Slip Slidin Away

 

The part of daily living I have trouble coming to terms with is that one minute you’re here…and the next minute you’re not…no matter how long you were here in the first place.

Make sense?

Yeah…well, neither does the rest of it.

The first time I recall actually recognizing how fast time was slip slidin away was in the early part of 6^th grade. 

I was sitting in my room, one sunny, Saturday afternoon, being bored, when I should have been out playing basketball or something with my friends.

I liked to be bored back then—not sure why.  My mom would ask me what I was going to do, and I would answer, “Just sit in my room and be bored.”

And she would respond, “Okay…have fun”…not at all realizing that fun defeats the whole purpose of boredom…but that’s how moms are, I guess.

Anyway, it suddenly hit me that I had just—or so it seemed—been sitting in the exact same chair, in the exact same corner of my room, the Saturday before…being bored.

So I immediately made the cognitive leap of faith that, before I knew it, I would be sitting in the exact same chair, in the exact same corner of my room, the next Saturday…being bored.

WTF! I thought to myself…time is slipping away at an alarming speed!

Behind Closed Doors

 

 

No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.

I mean, except for my Aunt Gert, who’s since learned her lesson…at least according to the court papers.

What I mean is, no matter how well you know someone or how long you’ve been friends…how much do you really know about them?

Only what they tell you…and what you can find in their medicine cabinet.

And believe me no one’s telling you everything…especially about the mangos….uh, someplace.

But that’s always the way it’s been and probably the way it should be.

Because do you really want everyone knowing about your lint collection?

Spring Dings and Winter Flings…more snow

 

 

Sitting here waiting for spring to arrive at 6:45 PM.

So what happens?

Bitter winter decides it’s not quite done so it drops another surprise down on us just before leaving.

Kind of like my old college roommate who had an aversion to flushing after a long weekend visit.

This Guy and That Guy

 

 

None of us think we’re “that guy”…regardless of gender.

We’re always this guy…not “that guy”… regardless of gender.

Okay, by now I’m assuming you get the gender thing.

Unless of course, you ARE “that guy”.

The one who never gets anything.

But I don’t think you are. I think you’re pretty sharp, otherwise why would you be reading this?

Or maybe, you’re “that guy” who’s not all that good at Google and always ends up on some random page, then doesn’t know how to get off it.

At least not until pre-school lets out and the 4 year old next door gets home.

But even if you are “that guy”, you probably don’t even know it.

You think you’re really “this guy”…having a bad day…or week…or decade.

It’s always the “other guy” who’s “that guy”…not you.

Generally Speaking

 

 

I’m not a big fan of generalities…generally speaking.

I like specifics, no matter what the topic.

You know?

If someone—anyone—has something to say, then they should just say it…good or bad.

As long as I know exactly what it is or where it is you stand…in most cases.

So if I go to a doctor with some sort of complaint, I want to know what the exact diagnosis is and, hopefully, the prognosis.

I don’t want to hear…

 “Yes, you certainly have something, and it may or may not get better. If it gets better, you’ll be fine…like most people. And if it doesn’t…well…you’ll probably be not so fine, but hopefully that will pass…sooner or later, and you’ll be good to go, eventually…unless you’re in the percentage of those who aren’t.”

That’s not at all helpful, let alone specific.

Let’s nail it down, people…nail it down…somewhere!

The problem is, if you do get specific and nail it down, then you’re pretty much locked in to whatever position you’ve taken.

Talking About Something Else

So many people, talking and writing about the weather…including me.

I guess cause it’s the winter and there’s not a whole lot else to talk about.

I mean, in the summer, at least I can talk about how hot and sticky it is.

I can also comment about the inappropriate beach attire worn by “some”.

Not that I’m opposed to inappropriate beach attire…I’m not.

It’s more the “by some” wearing it that bothers me.

Not to mention the people that complain about my thong.

Hey, if you can’t take the dazzle, don’t watch the razzle.

What…?

You’re asking me?

How would I know?

It’s not like I make this stuff up….