Choked With Fear

No. 16 of 31 - Thermometer series

All through my life, even if there’s a shortage of everything else, there’s never a shortage of fear and trepidation. Trembling, cowering, hunkering down, just me and my periscope. And it’s overwhelming, so vividly horrible it splashes over me like a bucket of cold water on a winter day, chilling me unto my soul, my very last bone.

Yet I'm always surrounded by aides and associates, so you’d think I’d be knowing, showing, and even evincing, the greatest calm and confidence. Friends indeed are cheerful and confident, which sometimes is their biggest fault. They're not watching like a hawk. They don't see the constant danger. Just cheerleaders. I see cheerleaders on TV, who aren't even watching the game, so how do they know what cheers we need? We might be doing great, then the cheer is: “Our team is dynamite, we’re gonna win tonight!“ Or maybe we’re having troubles and we need backup: “Push ‘em back, push ‘em back, way back!”

So often, believe it or not, I am choked by fear, because my perception of what’s going on is always crystal clear. I’ve got a sixth sense, some level of foreknowledge, and eyes in the back of my head. I should’ve been a teacher, but those opportunities are long past. And call me a nervous nelly, but I know what we’re up against. I could name three blogs better than mine, and that’s just in the Western Hemisphere. I hesitate to even mention the Pastun and Iraqi herdsmen and their formidable blogs. If you think those guys are wimps, think again. They've grown up in danger; they know the facts of life. They snack on nails and gargle razor blades. And their breath matches their appetite, smelling alternately like a construction site and shaving kit.

Then there’s the other enemies. Homegrown naysayers, which are the worst kind, because they’re always at the door, always in your face like a Greek chorus, bemoaning your fate while also rubbing it in. I frankly believe their glory’s in someone else’s shame, the same way my 8th grade biology teacher rubbed it in when I couldn’t name the parts of the reproductive system. I wrote “Pipes and tubes, rubs and lubes,” and got a stinking F. But it worked out OK for me. As it turned out, we didn't have kids, but I and a girlfriend had a few close calls.

OK, these homegrown naysayers ... I describe them pretty well on today's thermometer. Urchins, rugrats, etc. Hanging around the neighborhood telling me to go to hell, etc. I pity their poor parents. Their poor parents work all day, then come home, and the neighborhood has too much sympathy to describe the little hellions for what they are. We’re willing to let bygones be bygones, but it’d be great if they told us they never plan to breed again, and would at least consider retroactively rescinding their existing issue.

I and my team don't want to be too discouraged. And we will make it, I believe, if we don’t lose focus. I remain optimistic. My friends, I do believe we have a clear hope and a clear pathway by which to attain it. I wet my easy chair so you don’t have to. Stay with me. And let’s see this thing along all the way even to its glorious conclusion. It remains my hope, my fervent expectation, that we shall see thermometers popping off all over the world -- POP, there goes one now -- and at long last a grand and wonderful victory that will make me proud and, by extension, you.

Removing All Doubts

No. 7 of 31 -- Thermometer series

Everyone's heard of the wise man and the fool. The wise man is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. But the fool opens his and removes all doubt. If you have to think about that a bit, I get it. I've thought about it many times and I'm still not real sure. No one really likes the supposed wise guy because of jealousy. And no one likes the fool because he is a fool. So basically we don't like anyone. And the lesson has to be -- wise or fool -- keep your mouth shut and skate by. At least be that wise.

Do I have a degree of foolishness? Yes, more than my share. Except for wise survival skills and a complete fear of tomorrow, it looks like the joy of life is foolishness. No one ever thinks I'm a Brainiac. Never have been. If you’ve read this blog more than a day you know that. But am I a complete fool, a total moron, the mayor of Stupidville, the dunce of Dimsville? I don’t think so, but it’s a quandary, because if you’re that stupid you’re too stupid to know. So it's possible.

I actually don’t think we should ever get tied up in knots in these kinds of blind alleys, with the conclusion that we’re logically or illogically bound. I have been called the stupidest man on earth many times by well-meaning critics. But that’s just the way people talk. They’ve never met every man on earth, let alone tested everyone with clinical controls. Think of the effort, the call for papers they'd need, the groups and seminars, etc. So when you hear things like that — "You're the stupidest man on earth" — factor in some exaggeration. But if they say you're "literally" the stupidest man on earth, call the Guinness Book people and get it verified.

I was judged big-time by teachers a few times, and of course the guidance counselor, and didn't know how to respond. That’s one of the things I hated about school, that I didn’t have the vocabulary or analytical skills to reduce the teacher to a blubbering piece of jelly writhing and shimmy-shaking on the floor. Which would’ve been great. Then I'd be taking home a note to my mother that read, “Dear Mrs. Kundalini, Dippy reduced me personally and to the molecular level to a pile of dust during class with his many keen insights into my stupidity and the whole folly that the work of being a so-called teacher is when everyone knows I passed the training by the skin of my teeth and haven’t been able to improve myself with 25 years of experience; in fact, I’m getting worse.” That would've been sweet.

I didn't do any of that, because even then I had a reverent fear of tomorrow. But you have to agree that that teacher would've learned her lesson. My surgical dismemberment of her would've removed all doubts where she stood. And from that point on, whenever I had a criticism, people would've taken it seriously, or they too would've lost life and limb, and that instead of being expelled I would've been promoted immediately to the next class simply so I’d be someone else’s problem.

Do you, dear reader, want to avoid being reduced to dust and all the rest? Please send my thermometers sky high with your kind and loving attention. Did I tell you I lost my parents a few years ago? Have a heart. Several dogs have died too. Fish, guinea pigs. Show mercy. I don’t post everyday, sometimes I skip most of a month. Why? Because I don’t have anything to say? Sometimes yes, sometimes I’m afraid it will be such a word of power that no one can gaze upon it and live!

"Removing all doubts" today means I'm advancing boldly with the thermometer drive. Fearless, not looking back. Because there are so many hungry minds and eyes out there, all craving, hungering, and desiring fervently the full story -- they show it by filling and exploding my thermometers -- and that gives me the confidence I need to satisfy their hunger, minds, and eyes. 

My Moments of Doubt

As we all know, life takes a lot of faith. You think there's rhyme and reason and purpose, and not that things are just random, haphazard, and lacking in meaning. It always nice to find a place of security like that, which has been the happy story of my life. It's good to dwell secure like this, like an infant, satisfied and content, never knowing anything else. I'm in bliss right now, even as we speak. See my eyes rolled back in my head? I'm dwelling on several planes at once, all blissful.

But once in a while, even I have to confess, I have my doubts. I shake myself, go for long walks, hit the reset button, the escape button, anything to get back on track. And it works, it really does work, as opposed, say, to the ESC button on your computer that never does anything. Then I'm happy again, and without these doubts, my eyes go back to their normal place, rolled back.

My life can serve as an example for you, and it can also serve as a cautionary tale, that you never have doubts.

One of the things that I doubt is that the Congress of the United States has the best interests of their country at heart. I see the gridlock, the sniping, the endless procedural wrangling, the posturing, the needless opposition to every apparently reasonable plan, and that's just the Republicans. Then they pass bills that don't make the slightest sense, and I just have to say, "I have my doubts! If this is your idea of the 'best interests' of our country, then you're cracked!" These doubts shake me.

One of the biggest doubts of my life, seriously, just happened a couple weeks ago. I was out with a friend, and having a pleasant time over coffee. It was so pleasant, I didn't think anything in all of God's creation could ruin it. Had cockroaches marched in spitting on the table, I'd still be content. It was comfortable. Then my friend told me something unbelievable, that pork and beans was on sale at the store for a nickel a can. I was like, "What?! That's impossible! You're cracked! I have my doubts about that!"

Try as we might, we could never get back to the pleasant time we'd been sharing. It was on my mind: I know pork and beans is always 69 to 99 cents a can, $4.99 at a convenience store, it can't be a nickel a can, it just can't be! But my friend was sitting there straight faced. I took a hasty sip of coffee and burnt my lip, then descended back into this pitiful reverie: At a nickel a can, I could stock up for the apocalypse, and still have money for ammo. But I'll get to the store and there'll be a line around the building. I told myself, It just can't be, no sir, I'm calling BS on this, I HAVE MY DOUBTS!"

Just then the waiter comes to our table, and my friend says, "That guy looks familiar," going on to suggest that he works as a waiter at another restaurant while simultaneously being not just a waiter here, the newest restaurant in town, but the owner. Now I'm wondering about my friend. No one would do that, would they? Own a restaurant, be a waiter there, and be a part-time waiter in a different restaurant?

I fleshed it out in my mind -- with the pork and beans occasionally crowding out the waiter story -- and came to the conclusion, Yes, it could happen. Think of it: He might be waiting at the other restaurant to get enough money to pay rent on this place, since it is a new restaurant. Still, wouldn't that really dissipate his energy, energy he could be putting into this restaurant to make it a success? That kind of splitting his time might just make this place fail faster. Bottom line: I have my doubts!

I'll spare you my other doubts, because I doubt you're all that interested.