Making Her Move

I was sinking into a couch with a cocktail when I was consumed by a conversation between four friends.  I wasn't very interested much like the only girl sitting with her boyfriend on the couch adjacent to me.  I was involving myself as little as possible, my head was in the clouds as usual.

"You know when you lose a credit card and you have to notify all the companies you pay bills to? Well, what if we started a company that held all of your information and notified all of the bill payees et cetera of your account numbers changing, that way we could save people time.  Its a service that isn't being taken care of."

I mean, it could work if you aimed it toward the upper crust--the top one percent--the people that pay bills in more than one location: if they had more than one house, or if they owned their own business, or had an office they paid for.  You would just need some one whose account information was spread out in more than one place.  Its plausible, it might work, but I wouldn't invest.


My thoughts strung along as the four friends barked improvements and suggestions back and forth.  To my surprise, the sole lady in the room had made her first move.  She stood up and with all the conviction she could muster she exclaimed, "You people are whats wrong with this country.  You are sitting around thinking of ways to make lazy people lazier, all so you can make a buck.  Why don't you try to make and honest dollar and work for your money!"

Conveniently she was the only one standing, and I realized the gravity of the situation: four men sitting listening to a women.  What's next? Are we all going to sit around one day and listen to a black man?

Concerned Readers...

P of T,

I recently got wind of your posts and I thought I'd give them a look over.  I'd have to say, I'm not exactly thrilled with what I'm reading...

Your "considerations" or what ever they may so aptly be named are a fool's errand; a fulsome charge that isn't thrilling enough to be an adventure, and it isn't daring enough to be rebellious.  Really, you take up about 3/4 page discussing nonsense, nothing really at all.  In my opinion, I think you are terrified of taking up a real subject, with substance, because you can't tell what it is you really want to say.  If you are aware of this, I think it is time to make up your mind and actually do something; instead of just talking or thinking about doing something.

When I read your words--your putzing around in your own head--I am often left with the sense that you have a good perspective, maybe even good insight, but you analyze things to death: so that one avenue seem just as discouraging as the other.  In other words: I think you are afraid to fail.

In all seriousness, I think for your generation this fear, or insecurity about failing started in instructional sports.  It wasn't in the coaching, or the rules, this inept ability to deal with failure--with losing--came in the post-game celebration: everyone gets a Pacific Cooler and a pretzel rod.  At the end of the season if your team finished dead last in the youth organizational league, you still got a trophy.  In a way, you won even if you lost.  I think your apprehension to take a direction, or define a purpose is a result of that; you strategically place yourself in a position where you cannot fail, but where you can't win either.

So now that you are wandering around in the (somewhat) real world, its apparent you can't cope with failure or even the idea of it.  So next time you intend on posting another one of these aimless meanderings, keep in mind: it kind of seems like you are turning your blog into an online diary.

Best Regards,
Concerned for the Future

(in)decisions, (in)decisions

I staggered up to the bar last Friday night for the final round, and when bumped my well liquored belly into the bar I came to a crossroads in life--what to order.  I couldn't decide.  I had a bevy of liquid happiness at my fingertips and I couldn't just pick one.  I ran through the list of beverages in my head and each one sound indifferently similar to the next.

"Surprise me," I blurted out over the music and belching drunks.  I could have cared less if that bartender poured a shot of grain alcohol, lit it on fire, and handed me a straw.  I was just simply indifferent--I couldn't decide.

I spent a lot of time trying to identify the "right" drink like one might try and find the "right" person; I feel like this is an effort to make the "right" decision.

I was puzzled by this episode for awhile, usually I don't have a problem picking movies, or foods, or places to go.  So why couldn't I just order the damn drink?  It was like my brain was in a knot and I was a nail-biter without the necessary equipment to pick this thing apart.  So like any logical thinker might do, I took a step back and examined decisions from arms length, so this issue couldn't play hard to get.

So many times in life we are faced with decisions: when we were young these decisions were clear-cut, they were right or wrong; now though, I am doubting whether right and wrong decision exist later in life; now I am coming to find out that there are just decisions--we make them and handle them according to the outcome.

But is it just me? I am a self-pitying indecisive hypocrite?  Is this post just a display of my inability to make a decision despite the thoughtful consideration?

Is it real?  Is indecision as contagious as yawning? Isn't this a real problem?  Some one else out there has to have some mental anguish about being stuck at a crossroads, right?

Is it all in my head?  Was that last drink one too many?  Is my mind clouded because of my behavior?  Or is my mind smudging my behavior together so that I can't even determine which foot to step with first: right or left.  Am I wandering around in the parts of my mind that are uninhabited by thoughts?  Is this topic really what I wanted to write about (pun intended)?

Still trying to pick these knots apart...