yobech505

         I have no inkling, miniscule or expansive, as to where my next shade of emotion might flourish.  It’s been sliding around the over greased pan for the last years or so, and at the same time remaining as uncooked as it was the moment I let it slide off the can lid and into the hot buttered skating rink.

         I’ve certainly not been in a quest for something solid and meaningful.  Not even the single cells that make up the ‘wants list’ inside my slightly protected skull seem receptive to ‘getting together’ with another, even each other, in the billion cell cavities of hidden left brain, right brain corners.

         Forty five years is a long time. 

         Every tiny action in a life, from adventurous to boredomness, impacts the memory chips and leaves fractions of marks too small for even microscopes to see.  All of them leave at least a scratch, and the scratch becomes an impact.  Some are large, but most are not visible, detectable or even allow us to be aware that they exist.  So why do they make us the irascible characters that we knowingly can be?  The changes over the different phases of our lives assemble us into who we are and we don’t even know how the hell it came to the intersection we just tried to sneak through undetected.

         So, there she was.  Not to be confused with the incredible views of San Francisco, but just a part of it, tiny, even miniscule, a fleck of sand in the playground box,  something that flew in because of a calling, predestined perhaps, needing to find an answer, solution, or a chance connection to something that was lost, or just missing. 

         And, after all, what was I there for in the first place?  No reason.  Ho hum.

         Click ding.  Where is this going?  Better yet, where did it come from? And why are you asking me that?  Do you think I really know?  Do you think I had even a clue?

         Malleable, and logistically awkward are indications.  So, here,  they show warning lights blinking at accelerating rates and setting off silent alarms in places where they blasted their annoying signals before, and saying, ‘are you serious’?

         Then there’s me, sitting on the edge of the bed wondering how to explain this to my psyche, and overcome warning tags that beat me on the tips of my memory blogs.  Do I jump off the low bridge, knowing I can survive the fall but aware in kind that the cold water will put my skin into extreme goose bump mode?   I might have the mega shivers when I have to get out of the river on this one. 

         Now, get out of the way, hold on to my shoes, and let me climb the railing.  Damn, that water looks coldly wet.   Can’t I just dip a toe first?  No?  Too high up.  Oh well.  Here goes.   Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii   (Splash sound effect here.)