What I Did Outrageously Wrong (WIDOW)™





What
I
Did
Outrageously
Wrong
(WIDOW)™



…bar bar bar
Bared
Beard
Bread
Debar
Debra
bar bar bar…

“Gibberish, nothing but gibberish, I tell you!!!”

This is what happens if you do anything to the point of attempting “completion” in any sort of way if it happens to be something that has no endpoint, which we sense that time has no end to it: you might just go over the line, past the limit, or switch things around and go over the limit and past the line. You might try it both ways and look for a third one, if you do not know when to stop. This is given different “names” for different “reasons” at various “times” such as: OCD, BiPoLaR DiSoRdEr (i OvEr DiD tHaT, dIdN’t I ¿¡!?), insanity, blech, keep-thinking-of-wanting-and-getting-more.


So how do you stop, if there is not really any reliable way of “stopping” to be had anyhow?



This is where moderation — as a Model Or Guide (MOG)™ for behavior — comes in, perhaps, if something can be tolerated when it just wants to run out of control left unattended. Not easy to manage, not wise to ignore, not willing to be avoided completely, like all of the many natural needs we have in us, to include but not be “owned” by:

eating, sleeping, feeling happy, knowing one’s Identity (and worth) as a person, and so on. Or, if moderation will not hold, as many human attempts seem to be failure-oriented, then complete abstinence is the only way. It is not the easy way, but it will not go somewhere else besides that Zero place. Zero is a safe place, but it has nothing to offer, including comfort. It is not even good enough to be a small comfort, that Zero-nothingness universe. How many of us have ever wanted just some little or small thing to comfort us? But Zero is not big enough to be small. Even more of an obstacle (or one that is not there?) is the fact that is seems impossible actually to want Zero. How On Earth (HOE)™ could we ever be satisfied with nothing? How can nothing satisfy? When will nothing satisfy you? Ever? Yesterday? Eh?



Back there somewhere/when, several annually revolutionary planetary spins in the past, we — the family at the time being four of us — came back from summer vacation (holiday) to return to the rest (the remainder, residue, residual, dregs) of our summertime (when all the leaves and trees are green, and the red bird sings, I’ll be blue, if you don’t want my love).

For me, it meant returning to work at Tektronix in Wilsonville, where it is now Xerox. And it meant discovering someone had gone and found herself a better new job and moved on to that place (not in business now at TSSI), never to be seen again (not by me, anyhow), and it was not a happy discovery for me. She was someone I had hoped I would get better acquainted with, but this was not going to happen. It caused me many hours of fairly useless depression, during which I wrote a number of things, and this was one of them:

Debra
I thought she was my hero,
Or should I say, my She-ro?
Turned out to be a Zero


This is irrelevant, but her middle name was Joyce. Her two-name version showed up on an e-mail I got recently, but it could not be her, unless it is, who knows someone, that knows someone else, who knows me. Who knows?


Oh, God! (OG)™

Not Another Stupid Acronym!?! (NASA)™




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About Galen

Nearly over some hills, still a fool on whatever this thing is where I stand
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