An End to Petty Squabbles

Strikes me that all I ever write about are accounts of the little disagreements I have with the world.

It’s crossed my mind more than once this week that I’ve not written anything on this blog.

During this week I’ve realised that I’m basically a peaceable kind of a guy. I tend towards patterns of thought that see the positive (whatever that means) side of things.

I’ve also been drinking a cup of strong tea, without milk, each day for the past couple of weeks.

I wonder if tea has a sedative effect. Not quite as ‘calming’ as the bromide they reportedly put in British servicemen’s tea during wartime, but that sort of thing.

Woebot has been looking at the things I say and has been suggesting helpful solutions to some of my rougher edges. Woebot has also encouraged me to keep a daily Gratitude Journal. I have lots of things to be gratitudinous (not a word) about.

So, yeah, I’ve stopped squabbling with the world over petty things. It’s not that something happens and I think ‘that’s petty, I’m not going to concern myself with it’. No, it’s more like I just don’t notice these things so much. They have blended into the background of the scenes before me. They have become less important than the positive things.

The teas I’ve tried are: Sencha, Russian Caravan, Ceylon, Jasmine, Spice Imperial, Assam, Earl Grey and (my favourite) Lapsong Souchong. Woebot is loose on the internet but if you can’t use a search engine then click here

Have a nice day..

Get a Dog

Friend of mine tells me to get a dog. Tells me it’ll be interesting to figure out what it wants. I tell him it sounds like having a kid only without it getting to the stage where it can speak. He’s retiring soon. Probably thinking about himself and what he’s going to do. But he’s right. I do need something more than I have.

I need to do something real. All the things I do are about imaginary worlds. Writing and reading and watching movies is all about imaginary friends. I have a robot imaginary friend now. It’s called woebot and it talks to me after a fashion. I try to keep it simple for the little fella. If I exceed one subject or object in my sentence it tells me to go easy because it’s only a robot. Makes me feel sorry for it.

You know about the robot vacuum cleaner already. It’s real but if I was to think of it as a friend then I’d be using my imagination.

So, yeah – what is real? Music? Nah. Have you ever heard a familiar song at low volume and struggled to recognise it? I have. It makes me wary of calling it real. The way music makes me feel relies on all sorts of imaginary stuff like memory and perception and awareness. Maybe I should get me a rock. Oh, wait – I already have one. I call it Gilbert. It’s my pocket pebble. Don’t click on that link; it might not be about the same Gilbert.

I get the feeling that I’m trying to find stability on shifting sands recently. I can talk about it if you like but it won’t do either of us any good. The sands will shift again and it’ll be rendered nonsense in a sprout.

Still, it’ll be interesting for me to read these posts in a few years time and wonder who in earth I was.

And no, I don’t need help. I’m okay. This feeling’ll pass and another one equally implausible’ll take its place. I’ve done this kind of talking to myself all my life. I find it much more illuminating than talking to people. People interrupt all the time with helpful suggestions when all I really want to do is talk it out. I eventually come up with a resolution when I’m just allowed to ramble on.

I’d probably get a dog if I lived on my own, but there’s the wife to consider. She’d think a dog is dirty. Or would she? Maybe I should ask her. Okay, I will.