And now it is November. Why? Why must it be November?

I have gotten so far away from the main theme of this which was supposed to be TIME, CHANCE. To cure me of my irrational belief that I have infinite amounts of time, that time is not limited, and that I should make no decisions--leaving everything up to chance.

Well, what the heck. A little bit of Schopenhauer:

That which has been no longer is; it as little exists as does that which has neverbeen. But everything that is in the next moment has been. Thus the most insignificant present has over the most significant past the advantage of actuality, which means that the former bears to the latter the relation of something to nothing....

Every moment of our life belongs to the present only for a moment; then it belongs forever to the past. Every evening we are poorer by a day. We would perhaps grow frantic at the sight of this ebbing away of our short span of time were we not secretly conscious in the profoundest depths of our being that we share in the inexhaustable well of eternity, out of which we can ever draw new life and renewed time.

You could, to be sure, base on considerations of this kind a theory that the greatest wisdom consists in enjoying the present and making this enjoyment the goal of life, because the present is all that is real and everything else merely imaginary. But you could just as well call this mode of life the greatest folly : for that which in a moment ceases to exist, which vanishes as completely as a dream, cannot be worth an serious effort.

from Essays and Aphorisms

Nicotine...how I love it.

Am I permanently addicted to nicotine? What makes it possible for it seem worth a horrible death to smoke another cigarette?

Perhaps: I think I am having just one. Until it turns into ten. Better go to bed so as not to smoke. If I were permanently asleep I would have no vices.

Missed Encounters

Yes...there are some truly lonely people in this world.

I worry terribly over those people who publish ads of the "I saw you on the corner eating an ice cream cone...I was in the black Toyota. I stopped for you to cross the street...do you remember me?"

Darn! There was such a good one last week where a guy wrote an ad to a girl he spoke to in the street and then said: "when your 'boyfriend' came up I lost the nerve to ask you out." He actually put 'boyfriend' in quotes...

But here is a moderately tragic one from today:

Title: Too Shy
The day: October 3. The time: 9:10 a.m.
The place: the inbound 1 train. You: long black floral skirt, white blouse, brown hair, studying index cards. Me: black pants, green shirt, tie, briefcase, too shy to say hello--what a mistake. I got off at the Davis station. If you think this is you, and your are willing to take a chance, let me know.
searching for you@yahoo.com

Oh wow. Wow. That's all I can say...

HERE'S ONE I WOULD WRITE
You: Red shirt, brown hair, glasses. Me: Black suit, purple shirt, long brown hair. You: Reading the novel The White Hotel
Me: Too shy to ask you this question: I never finished that novel! What happens at the end? Email me at: tellmetheend@hotmail.com.

OR HOW ABOUT
I saw you sitting there at the stadium. You were about 100 ft. away from me wearing a blue sweatshirt, with a green hat on drinking a beer. I noticed that you ordered a hot dog with nachos. I always get the hot dog with nachos as well. Then you got a diet coke. That is my favorite drink! I've always suspected I was adopted. You look a little bit like me. If you fathered a child out of wedlock in the mid '70's (or possibly had a one night stand with a married woman named Doris) write me at: areyoumyREALfather@yahoo.com.

Lonely...I'm Mr. lonely...who sang that song?

I never get lonely...never. I am terrible about avoiding social events but luckily somehow I have friends anyway. Yet--keeping a blog is making me lonely. Why? Perhaps it seems like talking to myself and we all know how pathetic that is.

I used to shamelessly talk to myself on the way home from school when I was little. I had no idea people were not supposed to talk to themselves. In fact, I used to have long and complex conversations with myself where there were more than one speaker. Sadly, the Roaches (yes, that was really their name)--one of the many large families on my street shamed me into refraining from talking to myself. These large families--the Roaches, the Glicks, the Youngs--and especially the mean and heartless older brothers of my younger girlfriends socialized me in this way. Through trauma...by making fun of the way I ate, the way I dressed, the way I talked to myself while walking home from school. In a certain way they did me a favor. My parents didn't quite bother or perhaps notice my oddities.

Now I am well socialized. Socialized well enough to be invited out to more than one thing most Friday and Saturdays where I can say 'no' and stay home by myself. Sometimes talking to myself on this blog (although usually I read). Well, I suppose it could be worse. I might never have known how to turn my oddities into charming quirks that make me such a hit at parties.

All done through deep shaming of course but perhaps that is how we become working members of society in any case.

I am addicted to so many things but short stories are going to destroy my life. Anyway, in thinking about what's wrong with addiction I was thinking: The best answer might have to do with human freedom. As humans isn't one of our most characteristic traits supposed to be the power to choose freely? And if we are addicted then supposedly we cannot do this.

Of course, it is not so simple. It never is.