a boy too?” The young child grinned and replied, “That’s not a boy, he’s a dad.”
Phil laughed. Erica laughed. The mother blushed. I gave a grin, probably replied with a chuckle, and realized that immediately my view of myself had changed with the innocent observation of a child.
I don’t feel as old as I feel like I should feel. I still don’t think of myself as a man, although I’m thirty. I think of myself as much younger than the years of my life would indicate. Obviously since this is my self perception I don’t realize that everyone else sees a greater truth. I look in the mirror and see the gray hair in my facial hair and wonder why it’s there. Thirty is too young for gray hair anywhere, but there it is. I look at my soft body, round around the edges and wonder where the thin hardness went. Oh so many years ago. The light and sparkle in my eyes is long gone, replaced with a dullness that I don’t recognize. I see the lie that is my own self perception.
But that perception does spring from somewhere. My mind tells me that I am still the same person I was fifteen years ago. My fascination with boobies hasn’t diminished a bit since I was twelve years old. I love the simple things as much as ever. Responsibilities of adulthood, though I accept them to the best of my ability still bore me. My interest is lost in the things I must do, and found again in the same things I loved when I was barely out of the womb.
Take a breath. Let it out. It’s gone…already lost to history. That breath is already a memory, and all the remaining ones are limited. Precious wasn’t it. We float around on this blue-green tapestry watching numbers. Box office receipts. Box scores. Stats. Bank accounts. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Miles. Minutes. Hours. Days. We need more moments…for that is the only number in the end that matters. When we come to that fateful day, only the moments will carry us through to whatever mystery remains. And what a mystery it is. More Life….please.
J
I take no joy in beating the game solitaire…which is good because I rarely do.
Once in Logan I was out with Erica and Phil. We were at Smith’s standing in line to get whatever crappy foods we were getting behind a mother and her small boy. He was very young, just learning to figure things out on his own. Tonight’s particular lesson seemed to be gender differentiation. He pointed to Phil and said “he’s a boy.” We smiled, encouraging him. He then pointed to Erica and said “That’s a girl.” Her mother very proud then pointed to me and asked, “Is he a boy too?” The young child grinned and replied, “That’s not a boy, he’s a dad.”
Phil laughed. Erica laughed. The mother blushed. I gave a grin, probably replied with a chuckle, and realized that immediately my view of myself had changed with the innocent observation of a child.
I don’t feel as old as I feel like I should feel. I still don’t think of myself as a man, although I’m thirty. I think of myself as much younger than the years of my life would indicate. Obviously since this is my self perception I don’t realize that everyone else sees a greater truth. I look in the mirror and see the gray hair in my facial hair and wonder why it’s there. Thirty is too young for gray hair anywhere, but there it is. I look at my soft body, round around the edges and wonder where the thin hardness went. Oh so many years ago. The light and sparkle in my eyes is long gone, replaced with a dullness that I don’t recognize. I see the lie that is my own self perception.
But that perception does spring from somewhere. My mind tells me that I am still the same person I was fifteen years ago. My fascination with boobies hasn’t diminished a bit since I was twelve years old. I love the simple things as much as ever. Responsibilities of adulthood, though I accept them to the best of my ability still bore me. My interest is lost in the things I must do, and found again in the same things I loved when I was barely out of the womb.
Take a breath. Let it out. It’s gone…already lost to history. That breath is already a memory, and all the remaining ones are limited. Precious wasn’t it. We float around on this blue-green tapestry watching numbers. Box office receipts. Box scores. Stats. Bank accounts. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Miles. Minutes. Hours. Days. We need more moments…for that is the only number in the end that matters. When we come to that fateful day, only the moments will carry us through to whatever mystery remains. And what a mystery it is. More Life….please.
J
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