An article at Rands in Repose called Trickle Theory was very well written. Recently I had been thinking about something similar and thought the article was well worth the read. With that train of thought, I've been making efforts to tie up loose ends all over the place. This is all unrelated to an email I received from my mother about finding inner peace:
Dr. Phil proclaimed:
"The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started and never finished." So, I looked around my house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished, and before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of White Zinfandel, a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, a bottle of Kahlua, a package of Oreos, the remainder of my old Prozac prescription, the rest of the cheesecake, some Doritos, and a box of chocolates.
You have no idea how freaking good I feel!
It could be something petty but nagging, or it could be a years-old problem that you've chosen to ignore. For me, it's always most difficult to start. For me, it goes back to physics in the comparison between static vs. kinetic friction. It's tougher to start than it is to keep it going. It's not necessarily easy to do, but after you get over that initial hump, it's smooth sailing.
Recently I went to the circus. Sure, Cecilia had a great time, but that's not the point here. I wish to address the origin of the acts. Similar to my previous discussion about Snakes on a Plane, I can only imagine that some of the circus acts were created in the same way.
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Parents didn't belong at school. They're not allowed to go to Parent-Teacher Conferences or to the Open House. Kramer (of Seinfeld origin) was one messed up character, but of his many bits of wisdom, I couldn't agree more with his theory about "colliding worlds" (Episode #118 - The Pool Guy). The point is, there are two separate worlds in which most of us live. During elementary-high school, there is the school world, and the home world. They both generally serve as the sanctuary from the other. When the two worlds come in contact - it's "gunna be trouble."
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You're childish. That's just how it is. I could come up with a bunch of reasons why I would draw/write on myself:
- I couldn't find any paper
- I got bored
- It was accidental at first, but then I just kept going
- I like to do it
- Etc…
It seemed that the explanation wouldn't matter as far as my mother was concerned. She'd just give me one of those looks like, "You know what I want to say, but I don't need to say it because you can see this essentially evil and fairly intimidating look I'm giving you."
In some circles the look is called "The Hairy Eyeball". The look probably deserves its own entry, and could be so extensive and have so many authors as to take up several pages.
I digress. The point is, that even now as an adult I can't bring myself to write on myself. If I do write on myself, I feel some sort of obligation to get to the nearest sink and try to wash it off. The only thing I can think while it's still on there is, "That's just really childish." What if I still want to be child? Can't I write on myself, wet my pants, and smear food all over myself – then just wait for somebody else to clean me up? Although the convenience of one of those sounds enticing, I must admit that my views have probably shifted to be more in line with my mother's. I'll look for the smallest piece of paper on which to write before I resort to memorizing whatever it is. But write on myself? Now, now… that's just childish.
On the smallest of side notes, I'd like to congratulate myself on my 200th entry on this blog. There's plenty more where that came from.
In the 5th grade I got in a fight with a kid named Chris Powers. I won't go into the details of our friendship obviously gone wrong. For whatever dumb reason, lately I've been thinking about a comment he made after the fight.
"You got me in my weak spot!"
"Well duh, that's why I won, and you lost."
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