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Life Decoded. (Language)

In the smaller hours of the morning I often find that I get downright philosophical, so bear with me. If I don't get this out it'll be stuck with me all day and I don't need the extra load on a day like this. I'll run long, primarily because I don't even want to think about the day ahead. Join me on a journey to the center of my consciousness... Or Tulsa, it all depends really on the traffic and the radio reception...

Life is billed as a complicated thing. The more I see, feel, hear, experience, the more I suspect that those are the concepts of someone who likes to see complexity in common simple problems. He had a lot of friends and followers and the idea caught on more out of a desire to be popular than to be right. Sort of like that line from Forrest Gump, Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get. That's junk. Life is like a Ghost Chili: Fun at first, thrilling, surprising, even breathtaking at first. Then the new wears off and if you eat enough of them regularly enough it becomes another boring facet on a dull and dismal diamond.

The secret? Don't confuse boring with bad. Yeah, I said it: don't confuse a boring life with a bad life. Boring is boring, and boring is not fun. Boring is ten million times better than unpredictable. You don't believe me? Pray to whatever deity cranks your Evinrude that you never have to experience a truly unpredictable existence. Look at am EMT (Ambulance driver, I don't know what they're called abroad). Those cats never know what's coming with each call. It might be a little old lady who fell down and went boom. It might be a little kid who walked through a sliding glass door. It might be a young lady who had a soda bottle inextricably lodged somewhere inexplicable. It might be somebody who's just about ready to lose his mind and needs guidance in what one who has lost his mind does when one loses his mind, because google was no help and the crisis hotline was all gloom and doom. (Funny aside, I checked out a suicide crisis chat a couple weeks ago during a particularly bad stretch of life. The "Queue", a strange word to type and spell, was 45 minutes... I was perplexed. You get some guy about 45 seconds from introducing his cerebellum to a Parabellum, and you put him on hold for 45 minutes? To me, this doesn't answer. I suppose a sane person would wait for the 45 minutes. I'm not sure what an insane person would do. I didn't wait the 45 minutes, I just pondered how screwed the world must be for there to be a 45 minute holding line on a suicide chat.)

Back to the EMT. Guy never knows what he's going to see when he leaves the hospital. Might be nothing, might be something, might be nothing that looks like something, might be something that looks like nothing. It could be nude, it could be irate, it could be unconscious, it could be dressed like Han Solo swinging a fluorescent light tube and demanding to speak to Pizza the Hut (For you Mel Brooks fans, Howdy). That guy, he never knows what he's going to see when he goes to work. His day is devoid of boredom. Boring are those hours between shifts, and he covets those who have more of those hours.. He despises the quack who just got sent home for two weeks vacation, and would like to beat the shit out of the guy who thinks EMT's could work an hour or two longer per shift on the weekends. He'd sell his grandmother's kidney while she's still using it, if the sale paid off in the form of 48 hours of continuous boredom.

Been hanging around hospitals a lot lately, some for myself, some for my sick mother. Man, the things that come into a hospital ER... From bizarre to bonkers. Messy, bloody, queasy, sneezy, smelly, upset, unsettled, stoned, stewed, diced, sliced, wreck, checked, knocked out, knocked up, and just knocked. It's a constant barrage of "what the hell can the earth send us today?" and a hope that the planet isn't in the mood to set new benchmarks. If that's the case, some guy's going to come in neatly dressed in a suit and tie, and he'll have a brand new top-of-the-line vacuum cleaner crammed up his ass, plus the full 21 piece attachment kit with wand and cobweb attachment.

It's anything but boring. Everyone there, they'd sell a major internal organ for a weekend of boring. A Saturday shift where not jack shit occurred. Where no small guy got a half a tank of beer on board and decided that the big guy across the bar is big because he's fat and would be easily beaten in a fistfight. Where no kid drank from random bottles in the laundry room. Where nobody started self-adjusting their medications. Where nobody decided to try and fit a regulation billiard ball in their mouth. (Saw that one. He got it in okay, but his teeth prevented it coming back out the same way. Dunno how they handled that. I hope, for his sake, that they opted to pull his teeth, for I fear his colon wouldn't cope well if they picked that direction.)

You, to survive this life, must adapt your expectations. Firstly, make sure you understand the beauty of boring. Boring... I'd sell my left one for a seven day week of boredom. If you know of anyone who could use it, hook me up. Seriously, boring is... magnificent in it's simplicity. The drive to do... nothing, it's very strong with me. In the past two months, I drove 9,000 miles. I waited for a grand total of 591 hours. I spent 211 hours on the phone with doctors (I'm renaming them "quacktors" for it fits better both in terms of literary application and proper description). I have remained awake and coherent a record 37 hours and fell asleep in a waiting room with three children under the age of three. Turns out, if you're tired/sick enough, you can fall asleep in a steel mill.

If I were one who held on to the concept that exciting is best, I would be in such great bliss that I wouldn't know I was truly miserable.

To get what you want in life, stop looking at stereotypical cliche that was written by some guy who never knew what he was talking about. Look at what your doing and at that very moment, imagine what you'd like to be doing if you weren't doing the task you're doing. That, my friend, is what you should strive for. Not some BS line out of a novel. What you'd prefer, that's the goal to pursue. If it's an afternoon of sitting in your living room, good. If it's jumping off a bridge with a parachute... good. If it's sitting in a hospital observing creatures who are purely peculiar, I offer a fair trade.

Life is what you can salvage that you enjoy out of all the shit you have to do that you don't enjoy.

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