Caffeine

Caffeine: (n) a crystalline stimulant that is found especially in tea and coffee

I was twenty years old and was thoroughly convinced that every idea that popped into my head was granted by the supreme fairies of genius notions. I was in the midst of the seduction of a particular inspiration, working feverishly, with pen in hand, when I realized I was getting
sleepy.

Successful people don’t sleep, I thought. A budding impresario does not yearn for the pillow.

So I went down to the local drugstore and bought a product called “No Doze. ” I didn’t even read the instructions. (You have to be twenty-five years old to consider such a mature move.)

I just took two. Nothing happened.

So I chased it with two more, waited half and hour and took two more.

Within the span of two hours, I ended up taking eight No Doze, when I finally decided to read the instructions, which explained that each tablet contained the caffeine equivalent to fifteen cups of coffee.

Shortly after reading this warning, my heart started to palpitate. My face blanched, Sweat burst out on every part of my body. I thought I was going to die.

For the first time in my life, I went to the emergency room of the hospital and explained to them what I had done.

The doctor quipped, “You shouldn’t have taken so many.”

True, but not poignant.

By this time my chest was cramping and my legs were twitching. The doctor reached over into his magical cabinet and pulled out a shot of something, which I later learned was a tranquilizer.

I slept in that examination room for six hours. I awoke drained, embarrassed, and desperately trying to explain how I planned to pay for the late-night visit.

So over the years I have convinced myself that I am allergic to caffeine–so as not to accidentally stimulate any reaction similar to the one I had that night so many years ago.

 

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Bedroom

Bedroom: (n/adj) a room for sleeping in; relating to sexual relationsDictionary B

If you realize how silly we human beings are, it actually will make you become more merciful of the thoughts and actions of others.

This is evident to me with the word “bedroom.”

Even the dictionary can’t decide whether it’s a place of sleep or a launching pad for pleasure.

The bedroom itself, with all of its elements, is divided up equally as confusing.

For instance, the word “pillow” does not conjugate to any kind of sexual inference at all, but if you say “sheets,” then thoughts of what happens between them might cross your mind.

No one seems to get horny at the mention of a “blanket.”

And certainly, the word “dresser” does not rise up the blood pressure–unless you change it to “un-dress-her.”

How about the closet? I guess you could come out of it.

The accompanying bathroom does not evoke much passion.

But the word “mattress” does conjure visions of a high school fling or two.

I don’t think we are turned on by “box springs.”

But “night stand” might make us think about special implements and lotions located within.

We are so hilarious and uptight in our actions, yet often lascivious in our thoughts.

Yet if you did a chart on the amount of time you spend in the bedroom having sex, even reading and watching television would soar high above the antics.

Bedroom–another example of how childish we remain … while still insisting we are worthy of a mortgage.

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Asleep

Asleep: (adj & adv) in the state of sleep; not attentive or alert, inactivedictionary with letter A

Inactive?? Are you kidding me?

I would venture to say that some people have more emotion, thought, planning and creativity while they’re asleep than they do with their eyeballs wide open during the day.

I am not a mystic. I have never read my astrological chart, nor do I believe in ESP. But I will tell you–right in the middle of our lives is a doorway to eternity, which we enter every single night, relaxing on our mattress of bliss.

It’s called sleep.

During that passage, we talk to ourselves, we feel sensations, have visions that would make Hollywood blush in embarrassment and inadequacy, and there is the possibility that the Spirits of the Universe can actually commune with us, stimulating areas of our brain that normally lay dormant.

I have had all the answers to the problems of the universe resolved in my mind in a moment of sleep, only to have them snatched away by the alarm clock.

I wrote a book where I referred to this time of sleep and refreshing as a “mortalation.”

For after all, sleep is a simulation of death, where we are no longer in our conscious world, but instead, given license to bounce and play without gravity or limitation.

It’s a great time for God to speak to us.

Of course, if you don’t believe in God, it’s a great time for us to speak to ourselves from an inner consciousness that is often muffled by the pillow of propriety.

I love to be asleep–not just because it is essential to my well-being physically, but because I think my dreams actually mean something and are worthy of my consideration and interpretation.

I would have to disagree with the dictionary:asleep is not an inactive period.

Matter of fact, the activity that occurs during those night visions is often the salvation of our present and future soul.

 

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Anoxia

dictionary with letter A

Anoxia: (n.) an absence of oxygen.

I felt like crap, if by saying that, you mean a discarded pile of useless waste lying in the corner, needing disposal.

I didn’t know why.

I knew I was sick. That doesn’t help very much. Being aware of illness only makes you clamor for a quick solution to get back to normalcy.

Sometimes that’s possible. A good night’s sleep is often the perfect elixir. But I had several opportunities to sleep and felt no better.

So I went to the doctor, who sent me to the hospital, and the first thing they did was put oxygen into my nostrils.

I felt very stupid having tubes coming out of my nose.

They explained that my oxygen level was not sufficient for me to get the air I needed to recover from my physical ailment. I tried to argue, but after a while felt silly objecting to something as simple as a breathing mechanism.

It was astounding.

Within an hour, just having oxygen put into my body and having the levels rise, made me feel so much better. It gave me the will to want to get well again instead of commiserating over a gloom of pending doom.

It was just oxygen–yet I needed it. I wasn’t getting it from the air. My lungs apparently had decided they were part-time labor.

But the introduction of the good stuff set in motion “good stuff” for my healing.

It got me thinking.

We’re so critical of people who are depressed, angry, poor or unmotivated.

  • We never consider that there’s a certain emotional oxygen required, the ability to tell the truth without fear.
  • How about spiritual oxygen? God is our God so we can find out how to be better people.
  • Certainly there’s a mental oxygen, which clears out the cobwebs in our brain, allowing fresh ideas to seep through.
  • And the simple physical oxygen of breathing, exercising and eating well can make us feel invincible.

I’m no longer afraid to be in need–because discovering the better things I can breathe in empowers me … to be made whole.

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Admissible

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter AAdmissible (adj.): acceptable or valid, especially as evidence in a court of law.

Now THIS is interesting.

What if we conducted our relationships with one another with the same meticulous style that evidence is procured, packaged and presented in a courtroom?

What does constitute a case?

In relationships we think that all we have to do is express that we FEEL something, have an inkling, “we’re afraid,” or we’re just in a bad mood. We consider that to be sufficient circumstantial proof that our partner should bend his or her will in our direction.

Of course, that would never be admissible in a court room.

Can you imagine the prosecuting attorney rising to his or her feet and turning to the jury box and saying, “I don’t know.,.. maybe it’s because I didn’t get enough sleep last night, but I just really feel like Bob, sitting over in that chair, killed his friend, Phil, and even though I’m not positive, if you love me, you’ll go along with it …”?

No, that wouldn’t be acceptable. The defense attorney would lodge an objection which would be sustained by a judge, who would frown at the prosecutor for such presumptuous allegations.

So if we DID conduct our personal affairs with the same litigious demands required in the justice system, would we be better or worse off?

  • First of all, we couldn’t make accusations without evidence. And by the way, that particular proof would have to be obvious AND not merely hearsay on what our friends and neighbors allegedly believe.
  • Secondly, it would help if the culprit’s fingerprints were all over the weapon. The fact that our loved one OWNS a knife does not necessarily mean that he or she used it to kill somebody.
  • How about this one? We’d have to allow for cross-examination. Once we presented our case we’d have to be willing to listen to someone disagree without copping an attitude or stomping out of the room.
  • Eye witnesses would be helpful.
  • Photo evidence?
  • A video loop?
  • Past deeds could not be brought into play, because prior acts cannot be used in a present case.
  • And no allegation can be spoken aloud without evidence already being put forth and accepted.
  • We then would have to turn it over to either a judge or a jury of our peers, who would not be in our back pocket, but would swear impartiality to both parties.

In other words, we’d have to make a case instead of just have an attitude.

In order for our particular assertion to be admissible, it would have to be based on the facts instead of merely our feelings. We would probably end up with fewer fights … but more grudges.

Please make note: I am not suggesting that we do this, but I am saying that the same amount of effort it takes to convict someone of shoplifting should be granted as a courtesy to anyone we love.

Accessorize

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Accessorize: (v.) provide or complement (a garment) with fashion accessories: the leisure suits were accessorized with white vinyl loafers and matching belts.

I wouldn’t say that I lose sleep over it, but there is a certain amount of turmoil inside my brain when I try to figure out what to wear with my gray jogging pants with the white stripe down the side and the elastic waist band which no longer seems to be willing to be elastic. At that point, you’re grateful to have a belly which holds your pants up instead of having to trust that the original garment’s intention for retention will hold true…

First of all, I probably should apologize for calling them jogging pants, considering that I have never jogged in them and probably will never pursue such foolishness. So let me change the name to blogging pants, since I have blogged in them and probably will again.

The problem is that I don’t know what to wear with graying trousers. They require an accompaniment which is just a notch above their social strata. Otherwise people walk up on the street, hand me dollar bills and wish me good luck.

What I mean is that a pair of old pants demands a newer, hipper shirt–or the pants don’t seem to be an attempt at dressing down, but rather, an admission of pernicious poverty.

So I guess my favorite way to accessorize my aging gray blogging pants is to wear a black t-shirt (which my oldest son insisted had a skeleton on it, but really, I think is the embroidered head of a Klingon. Some people think there’s not much difference between a skeleton and a Klingon, but I would have to refer to those people as the personification of ignorance).

Shoes become important, too. My blogging pants are not really long enough to hide my socks when I’m sitting down, so therefore the shoes feel totally exposed to the outside world and need to be confident that they are being appreciated for their fine, soulful, “footery” nature.

A ball cap helps. The beautiful thing about wearing a baseball cap is that it tells people that you’re accessorizing towards a common humanity–but that you’re also willing to advertise some inane team or idea at the same time.

Actually, as you can see, for being an extraordinarily masculine straight man, I probably spend entirely too much time thinking about accessorizing. But if you followed THAT logic, golfers and bowlers–with their funny bright-colored pants and strange, plaid shirts–must be flaming queens.