March 7, 2010 by Keli.

Since my last post, my office has moved from a dismal and drab location to a near match for Fifth Avenue, and I’ve been busy packing, unpacking, organizing, working and suffering from a sudden attack of IM syndrome: Idiot Mouth syndrome. This commonplace malady strikes regular people, like you and me, especially me, and causes words to uncontrollably tumble out of our mouths before we realize we should have pulled the emergency brain brake and exercised thought prior to speaking. This idiotic impulse can potentially lead to disastrous consequences and/or immediate branding as a stuper (short for an unbelievably stupid person).

I attended a noon hour meeting, in a room full of attorneys. There were two problems: no lunch was being served, and I’d not eaten anything. Everyone who really knows me is aware that when I go hungry, say for a period of 90 minutes or more, my usual gentle, sweet demeanor peels away and the Attila the Hun in me is let loose. Arrrggghh! To add to my crabbiness during the meeting, my stomach growled so loudly, I shouted to be heard over the din; the hard-of-hearing didn’t stand a chance.

I was the new kid in town, thrown into a close-knit clan. After listening to idle gossip for ten minutes, I introduced myself and received a slew of non committal, disinterested stares which, along with my hunger, only enhanced my foul temper. I suddenly blurted out, “I haven’t practiced law in almost twenty years, and I’ve loved every minute of it.”

Those who placed high marks on honesty and candor might have applauded my statement. As you may imagine, the room fell silent… except for my growling stomach which competed with the ear shattering thunderstorm outside.

I immediately realized my gross error and tried to induce blindness and perhaps rapid onset amnesia with a dazzling smile. Alas, they didn’t fall for it.

I wiped away all traces of saliva that appeared after watching the fellow next to me devour his chicken pot pie, and forced myself to perk up. I re-focused, not on the roar of my empty middle section, demanding as it was; I ignored my Attila-like tendencies, and directed my energies on the issues being discussed. I tried really hard…and almost made it. I suddenly interrupted a discussion about judges with,

“When I was Business Affairs Counsel for XYZ Motion Picture Studio….”

Fortunately, I was able to switch direction quickly, realizing that these lawyers cared as much about what I did in a previous life as they did about my having had a super grand time staying at home, raising my family instead of working. I needed to focus on the here and now.

We all know that awareness is the first step to changing displeasing habits and/or characteristics. I am exceptionally aware of what hunger pangs do to my typically charming, mild-mannered personality, and I usually carry around a snack or two in my swimming pool-size handbag for that very reason. Except I forgot that day. Instead, I shoved a large slice of humble pie down my throat, reminding myself that I’m a whole lot happier when I find ways to help others instead of focusing on myself.

Think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity | 4 Comments »

February 6, 2010 by Keli.

My dear readers, today’s post is a blast from my blog past, as I am away at the Northern Trust Open Golf Tournament.  I leave you, once again, in hopes that you will be inspired to think:

What’s this world coming to? Are the stupers (short again for uncontainable stupid persons) finally taking over, like the monkeys did in Planet of the Apes? For a few minutes, I was certain stupidity had staged a successful coup.

I’d ventured out of my home and into the supermarket, figuring that the rain and the Super Bowl, would enable shopping to be stuper free. I was wrong.

My mission was to quickly buy four, 2.5-gallon size, water bottles. A simple enough task. The store had only four such bottles left. I heaved the rather bulky containers into my shopping cart. My sister then telephoned me, and I paused to chat.

As the conversation continued, I parked my cart at the foot of the water bottle aisle. I then walked over to the nearby ATM, mere steps away. Alas, I’d neglected to place a lock on the cart or load it with heavy metal objects. Maybe I should have tied a chain around one wheel and secured the other end to my ankle.

While at the ATM and on the phone, I glanced over my shoulder at my cart. It had disappeared. Barely a minute had passed. Irritated (after all, those were the last four bottles), I ended the call and left the machine. What I encountered was a trail of water bottles, haphazardly running along one side of the aisle. The very four bottles that had formerly been sitting in my cart.

A middle-aged woman pushing a cart approached me.

“Are you looking for the cart with the water bottles? Those four girls got rid of the bottles and took off with it,” she pointed to the end of the aisle.

I saw four indolent, scantily clad creatures in their late teens or so, just turning ’round the corner. I mention their clothing or lack thereof, because the temperature hovered around 48 degrees Fahrenheit. Perhaps the lack of warm attire had frozen what few remaining brain cells they had. Rather than walk fifteen feet to the cart corral, they’d confiscated one already in use.

Since I am a specialist in the psychology of stupidity, I considered attaching dynamite to the handle of their cart took the cartjacking in stride. But this tale gets worse for me before it gets better.

I suddenly had a terrible realization: I’d never removed the cash I’d requested from the ATM. Irritation while talking on the cell phone and simultaneously pushing buttons on the machine had distracted me to the tune of sixty dollars. I admit to hypocrisy in a weak moment, dear readers. Multi-tasking does not work when trying to have a meaningful conversation on the cell phone.

I raced back to the ATM. No $ in sight. I noticed a checker kept her head perpetually turned toward the machine. She knew something. I approached her.

“I don’t suppose some one turned in sixty dollars to you, found at the ATM?”

The checker nodded and barely opened the cash drawer. “Yes, some one did turn it in. A lady thought it was a malfunctioning machine. Here you go.”

It was a malfunction…in my head. Had I been paying proper attention, I would have maintained awareness. Instead, I focused on stupidity and became an amnesiac, leaving my money behind.

The fact that a person actually turned in the money instead of stuffing it in her wallet really warmed my formerly irritated heart. I was truly grateful. It made the stupers look very small indeed. Ever since the ATM mishap, I’ve been exceptionally prudent in fostering present moment awareness. It’s the only way to maintain sanity.

Great minds think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity | 5 Comments »

January 9, 2010 by Keli.

I love my Alma mater. It wasn’t always this way. It was touch and go over the past twenty-five, almost twenty, several years or so, but it’s been good between us ever since last Spring quarter when I accompanied Son #2 on his campus tour.

It wasn’t the tour that did the trick; it was what occurred afterward, but the tour was the catalyst. During the walk around north campus, I again discovered what I periodically suspect: I often, sometimes, once in a great while, behave like a stuper (short, as you all well know by now, for an embarrassingly stupid person).

 Our capable tour guide strolled us around the tree-lined walkways, paused in front of the inverted fountain where she genially relayed its history and use (dunking the heads of captured USC opponents usually in retribution for their attempts to defile the statue of the Bruin Bear). Meanwhile, I fondly gazed over at parking lot 2 and reminisced. Just how many parking tickets did I manage to gather from that one lot alone? 145? Or was it 245?

We sauntered through the sculpture garden (I could have sworn it was located on the other side of the campus during my day), and finally stopped at the steps of the Music building. I took that opportunity to look up at an adjacent structure, and suddenly realized that I may have attended an entirely different campus or one perhaps located in a parallel universe. At the very top of the Humanities Building, facing the center of the campus, were etched these words by brilliant English physicist and chemist, Michael Faraday:

Nothing is too wonderful to be true if it be consistent with the laws of nature.

I could not believe I’d walked back and forth past the Humanities Building for four years, several times per day and never once bothered to look up to read that quote. Consequently, I yanked Son #2 away from the rest of the group and bid him look upward.  He read the quote, and then regarded me with  annoyance, a monumental dose of tolerance, as if he now knew for certain I’d lost all my faculties, great respect and said,

“That’s pretty good.”

“Forget about its profundity or philosophical implications. Can you believe I went to school here for four whole years and never once looked up?”

I spent the rest of the tour, chin pointing to the sky, staring upward. My son kept his distance.  But on the upside, I believe, I lost any appearance or hint of wrinkles that may have been creeping up on my neck. This spontaneous,  non-artificial, fast-acting, reverse aging process is what could have led to the incident that drove me to march into the UCLA Alumni Center a short time later.

As Son #2 and I ended our tour and walked to Parking Lot 8, we passed by several tables set up along the way helmed by students. Several of these intelligent students stopped me and asked if I’d like to wear the button they were offering.

“No, thank you,” I replied over and over again, never taking the time to read what the button said. Finally, just before we reached the Lot, I was asked again if I’d like to wear a button. I looked at one. It read,

Kiss Me, I’m a Senior

“You want me to wear this because…,” I started.

“Are you graduating this year?”

This is when my love affair with UCLA started. Granted, I was wearing dark shades. But in my short time there that day, I’d evidently shaved decades, a few years off my age. I looked at my son, who grinned widely. It took all my self-control not to tearfully embrace each student who offered me a button. Instead, I wound my way to the Alumni Center and joined. Money was no object.

 Since this incident, I make it a point to always look upward. Ah, the sights I’ve seen. Wondrous birds I never knew existed. Marvelous, heavenly cloud formations. And the best part: no wrinkles or stupers .

Just think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity | 7 Comments »

December 18, 2009 by Keli.

 I’ve recently noticed that I exhibit a stuper (short, as you well know, for a wickedly stupid person) trait, particularly in weak moments: gullibility. Though I find this appalling, I’d like to think it’s because I so want to believe that people are telling me the truth, that I fall for outright lies. I’m not talking about the Santa Claus fib or when an acquaintance says, “I’ll call you” and never does. I carry a healthy skepticism both about Santa and acquaintances. But I fall for a sob story every time. The only reason I haven’t invested in swampland yet is because the salespeople don’t bother shedding a tear or two before hobbling away and groaning in pain.
Kind, elderly Mrs. P entered my office seeking legal help. Her husband, Big John, pushed her wheelchair. Mrs P cried out in pain when a wheel ran over a pen that had fallen on the floor. She had undergone hip surgery and ended up with a host of other problems, thanks to a Dr. G., so she said.

“I can’t even walk no more because of what he did to me, ” she told me in frustration, dabbing her wet eyes with a Kleenex. I pictured her winning the Boston Marathon. “I’m in pain all of the time. I don’t want Dr. G to do this to no one else.”

“I understand,” I sympathized, as my heart swelled up to the size of a bowling ball and felt equally heavy. “So you never used a wheelchair before the surgery?” It was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears.

“No ma’am. No painkillers neither. Now I gotta take them the rest of my life.”

Leaning toward me, she explained that she believed so strongly in her case, she’d filed her own lawsuit, had a court date in one month and needed an attorney by her side. “I want you,” she quietly added.

Had I not been so gullible, I would have suspected that she filed her own case because no attorney in his/her right mind would take her case. But the wheels in my momentarily stuper, if I may be so humble, head had stopped turning.

Big John leaned down to whisper in his wife’s ear. She continued,

“He says I don’t even bake him gingersnaps no more and can’t provide him no conjugal services. It’s terrible.” Tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks.

“I am truly sorry,” I told them, then effortlessly segued into some routine questions such as, “Do you have your medical records?”

“I do.” Big John leaned down and whispered in her ear again. “He says, do you think they’re taking pictures of me?”

My heart shrunk to normal size and my tears suddenly dried up. “Who?”

“You know. Them. The doctor’s lawyers.”

The wheels in my head were now properly oiled and turning. “Anything is possible.”

Big John gave her a frightened look and opened his mouth, but Mrs. P threw him a nasty look, and he closed it again.  I asked,

“Did you place a complaint with the State Medical Board?”

“No!” she snapped, annoyed with my question.  “Then I won’t get any money.”

I shoved Big John aside, pushed Mrs P’s wheelchair out of my office, none too gently. I avoided the temptation to tilt the chair forward and command her to walk, preacher style, as I am a person of great self-control, except when it comes to chocolate and lemon meringue pie. Instead, I thanked her for coming and suggested she try physical and mental therapy, the latter of which is a course of action all stupers should undertake.

How about thinking?

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity | 7 Comments »

August 13, 2009 by Keli.

Americans are big on family reunions. Relatives converge at barbecues, parks and campgrounds; at my town’s last Fourth of July parade, one family created a huge float, displaying their reunion proudly and quite bravely.  Yesterday, I was forced to view two reunions of a different sort: stuper (short, yet again, for a predominantly stupid person) assemblies and not amid the safety of a parade or park.

The first took place while I drove on a busy highway. In my lane, on the right shoulder, a stuper family reunion was in progress. Not necessarily blogworthy on its own, except these moronic family members took it to the highway. Tearful embraces, Kool-Aid toasts and major back slapping all occurred in my lane, sandwiched between honking and obscene hand gestures. The idiot family was completely oblivious.

The next stuper reunion took place in Trader Joe’s market, smack in the middle of the dried fruit and nuts aisle (ironic, don’t you think?). I needed a package of raisins, but was prevented from grabbing one because an idiot family, spanning several generations,  parked themselves in the very spot I needed to be, while they feasted on samples of tiramisu and lemonade.

My pleas of  “Excuse me” soon upgraded to shouts of “Move it!” before I got my package. The reunionists gave me severely dirty looks for interrupting their joyful gathering.

Feeling rather flammable by this time, I decided to head home. Unfortunately, my car needed gas. I stepped into the Mini Mart in a huff to pay for the gas and was suddenly disarmed by a small, elf-like fellow, wearing little round glasses, sporting an indeterminate accent and being of an uncertain age. If Santa’s little helpers take jobs during the off season, then this certainly was one of them. All smiles and cheerfulness, he not only thanked me for coming in, but offered the following advice (Keep in mind, dear readers, that I was not the only customer in the Mart, but was singled out by this pixie for reasons I still haven’t quite figured out; I thought I hid my flammability fairly well):

“Remember, it’s okay to lose your money. You can always get it back. But never, ever allow yourself to lose your head. Getting that back…well, I’m not so sure.”

For a moment there, I wondered if this was a backward attempt at apologizing about taking money from me for pumping gas. Or perhaps he was offering me a refund in advance? The happy fellow watched so intently for my reaction, I suddenly felt transparent. I thought I appeared so calm and collected on the outside. Maybe, my irritation with the stuper family reunions showed.

I thanked him and left. While I pumped, a guy who’d witnessed the whole scene walked by me and laughed, circling his index finger, next to his temple. He said,

“The guy’s batty.”

I wasn’t so sure.

In our daily lives, there is much we have to endure. We bear all sorts of frustrations, worries and annoyances. By cultivating and developing patience, destructive emotional energies within us won’t have the chance to surface to take control and often misdirect us. I failed in the developing patience department on this day, or for at least part of the day. But thankfully, I was redirected by a few right words from a surprise source. Whether he was batty or not,  he was on to something.

Think first, last and always.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity, Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity | 6 Comments »

July 2, 2009 by Keli.

Out on a mission to Costco, I scoured the overstocked aisles for chopped garlic in a jar for a friend, when suddenly my cart runneth over with five pounds of honey, enough corkscrew pasta to feed a wedding party at the Son’s of Italy Grand Lodge, and a huge jar of kalamata olives that required a dolly before it would consider budging. But no chopped garlic.

I asked a passing employee about the garlic’s location. She replied,

“We don’t carry garlic.”

Costco offers every general food item known to humankind, as well as many foods instantly recognized by several animal species. To claim they didn’t carry garlic was preposterous. Unless, of course, said claim was made by a stuper (that’s right; short again for a haphazardly stupid person). Then it is to be expected and circumvented.

I paced the aisles on the lookout for an authentic human who worked at Costco. I passed a maintenance man scrubbing the Frozen Foods displays’ glass doors; of course, he wouldn’t know.  I happened upon a serious looking, mature woman wearing a Costco tag that said “manager.”

“Do you know where the garlic is?” I asked hopefully.

“If you don’t see it here,” she said, waving her arms vaguely in the air, “we don’t carry it.”

She left me open mouthed, trying to formulate the right stream of words in response. I shouted after her. “Oh, yes you do!”

I knew my statement to be true because the friend who’d sent me on this challenging expedition bought a jar of garlic a week earlier, but conveniently forget, in her Costco shopping daze, from which aisle. I asked another passing worker if she knew.

“No, but uh…,” she said while frantically looked around her. “You gotta find someone who works the section that it could be in.”

This time the worker didn’t abandon me, but bade me to follow her, leading me directly to….

“Mario, this lady has a question.”

Now the employee abandoned me, leaving me with Mario, the maintenance man still in the midst of rigorously scrubbing the glass display doors in the Frozen Foods Department. Within eight seconds, Mario whisked me a few aisles away to the garlic. There it was. All 4000 jars. Mario knew it all the time. Who better to ask than an employee in charge of cleaning all of the aisles? I handily dismissed him as a mere janitor when he held the key to what I wanted.

Who’s the real stuper here? The Costco employees who gave me the wrong answers or the stupidity specialist incapable of asking the right person? You decide.

Keep thinking.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity, Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity | 4 Comments »

June 28, 2009 by Keli.

I discovered that my chickens are smarter than I am. That does not bode well with me. I have college and graduate school degrees. I speak 2.75 languages (meaning besides the two languages in which I am fluent, I speak enough French and Spanish to order a glass of mineral water in a small, uncrowded European cafe). I know how to color coordinate clothes.  And I am capable of realizing that I should feel full after eating three slices of lemon meringue pie. But still, my chickens are smarter than I am.

I feed them every morning. I give them water. All I expect in return, are a few eggs now and then. They’ve been fairly cooperative. But one hen, Coco, feeling rather broody, gathered sixteen eggs beneath her bottom when I turned away for a few moments. Then another hen, Ethel, climbed into an adjacent nesting box in a concerted attempt to monopolize all eggs.

Although their nesting boxes are separated by a two inch high wall, these hens managed to drive me crazy with their silly chicken games. One morning, I’d arrive to find Coco with ten eggs beneath her and Ethel with six; the next day, Coco sat on two with eight under Ethel and so on. When I dared reprimand them, they gave me the evil eye, throwing me looks that said,

“Don’t even think of touching these eggs or you’ll be at the bottom of our pecking order.”

Idle threats.

After two weeks of this nonsense (or hensense, in this case), I announced to my family that I planned on collecting all coop eggs and tossing them. These hens’ behavior was not conducive to hatching chicks. They’re idiot hens, I said.

“Doesn’t it take three weeks to hatch a chicken egg?” Son #2 reminded me. “Can’t you just give them another week?”

I caved in, knowing full well that there’d be no chicks. The same thing happened last year.

Early one chilly morning, as trooper and family feeder, I stumbled out to the chicken area for the feeding. As usual, I peeked inside the coop to exchange dirty looks with the hens, but they ignored me. Instead a tiny gray head, no bigger than my thumbnail, stared back, covering me with a thin film of guilt.  A beautiful little chick. I thought I knew.

I rarely periodically jump to conclusions about people and situations. It is the habit that’s hardest for me to break.  You’d think I’d know by now that thoughts should be weighed carefully before being expressed, with wisdom and understanding. Giving careful consideration to our thoughts prevents us from acting like or even becoming stupers (short, as most of you know, for unjustifiably stupid persons).

Think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity | 4 Comments »

March 9, 2009 by Keli.

Have you ever engaged in conversation with someone and realized midway or even early on, that you’ve revealed more information than you wanted and consequently, longed for a really reliable getaway car? That was me this past weekend.

It’s junior golf tournament season once more which means I’m out there walking the courses, while watching Junior play; thus increasing the odds of my running into stupers (short, yet again, for nerve-wrackingly stupid persons). Most parents, coaches and other assorted junior golf entourage generally suffer from jumbled nerves, which makes them easily agitated, which makes them somewhat crazy.

On Hole 5, I needed to escape the fidgety, hyperactive parents around me, so I walked ahead for some alone time to regain my sanity and calm. I did and marveled at the peacefulness…for about one minute. Suddenly a new parent appeared on the cart path, walking toward me with a gait reserved for Kentucky Derby thoroughbreds headed for the finish line.

“Good,” I thought, “she won’t want to stop and chat.”

Wrong. She halted long enough to ask what time my son’s group went out so she figure out what hole her child was on. Her parting words to me were,

“Isn’t it cold today? I should have worn my parka that I wear when I visit my older son who’s going to school at Harvard. I’ve gotta go find my younger son who’s a really good player and won the _______ tournament last May.”

As she left, I thought, that’s nice that her son’s at an Ivy League university and her other one’s a great player; no doubt she’s proud, but why tell me? I’ll never see her again. I vowed not to give out so much information to people I don’t know. It sounds so unnecessary.

Fast forward to the end of Hole 5, minutes later.

I’m standing at the putting green with what appears to be a fatherly type. We exchange greetings. Then I notice the name on his hat. I say,

“Butch? It’s me, Keli. You used to be my son’s golf coach.”

He says hello and we make small talk until he asks who my son’s current coach is. Plagued by a sudden attack of guilt for no longer using Butch as teacher, I suddenly share too much information as to why Son stopped seeing him, revealing a few unnecessary details that I’m certain my son would not have appreciated. I feel tarnished. As I turn away, Butch responds that he now works at an elite golf training center with elite junior golfers and charges elite prices. I leave, wishing him great success, but feeling like I wish I’d kept my mouth closed and avoided interaction.

Every time I talk too much, I feel like I’ve given a piece of myself away. For free. This is especially true when talking to virtual strangers; people that don’t even know my name. My son had very good reasons for switching golf coaches; it didn’t require explaining, nor did Butch ask for one. I volunteered in a wild effort to smooth out barely perceptible wrinkles. In short, I was the one going a bit crazy.

Researchers claim talking too much can increase anxiety, depression and most importantly, stupidity.  We instantly see how unbecoming it is when others say too much; there’s no reason for us to do the same. Oversharing results from underthinking which is the shortest path to stupidity.

Think first, last and always.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity | 8 Comments »

March 5, 2009 by Keli.

Do you talk to yourself? Is talking to yourself a characteristic of stupidity? It all depends on how and where you do the talking.

I’ve been known to talk to myself. Out loud. I don’t mumble either; I speak quite clearly. I find that it helps me to remember little things and to solve personal dilemmas. I know I’m doing it. And I don’t have a problem with it. As long as I do so when no one else is around. Unfortunately, this is not always the case.

I once engaged in a heated exchange with myself about a stuper (short for a distinctly stupid person) when a man suddenly appeared a few feet away from me, raptly listening to my solo conversation. In my defense, I was out walking in dense fog (the kind where, if I dropped my cell phone, I’d have to get down on all fours and bravely feel around for it).

At first, I was mortified. Had the eavesdropper heard the part where I wanted to tie one end of a rope to a chair to which the stuper was handcuffed, and tie the other end to the bumper of a four-wheel drive monster truck that I would then drive over jagged edged boulders at high speeds? All this in a herculean effort to get the stuper to put her brain to use or at least donate it to scientific stuper research. I was subjected to some heavy squinting and blinking by the suddenly appearing man as he vainly searched for the party with whom I was having said conversation.

After this incident, I kept my talking out loud to a minimum or at least within the confines of my car or home where such behavior is not totally unexpected.

I came across a woman in a grocery store yesterday who not only talked to herself out loud, but did it so others had to be involved as well.

“Don’t the pears look good?” “Should I buy some cereal?” “How about that coconut cake?” (take note, dear readers, everything is in the form of a question. A telltale sign of stupidity).

Then she decided to pull random audience members into her monologue.

“What time is it?” she yelled to no one in particular.

I heard a nearby man answer her, “Uh, it’s 4:10.”

Which made me wonder, “Are they together?” (to myself, not aloud).

They were not together, and she proceeded in this manner for the duration of her shopping.

“Where’s the bread?” she inquired, looking around her.

A kindly, elderly shopper replied, “Aisle four, I think.”

This woman was not insane. She happened to check out the same time as I did; I noticed that she managed a fairly normal conversation with the cashier. She just hadn’t mastered the art of not talking to herself loudly in public places. To do this, a trained mind is required. An aware, active mind that’s not easily distracted. All stupers need to do is to try to think more than they talk. Or simply to try to think. This starts with keeping the mouth closed and the mind open, and choosing which thoughts to include and which to discard. Only then will we be rid of counterfeit humans.

Think.

Keli

Posted in My very own stupidity, Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity | 14 Comments »

January 29, 2009 by Keli.

I have been accompanied the past few days by a team of strolling violinists everywhere I go, playing the same sad, woe-is-me tune. This melancholy melody played particularly loudly yesterday when I dragged two trash cans to the end of the driveway as the sun set in the bitter cold. Then I returned for two more heavily loaded recycling cans which I heaved panting, sneezing and coughing for a total distance of well over 600 yards. I know this last fact because I took the liberty of bringing a yard stick with me the second time and measuring to ensure accuracy. I have the flu with all the nasty symptoms which I firmly believe were brought about my own momentarily weak mind and stupidity.

First, in all fairness, none of my homeboys were…well, at home;  I could have waited, but didn’t. One son came home just after I manually hauled the last two, particularly cumbersome, cans down. He waited and offered me a ride back up which I declined, just so I could display my prowess at grabbing myself by the scruff of the neck and dragging my limp body up our dirt and pebble studded driveway to make my point. But of course, such points go completely unnoticed by children.

What is the purpose of this melodramatic, somewhat affected post? It’s to remind us, myself in particular, that our state of mind affects our health. Whenever I’m angry, upset, or bothered, almost immediately, I get a sudden rash, headache, or in this case, succumbed to a cold. What we carry around in our minds and what comes out in our words can impact our health. I have no carefully gathered statistics or conclusive studies on this matter. Only exhibit A: myself.

Last Sunday, I was stuck doing tasks I absolutely did not want to do. I maintained a bad attitude throughout and at one point, even muttered, “I’ll probably make myself sick.” I was successful.

Physical conditions are largely determined by mental states. The body is what a person creates by the form of his/her thoughts. Unworthy thoughts = negative emotions. Negative emotions need an outlet.

I believe the body and mind can be renewed and even transformed through clear vision and thought as well as spoken words. Hence, the importance of choosing thoughts and words carefully.

Just think.

The wise man gathers worthy thoughts and deeds; bit by bit he builds his pile of happiness ~ Buddha

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in My very own stupidity | 8 Comments »