Looking over some of the posts that I made to this blog in the past, I can't help but wonder: What was I thinking?
Was I under the influence of prescription drugs or perhaps a power beverage that somehow got into my refrigerator? It certainly wasn't alcohol-induced influenced -- well, except maybe once or twice -- because for the most part, I separated myself from that particular dependence nearly seven years ago. The writings weren't inflenced by exotic drugs, either, because I've never had a temperment for most of them.
My only conclusion is that some of the things I've written in this "blog" or even on my website were affected by where my brain was at the time. I actually am surprised at some of the entries, but I wouldn't even consider deleting them because doing so would be deletion of part of myself that was.
I can readily see the point at which I should have gotten a life, and that was long ago. I'm not getting any younger, and I need to get out among the populace beyond those who seem to live at Hardees even when I'm not there.
Don't get me wrong. These are wonderfully human Southern folks, some of whom even hold onto values that my parents tried to pound into me way back when. I sit with my Little Thickburger, onion rings and a Coke, observing the friendly 85-year-old man whose face is a road map of his travel through life and his eyes seem to be focused on a distant past, when things were better, when his wife was alive and bringing joy into his heart and his town was alive and prosperous, rather than being a dead spot between a thriving row of restaurants and shops and the big city. He keeps up on the status of the weather and baseball scores.
Then there is the man who is slightly older than I but, according to him, knows far more than I ever will. His political views are honed and cemented by Fox News, making him a wonderful source of misinformation. Behind his back, other patrons call him the "know it all" as he bluntly denounces their dietary cuisine of burgers and fries while he sips his coffee. I've long since given up on conversing with him, but I think I see beneath his tough exterior a man whose heart would lead him to help anyone in need. He is a Vietnam veteran who talks about veterans' benefits but not about the war.
There are other patrons whose names are known by the fast-food eatery's employees and all are uniquely special. I wonder if someday I'll be passing the time of my last days on earth in a place where nobody knows my name and after the hamburgers have fascinating new names if not new tastes. (I love the place!)
Yes, it's time to get myself a life and put my uniqueness on display before it's too late. Then, perhaps, my blog entries will be livelier, more positive and even thought provoking so that before I go to that great web site in the sky, I won't have to wonder why I wrote that.
