Aphorisms VI

Life isn’t like a box of chocolates.

There’s nothing wise (or pretend wise) to add to that statement.

What happens if you don’t like chocolates very much? Would that mean your life is somehow illegitimate, your experiences invalid? Or am I being too literal?

No. The simile is weak.

Life’s like a glass of wine: you either partake or you don’t.

And if you do you may overindulge.

And there is pleasure and tragedy inherent in the experience, as all things end.

See, I slithered out of the question: “What about teetotallers?” Smartarse.

But I’m not smug.

Life’s not like a glass of wine either.

Life’s like life. And nothing else.

It’s a moment writ large, and a grand historical sweep writ small.

Why do people in crowds feel secure enough that they refuse to look where they are going even more than when they are not in crowds? Is it because they are among friends?

And why do people hardly ever stand back and allow another person to go first?

It isn’t hard.

I’m not the punching kind, which is good.

Punching leads to fights, and people get hurt.

I’m not very good at fighting.

Cowardice has been fortunate for me.

Refugees are people.

When you water a curry plant more, and give it more space in a bigger pot, and expose it to more sun, it will grow better.

But it doesn’t mean you will use it in cooking.

I’m prepared to allow White Christmases every year, to most of Europe, if it means that summer isn’t too hot here.

But that’s selfish.

So is dreaming of a White Christmas, and then having a whinge when you get one.

It feels like there may not be time to read A Christmas Carol this year.

And that would be the second year in a row.

And that would be a shame.

But shit happens.

Perhaps the spirit who looks like a gigantic young Santa, in green, will come and intervene in my dreams.

Perhaps.

Not likely.

He’d probably scare the shit out of me anyway.

Couriers take their sweet time.

Sometimes.

Sometimes they are quick.

I knew a dodgy courier once. I suspect many of them are dodgy.

He rode a motorbike, and once it caught fire, while he was riding it.

Seemed fitting somehow.

Eyes tired. Time to remove them from this screen.

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Published in: on December 22, 2010 at 6:34 pm  Leave a Comment  

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