Sometimes, I just feel like it.

I like to write. Somtimes, I just feel like it. It is my secret passion. It is the one avenue of self-expression that I feel I've always been able to trust. Sometimes I write for myself and sometimes I write things to be shared with others. I think it is rare that one can express themselves as clearly in any form of communication as they can in writing. However, writing has its pitfalls, too. It is extremely hard to expel the appropriate level of emotion and sometimes the interpretive power of the reader can cause them to miss the point altogether. Sometimes, people enter preconceived notions that block the true message from ever being delivered. Sometimes, people try to figure out what theyre reading so deeply that they miss the simplest of messages.

I like to make people think. I hope that I, occassionally, inspire thought and self-reflection. I'd like to think that someone may read something I write and, in turn, see goodness in themself.

I can tell you this: Stephen King is not a murderer. Newsflash, huh? You don't try to figure out why he writes the bizarre things he writes, you just enjoy it. Well, I bring this up to say that you can't always try to figure out where something is coming from. Think about where it is intended to go. It works well with fiction. But, in this modern world of blogging, everyone is turning into Stephen Hawking. So, I suggest that we just read what is offered and leave the "I wonder why..." out of it. Chances are, you will never figure it out. You will just make inaccurate assumptions and tarnish the writing.

I do also realize that my incessant diatribes are largely only entertaining to me, and I'm fine with that. However, I've received some interesting comments and feedback and it is primarily a mix of things, to include guesses or observations about why I am writing. And, for the record, no one has figured any of it out yet. Well, eye wtinesses not withstanding.

When I write, it usually comes from somewhere. There is usually an underlying experience, emotion or influence that inspires me. However, that is just the beginning. From that moment on, my thought process takes over. What you may read, depending on if I share it with others, is an analysis of the initial motivation. It is a written expression meant purely to invoke thought. It is simply something that I thought, consciously or unconsciously, was pretty profound; I thought enough about it that I thought through it to the rudimentary who, what, where, when and why of it and how it applies to other people or situations. See, I dont want anyone to figure out why I am writing. If I did, then I'd just tell a story. I'd like people to think about what they're reading and what it means to them, not me. I wrote it, who cares what I think? What do you think?

I probably should have told you that this was going to be a complete waste of your time from the beginning, but sometimes, I just don't feel like it.

Ever have a "whoa"?

Have you ever had a whoa? It's a moment in time that stays with you; it possesses a lasting affect that makes it a more profound as it grows and it grows as it gets older. So, what I am wondering is simply this: what is the significance of the whoa?

As we prod along in life we are filled with thoughts, visions and dreams. Sometimes these come true; sometimes we never fulfill them; sometimes we can't see the forest through the trees and we never know we were right on top of it! So, when something comes or something goes, does the profound affect it has on you have destiny or fate written all over it?

Is the whoa a sign that something will be as it will be, or is it meant to make you realize that you need to look again and see what is right before your eyes? Like you can see something that no one else can; it's there, but they just overlook it somehow.

Is the whoa a trivial, analytical bunch of mumbo-jumbo or is there something to it? Have you ever just said to yourself: "whoa!" and thought that you were just struck by something profound? Have you ever deeply contemplated how a right turn, versus a left, could have changed your life? Have you ever thought you had it all figured out, only to go "whoa"?

I think the unique thing about the whoa is that it is all in the eye of the beholder. I think it is relative to the maturation of the moment, i.e. what you do with the gift once you've received it. However, the whoa could be something less desirable. It could lead to blindness. We don't want to blind now, do we? All five senses play into the whoa, not just the sense of touch...in this case - feeling. Do you feel that? Or, smell? I should've smelled that coming from a mile away! What about taste? Doesn't the best in life taste so sweet, and the worst so bittersweet? Smell? When life is grand, we smell the roses! But, when it's not so great it really stinks... Which one is your whoa? I think I know what mine is, but the intriguing thing about the whoa is that you just have to wait and see!

Prudence is a friend of the whoa, I think. Consideration is, too. Perhaps candor is beneficial to the whoa? Honesty certainly is, we are nothing if we don't know the truth (and I don't mean blue pill/red pill here either!).

If you don't know what the whoa is, I can't help you. Either you understand what you just read or you don't. Either you wasted your time, or you're thinking, right now, about your very own whoa and that sure beats doing laundry, now doesn't it?!

Ich bin die gherken horker!

So, during my three years in Germany I ate out alot. I mean alot! Like Louie Anderson in a retirement community..."you be here four hours, you go now!"...alot. My hetero-lifepartner Brian and I used to love to eat at a little Italian eatery in Gieblestadt, Germany named the Florian Guyer (if that's not spelled right, kiss my #$$, I'm doing the best I can with what I've got). I digress... So, we used to eat there about 3 or 4 nights per week.

We weren't quite Cliff and Norm, but damn close. When we went in we were brought a pilsner and cucumber salad. Without asking, might I add? We were, how do you crazy Americans say?, regulars. Well, let me set this straight. I was brought the cucumber salad. Brian was brought a regular garden salad.

For some strange reason, I thought that my man didn't like cucumbers. If any of you ever had the good fortune of eating there (CLG, this means you!), you know how good the food was. Well, the salads all had cucmber slices. Big ones. Needless to say, I would just reach on over and take his cucumbers and eat them.

Now, he tolerated this for almost three years and, finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

Brian: Dude, what the fuck?

Me: What?

What the hell is up with you?

Nothing. What's up with you? You seem a little bitchy!

You would be too if I took your food!

I didn't take your food?

Oh yeah?!

Yeah! I took your damn cucmubers!

Exactly!

And?

They're mine!

And?

Did it ever cross your mind that I might want them?

No.

No?

No bitch, it didn't.

Bitch?

Yeah, bitch!

Who's a bitch?

You! Bitch! You don't even like them?

I don't?

No!

How do you know that? You've never given me a chance to eat them!

OK, now I really don't know what to do. I'm stuck....mind racing....surely he doesn't like them, I thought to myself...I am sooooo confused!

That's because you don't like them!, I wisely responded, me of the keen mind and wit!

I don't?

Here we go again....bitch!

Dude!

Dude! What the hell?

I want my damn cucumbers!

Why? You don't like them!

Are you fucking retarded?

Uh, no.

Then why in the fuck do you keep taking my cucmbers?

Because you don't like them?

You are fucking retarded, aren't you?

No.

Then why do....AHHHHHHHHH....forget it!

What?

Forget it!

Dude? What's going on?

Never mind...

From that moment on, ich bin die gherken horker...and I still don't know why...

Ever had one of those days?

I think my brain is fried. Yep, it is fried...like chicken...like Courtney Love. Gone; toast; unimaginative; lacking all creativity and beaten into full scale retreat!

Laws will do that to you. Rules will do that to you. Elevated agencies will do that to you. The view must be pretty nice from "up there". I'm sorry. I am just a little frustrated; being the only person west of the Mississippi River that can apply the litmus test to anything is a large burden to bear!

What are we going to do? Well, let's try this. No, that won't work. Why? Because it didn't work last time. Oh, you know what? No, what? I think it'll work. Why? Because it's a good idea. OK, why don't we look it up. I don't need the book! What the...?!?! What? Why didn't my idea work? Because it didn't work last time? Why not? Because it didn't make sense then either. Well, it did to me! And yet it failed...amazing! Good call, jackass!

I am not the smartest person in the world. But, I play one on TV.

Well, I guess I'd better quit boring you...and myself...to tears and go try to find a way to make things that make perfect sense make perfecter sense.

That is not a word George! It's not? NO! Why not? Because it doesn't make sense! Is it in the dictionary? No. How do you know? I looked it up! Reeeeeaaaaallllly? Now, isn't that special! Yes it is George, now quit making up words!

You see, I've taken to inventing a new language. That doesn't make any sense now, does it? Aha! Now I'm getting somewhere!

P.S. Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad - 42 years and counting!!!

When is enough, enough?

Is it enough when you feel pain - unimaginable pain? Is it enough when you feel like quitting? Is it enough when you feel like running away? Is it enough when success seems impossible? Is it enough when failure feels inevitable?

It's not that difficult. It is enough when it is enough. It is enough when you don't even realize that your limit has been reached, but it just magically turns itself off. When you wake up one day and have that revelation, maybe that is enough. But, when you feel, when you care, when you are determined, when you still feel that fire burning inside of you or when you still have that passion, it is not yet enough. When you still have the strength to fight, it is not enough. When you still have the will power to surge onward, it is not enough. When you still have the courage to fight, it is not enough.

Humans are extraordinarily resilient creatures. We can take a lot. We can take more than we'll ever know. Do you think scared people quit or are beaten when they say "enough is enough". I guess that is in the eye of the beholder. Are we right to judge? Should we show respect? Should we let others decide for themselves when enough is enough?

Yeah, we, people, are funny creatures. Sometimes we are our own worst enemy. Sometimes we just don't know when to quit. Sometimes we just can't say when. Gluttons for punishment, we are. It actually seems that sometimes one could interpret the resiliency of the human spirit as self-destructive. Yet, at other times it could just as easily be interpreted as what makes humans so special: the ability to stare down adversity and overcome the odds. But, I will offer you this...when we push ourselves toward a goal that we thought was unattainable and we reach it, ah, that is when we find life's true reward. That is when we feel that tingling that brings us back for more. That is when we realize we are stronger than we ever thought we were. That is when it hits us, like a ton of bricks, that we are capable so much more.

So, when is enough, enough? I guess we all just have to figure that out for ourselves...