Attaboy Atavism and Old-fashioned Idiosyncrasies

Surreal.

Is this really happening?

What just happened?

I, for one,

Didn’t see it coming.

Whew.

Talk about aging gracefully.

I would settle for not aging before my number is up.

Times are tough. Rough and tough. Tough and rough.

There are moments when the brain waves are not able to keep up.

Before.

After.

Yesterday.

Tomorrow.

Whenever.

Yep.

Stand together if we’re gonna survive. (gb)

Provided the choice to stand up is yours.

We are, after all, tipping our hats in the direction of the survivors.

The survival of the fittest.

Might as well throw the hats in the ring and say a little prayer, pay a little homage, bring your own lucky charm of ability and stability.

Yep. Practice makes perfect.

Well, that and some other tricks of the trade.😳

Stand together if we’re gonna survive. (gb)

Okay.

Will do.

In the meantime.

How to keep up with the fast-paced changing times.

And still maintain the ABLE of the ADL. The abilities of activities of daily living. Sometimes. Just getting out of bed is at the top of the list.🍩

Tying one on or tying one off. The long and winding trip over one’s own feet is the order of the day. Has nothing to do with what was or wasn’t consumed last evening…..🍺🍻🥂🥃🍸🍹🍷🍾.

🍩🤓

Stress is a killer.

A killer. Compromises function. Gain of function. Function function.

Can it please just,

STOP!

The pressure on the waves in the brain is all consuming.

All consuming.

Surreal, suspicious, supernatural.

Exquisite, searing and intense too.

Boy oh boy. Do I now wish I paid more attention in history class. My own history class. Then. Maybe, just maybe, I would not being sitting at the kid’s table.

Alone.

Again.

It really is extraordinary.

But. Not in a funny ha-ha way.

And.

Not in a mad, mad or mad way.

But. More in a caustic, cutting way.

Sharp. Ouch-like.

Dragging out of bed and realizing the reality wasn’t a bad dream.

All along.

It was indeed, reality.

Reality bites.

The hand that feeds it.

Recommendation? Listen to the quiet one.

They speak only when there is something significant to say.

Nine times out of Ten.

They are correct.

Reversion bites.

Just ask Dollo. Louis Dollo. He proposed a theory way back when. In 1893. “An organism never returns exactly to a former state, even if it finds itself placed in conditions of existence identical to those in which it has previously lived…….it always keeps some grace of the intermediate stages through which it has passed.”(wk)

Habitual?

Maybe.

Impossible?

To what.

Wrap one’s head around the brain waves of the current existence.

Disambiguation. Discombobulating, too.

To say the least.

Drip. Drip. Drip. (bor)

Goes the blood.

The piercing headache returns the moment the eyes open and attempt to direct the feet to hop out of bed and get to it.

A feeling of yes, I have been here before.

Is this really happening?

What just happened?

I, for one.

Didn’t see it coming.

Strange. Yes.

Suspicious. Yes.

Unnatural. Yes.

Freakish too.

The hunt continues. The witch hunt continues. With no signs of going away anytime soon. Exhaustion leads the way out of the bed and the feet give out the moment they hit the floor.

Pecularities exist. Acceptance is the key. One step ahead of the gang. Unique even. A temperament like no other. Habitually habitual.

“All the art of living lies in the fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” Havelock Ellis.

When you figure out the how, please let me know. A lesson in moderation of tempera- mental acuity is something I am ready, willing and able to learn. Like yesterday….

In the meantime, temperamental temperatures will soar to the fire breathing hot of the fire in the belly. The fire in the fox hole too. Explosion.

Again. If it were only possible to find a little humor in the mad madness of it all. A funny ha ha way to look at it. Once upon a time, a good belly laugh was a good thing. A hearty laugh is good for the soul. The epic giggle of all giggles.

Crack a joke.

Crack a smile.

Crack a rib.

I actually think I am simply cracking up. It isn’t so much a dance than a realization of reality.

Reality bites.

Realization does, too.

Bites.

The hand that feeds its incessant need for attention, acknowledgment and attaboys.

Tendencies. Yes.

Temperaments. That, too.

How we got here is anyone’s guess and everyone’s ponder.

Shrug it off.

Or.

Chug it down.

The medicine of all medicines.

The poison of choice

The choice is yours.

Or hopefully so.

The hunt continues.

History is often destined to repeat itself.

Where will you be standing when it does.

Repeat itself.

Hopefully holding on to someone who will not drop you.

Like a hot potato.

Drop kick you too.

Revenge bites.

Reality bites more.

Used to be, physician heal thy self was the order of the day. The Hippocratic oath was a solid and noble goal of good health, well being. Passed on to persons and patients.

Hippocrates developed the four humors of a healthy life. The four humors of Hippocratic medicine. Black bile. Yellow bile. Phlegm. Blood.(wk)

Ick.

What is funny about that?

Glad you asked.

Each one of the four corresponds to one of the traditional four temperaments. According to Hippocrates, for a body to be healthy, the four humors should be balanced in amount and strength.💪🏻🫵🏻

Eureka?

No.

Eukrasia, actually. The proper blending and balance of the four humors.

Swapping spit.😜

No thank you.

Grosses me out just thinking about it.

Hock a loogey.

Sounds better.

Better out than in is what I always say.😌

Attaboy! You did it. Great job!

Did you know the hardest word in the English language to spell is one of the four humorism humors?

It ain’t blood.

It ain’t black bile.

It ain’t yellow bile.

The only one left to swap?

Hint. Spit.

Spit comes from phlegm.

Or.

Maybe phlegm comes from spit.

I’ll stick with hock a loogey, a good belly laugh, and hoping I live to see another day where my feet hit the floor and I am still standing.😀

Join me if you like!

Stand together if we’re gonna survive sounds awfully good.

Not awfully awful.

But.

Good.