Fatalism

Fatalists lack the ability to predict the future.

My parents are getting old and I'm not happy about it. I want them to be healthy when I decide what to be when I grow up.

As far as I'm concerned, the American elections is a decades long case of road rage. You offended me and now I'm going to express my anger with this attack. Oh you're defending yourself, here try this out.

Many of us innocent bystanders are just watching the attacks powerless to do anything about it. No one is going to listen to reason. No one wins and a lot of property is destroyed in the process.

The people I find interesting are the people who have more questions than answers.

I had mixed feelings about making a post nearly six years since my wife died from cancer. My last post was entered the day before she died and there was a sense of finality in leaving it like that.

But it has been six years and life doesn't stand still. I'd like to make another entry for sensing samsara. I have nowhere else to write these thoughts I'm having again. They need to be here so the future me can stumble across these nuggets and remind me of how I was.

I thought about posts to Facebook or Twitter. I might still do that but it would be lost in the massive number of posts and time those outlets accumulate. Here is where it belongs.

It's clear my writing style has collected some rust. Use it or lose it. The words don't  come to me as easily as they should. I wanted a better adverb than "easily"  but case in point, I couldn't come up with one. Proliferation will WD40 these bad boys. Ah, that's better.

My mood is pensive. I'm typing on my Nexus 6 phone, early morning still in bed. I spent the weekend fighting what could have classified as some form of the flu. All better now.

Door's open. Come on in.