Do You Have A Choice?

Under routine conditions, if you “know what’s coming next” – it’s not.

In a warm, misty shift through which I recently passed, I heard one time-layered voice say to a certain ink-stained ear, “Yes, that’s all well and good, but from whom shall a Shakespeare steal?”  (Bye the bye, back to a more terrestrial tone, pertinent to perhaps obliqueness only, but you might care to consider this:  Being there first will not insure success, but there’s no form of victory for the second horse over the wire.)

One guy I met a long-time-to-ago-last-week, and of whom I still have multi-colored memories, told me semi-longingly, (which was the best he could muster, being from the Heinz side of the family), that during those times of extreme hardship and dire disappointment, he would slip quietly into his large, walk-in pantry, turn down the light and remind himself aloud, “I would prefer to be naked, than to be king.”  (I ask you now, what’s there not to like about such an attitude with its own man?)

In the middle of a conversation, this interlude:

First Speaker:   “May I digress?”

Reply:  “Do you have a choice?”

If you’ll whine just before you hurt yourself,
you’ll save yourself a bunch of time.

J.