Snoots

Lord, forgive me. I have questioned all that is real. I have pondered my own existence, that of yours, and others’. What wonderous miracles you are working in my life. Is it you, Lord? Or, as I have queried in the past, is it my own forceful energy and that of those around me?

I now know that it is okay for me to ask questions. I finally realized that if you are real, you already know my thoughts of doubt. I would be a fool of fools to think that keeping them to myself keeps them from you. If you’re not real, then what do I have to lose?

Oh God, something has come over me during the last year of my life and its culmination appears more and more beautiful. It makes me think that you are real. But, I believe karma is real. I believe that if one truly follows his own heart, he will be followed by his heart’s true desire. Whether YOU do that or we do it for ourselves, I do not know.

I ask of you, is it relevant for me to ask these questions of you? Is it strange that I would pray to someone or something, the likes of which I am unsure? God only knows, right?

Thank You for my many blessings and hidden surprises. I won’t let you down.

The other night, I put a line up here that said, “Coming Soon… The Idea Wagon.”  The fact is, I’ve been working on some thoughts and as I work them out on paper, or online, more thoughts come to me.  Once I do more than try to write, one thing leads to another.  The words fly off my fingers and my mind comes up with more and more material - way more than the fingers can keep up with.

What is that?  There’s this phenomenon, an internal synergy of sorts… when you’re stuck, just start.  So what if what you’re doing sucks?  So what if you make mistakes, commit grammatical crimes, etc.?  Who cares?  Aren’t you doing more than the people that sit around watching television and talk about trying to write?

Off on a tangent, here we go…

What does it mean to try, anyway?  My brother told me about a demonstration that he observed when he was in the Marines.  Somebody asked him to try to move the pen that was placed in front of him.  When my brother touched the pen, he was yelled at.  “I said try to move the pen!  I didn’t tell you to move the pen!”  The point is, we can try all we want to do anything.  Do we want to try, or do we want to do it.

Do anything.  Please, do anything but don’t try.  Do.

Idea Wagon?  What Idea Wagon?

This has been another entry with no clear beginning or end, or sense for that matter

My supervisor at the “day job” and I have worked together for 2 1/2 years, known each other for at least 2 more years.  I have always known him to be very rigid in his schedule and routine.  He is well-organized, extremely courteous, and to-the-point.

Occasionally, he surprises me with stories of practical jokes he exercised in the past or a conversation about something entirely unrelated to work but overall, a very straight-forward fellow.  He is open-minded, sometimes to a fault, but he gets his work done and relies on others to do the same.

Over the last month, I’ve come to learn that he also writes.  He loves to advocate the rights of people less-literate than him through his writing.  He is a student of grammar and writing styles.  He reads references for fun and he reads plenty of other material, as well.

The point of this little story is that people are people and we all have unique qualities.  Every man or woman comes  across a person here or there that seems clearly readable but unless each example is known intimately, there is always more to learn.

Challenge yourself to learn something new about someone you thought you knew.  You might just be surprised in a good way.  If  you find out they’re axe-murderers, I strongly encourage you to run like hell and forget you ever read this.

Daya Isabella accepts no responsibility for any adverse effects that result from this challenge.  He also will be happy to accept credit for anything good that comes from it.

I was just thinking - what’s an automobile?  Without looking up the definition, I imagine the dictionary says something to the effect of, “a vehicle that is self-powered.”  Just 5 minutes ago, I considered this words’ makeup.  Auto, meaning “self” I guess, and mobile, meaning just that, “mobile.”  If mobile means “movable” or something like that (if you don’t know, I’ve had no formal training and don’t proclaim myself to be a linguist or know latin or anything cool like that) [what a long sentence… start over].

Assuming we have a word that, broken apart, means “self movable,” are we not all automobiles?  Well, all of us other than those not fortunate enough with the ability to get around on our own.  It’s a good thing that insurers qualify what they’re insuring.  By my logic, automobile insurance could take the place of health insurance.  Larger automobiles might warrant higher insurance premiums since they’re more prone to break down.  The newer models are also more complicated.

Traditionally, collision insurance is canceled when the automobile’s value is reduced to less than it’s cost to insure.  And the same goes with comprehensive.  By my new way of thinking, the older automobiles need comprehensive coverage more than anybody.  They will soon be multimobiles (remember, I’m not too good with etimology).

Strangest of all, by my new way of thinking, most automobiles drive cars.  Hmmmmmm.

I got in my car - seems mundane, right?  Can I make a 10 minute trip home sound interesting?  Probably not, but when one actually breaks down the “simplest” experience, the discovery of how much data actually gets processed is fascinating.

Consider that my trip home took place two hours ago.  It began when I took ownership of my steak nachos and headed toward the door.  I was $6.05 lighter and feeling a little guilty about buying dinner since I had plenty of food at home.  I justified it in my mind by acknowledging the absense of someBODY, therefore needing someTHING to take her place.  I proceeded over to the multiple flavors of salsa and hotsauce for my usual medium-temperature sauce.  What??? It was almost empty.  In fact, I got an extra bag of chips just because I had been looking forward to this hotsauce.  I planned to get four little containers’ worth but only managed 3 1/2 before the bowl was completely empty.

Hm.  I didn’t get to the door yet and I’ve exceeded my 100 words by roughly 70 words.  It seems that each line in my editing window is approximately 20 words in length and I’m now on my tenth line (it was the ninth line at 170 words).

Anyway, I did leave after that.  I got in my car, sat the bag of food in the passenger seat, put the key in the ignition, and before turning the ignition, I noticed that two of the hotsauce containers, although covered, were tipped on their side.  We couldn’t have these tipped containers so I righted them up, and finally started my car.  Or did I?

When I turned the ignition, I thought the car didn’t start.  You know how you turn the key and hold it for a few seconds so the engine can start?  Well, after those few seconds, I let off for half of another second but thought it didn’t start so I turned it again.  CCCCCHHHHHHRRRRRGGHHHH!!! I guess it was started already.  The pleasant odor of my newfound dinner must have overpowered my sense of automobilism.

You know what?  We haven’t left the parking lot and already, I think I’ve written close to 350 words about my drive home. You know what else?  I don’t feel like describing the rest of the trip, the feelings I had when the guy with the high-beams turned them to low - how different the two settings of lights were for some reason… I don’t need to write about whether 15mph is too slow for the road on which I live.  I just don’t feel like it.  I feel like writing about the automobile.  See my next Essay on Nothing.