I Went to the Liberry

I have come full circle, people.

When we moved I was forced to put an extraordinary amount of physical effort and decision making into getting rid of my books. They went to Goodwill, and to the swap shop at the local dump.

I shed myself of at least 200 books. At least. It was probably a lot more than that, but if I put a bigger number out there you will accuse me of lying.

It was heartbreaking.

I had to adapt. I cannot afford to accumulate books in the new house like I used to. Because of room considerations, and because I never want to go through that again. Ever.

So I reconciled myself to reading on my tablet. Which is OK, I can deal with it. It is convenient and I can download books at the speed of light.

Keith visited to check out the new house recently. Talking about books and he suggested that I get me a library card. And BOOM my brain was there. I never would have arrived at that solution on my own because I had developed a deep-seated avoidance of libraries. I had to own my books. But suddenly the library made sense.

Carol and I got cards the next day. And I am in love. Holding hardcover books in my hands again sends tremors throughout my nervous system. Joy. And browsing through the library is devine.

So now I have a hybrid system. Library books, and the tablet when I want it. Fucking perfect.

I want to know the date of my first visit to a library, because that's where I got my start. But it is impossible to know. I would also like to know the last time I visited a library before moving here. A long, long, time ago. I want to trace the arc of this love, to make sense of where I ended up - amazing how we adapt as human beings. Surprising how joy can come from a corner of your life that you have avoided for decades.

The library laid the seeds of my addiction and fed my jones beautifully until................I don't know when. But it is at the root of who I am. So I have come full circle.

And I am OK with it. In fact I love the whole process. Visiting the library and shooting the shit with the librarians - which is in keeping with the new social me - browsing through the stacks - checking out a book - hitting the recliner with a hardcover book to protect me - returning that puppy and beginning the process all over again. Sublime.

AND I absolutely needed a Willie Nelson book recently that I just became aware of so, BLAMMO, I downloaded that beauty to my tablet, where it lurks, waiting to gratify me.

Best of both worlds, baby.

Christ, man - it just keeps getting better and better.

A Change

 Gonna live my life elegantly from now on.

Time Has Come Today

 How quickly does your mind move?

Can you stop it or even slow it down?

My mind is a foreign thing to me now. It is experiencing unaccustomed emotions intensely and relentlessly. But this newfound mode of thought mixes in with the old guard - worry, anxiety, indecision - and creates quite the stew.

I was sitting here quietly this morning in bliss, reading with Patsy and a cup of coffee, when suddenly and inexplicably the old guard swamped and polluted my mind.

Actually, not so inexplicably. I interviewed for a menial job yesterday - at Staples, in honor of Dwight Schrute, and that act sent my unconscious into a tailspin. The unconscious became conscious this morning.

I have been handed an extraordinary opportunity here in my new life. The biggest mistake I could make is to do what I have always done.

Undervalue myself.

I have money in the bank. I am under no immediate pressure to get a job. But my mind doesn't accept this. My mind thinks I have to hurry. So I have been chasing demeaning employment just to get the spigot flowing. Like I always do.

Time to step back. Time to take a breath. Time to fully realize the full beauty of the extraordinary gift I have been given.

Time to step into the reality of a life that up until this moment has only existed as a shadow.

Reckless

 The finish line is close at hand.

I can't see it, but I sense it.

I need to move faster. 

I need to get reckless.

Keith Richards

Happy Birthday, Keith Richards.

80 years old today.

I believe the magic comes from being in sync with who you are at all times and acting accordingly. The man has lived his life his way, and continues to do so. Imagine the reduction in stress in your life if you could just be who you are in every waking moment without second guessing yourself or compromising or putting on an act.

Most of us cannot do that, strange as that may sound. Most of us pay a price.

We watched Willie Nelson's 90th birthday concert last night. Another man who knows exactly who he is and puts it out there every day. Precious moment - Keith Richards sang a duet with Willie on a song titled Live Forever, written by Billie Joe Shaver. Spectacular.

The concert was great. Kris Kristofferson was there, a man that I love. 87 years old. Broke my heart, though - he has been through some health shit. Wore him down. His eyes were vacant - it was like he wasn't even there.

Another aside: December 8 - belatedly:

Happy birthday, Gregg Allman. RIP.

Happy birthday, Jim Morrison. RIP

FUCK YOU Mark David Chapman. Rot in your cell, and rot in hell when you get there, fucking scumbag.

Anyway, Keith Richards is 80 years old today. I love the man. Always have. There is a joy about him, as there is with Willie, because he lives his life beautifully. When you figure out early on why you have been put on this earth, and you live your life in harmony with your heart and your soul and your mind all along the way, you become a walking talking beacon of light and hope.

And when you break all the rules getting there, your persona carries even more weight.

Keith used heroin for 10 years. He kicked the habit. He used every drug available to him at one time or another, which is essentially every drug available on planet earth. He drank oceans of whiskey.

Willie drank oceans of whiskey. When he quit that, he smoked megatons of pot.

What does all that prove? There are no fucking rules. Do whatever works for you as long as you know where your personal line in the sand lies. What you can handle and what you cannot.

But what makes Willie and Keith who they are, is that they transcend all that. That's all anybody wants to talk about - Willie's pot smoking and Keith's decadence. But they are about a lot more than that - a whole hell of a lot more.

That's why we love them.

Happy 80th Birthday, Keith Richards.

I know you are having a hell of a great day.

Carol Is In Trouble

Aristotle said: "Happiness is the meaning and purpose of life, the whole aim and the end of human existence."

A troubled mind can contribute to health problems.

"We know that up to 80% of visits to primary care doctors are due to conditions that are caused or exacerbated by unmanaged stress. Being happy doesn't just make us feel better, it improves our health."

"Experts agree a one-time booster shot, whether a funny movie or a piece of good news, isn't likely to make a lasting difference. For that, there must be a mindset shift." 

Dr. Francoise Adan, psychiatrist

"A vast scientific literature has detailed how negative emotions harm the body. Serious, sustained stress or fear can alter biological systems in a way that, over time, adds up to "wear and tear" and, eventually, illnesses such as heart disease, stroke, and diabetes. Chronic anger and anxiety can disrupt cardiac function by changing the heart's electrical stability, hastening artherosclerosis, and increasing systemic inflammation."

Harvard School of Public Health

Scientific studies have begun to reveal a host of physical health benefits surrounding happiness including a stronger immune system, stronger resilience in the face of stress, a stronger heart and less risk of cardiovascular disease, alongside quicker recovery times when overcoming illness or surgery.There is even a body of research that indicates being happy may help us to live longer lives."

Positive Psychology, 2019

I'm getting all clinical on you because I know you are tired of hearing me talk about how fucking happy I am. I would get tired of talking about it if I wasn't so happy. So I decided to put some meat on the bone.

I was deeply unhappy for at least 20 years. At least. So much so that it was just a fact of life. My body and mind absorbed the unhappiness and made it part of my overall makeup. So in a strange kind of way, at times, I did not notice it. In other words I was not always walking around with my head down, spewing negative-isms, crushingly depressed and dressed all in black. Sometimes I laughed. Sometimes I felt all right. 

Except I wasn't all right. Now that I am experiencing genuine happiness I realize that previously I was morbidly all right. The walking dead conceding defeat in life and accepting it as normal. Which kind of takes the edge off.

Then happiness exploded into my consciousness, and I mean exploded. The contrast is severe, and tastes like chocolate. At first I almost couldn't handle it because it was a foreign emotion and so very intense.

It affects everything. Literally every aspect of my waking existence.

Perspective, opinions, attitude, point of view, how I respond to things, how I approach things, my relationship with Carol, my relationship with the world, my sense of responsibility, my way of thinking about life. Life.

There is no doubt that happiness has a positive effect on your life. No fucking doubt.

But there is a relatively new school of thought that takes it a step further. Read the following quote:

"There is general agreement amongst scientific minds that happiness improves health. But recent studies prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that a sudden, explosive, and unexpected blast of happiness that carries with it the promise of longevity - something cataclysmic, something life-changing, something drastic with huge and long-lasting implications - studies prove that kind of happiness adds a guaranteed 25 years to a person's life."   Dr. J.R. Testa, Phd, world renowned expert on happiness and longevity, and master of life.

I will live to be 95. At least.

Carol is in trouble.

Charlie Died

The weight of his unjustified life, sitting on his shoulders all day every day, slowed him down and killed his options.

Charlie loved grapenuts. You can't eat grapenuts quickly - you gotta chew, you gotta crunch, you gotta make sure they don't slip down your throat and cause mayhem. They do not delight the tastebuds the way frosted flakes do, but there is something satisfying about eating grapenuts. A utilitarian breakfast that suited Charlie's lifestyle and mentality.

Grapenuts allowed Charlie to think. And think he did. As he stared at the wall through the steam from a cup of coffee.

He thought about his life, about what life is. It starts out as this hopeful thing, filled with possibilities. A promise of satisfaction and pride and peace at some point down the road. But quietly, slowly, slyly, it degenerates into a low level hum. Background noise to routine. Turns out the hopeful part originates from naivete.

At least that's the way it went for Charlie.

Sitting in his run down house in rural America, eating grapenuts and sipping coffee, nursing no unrealisitc hope of redemption. Nursing nothing at all but a sense of emptiness.

Charlie thought about dying. He could never kill himself, he did not have the guts to do that. But if the Grim Reaper came calling he would not run. If rancid breath offended his sense of smell, accompanying the words "I'm coming for you, Charlie" echoing in his ears, Charlie would limply respond "OK."

He finished his grapenuts, swallowed the last mouthful of coffee - thankfully still warm - and wondered what to do. He sighed. Deeply. There was just nothing there, nothing to inspire him or even interest him. Everything had become predictable. Repetitive. Charlie's life was unoriginal.

It was Saturday. Charlie did not have to work. That was the only thing that set Saturdays and Sundays apart from the rest of the week. Otherwise, emotionally, intellectually, weekends were exactly the same as weekdays. A low level hum.

He was tired. He was always tired. Even right out of bed. Worn down, the way a drill bit gets worn from continously biting into granite. It happens gradually, imperceptively, but relentlessly. Life did that to Charlie.

He decided to lie down on the couch. He had just washed the slipcover and fitted it back over the sofa. It was clean and bright. Red. Charlie's only indulgence with a nod to cheerfulness.

His head hit the fat pillow he kept on the couch. Impulsively, he decided he would will himself to put an end to all this. To get the peace that eluded him his entire life. And half an hour later he succeeded.

Charlie died.