A 74-year-old man just went to war

And I had 2 eggs (over-easy), about 5 strips of bacon, toast, coffee, grapefruit, and orange juice for breakfast.

The title and the introduction paragraph have absolutely nothing to do with each other. I know. But I just wanted to shed some light on paths.

My path can not be distinguished from that of my neighbors and their neighbors and the folks across the street. Maybe they had some vegemite or some of the Honeybunches, but for the most part we're gonna slep on a Serta tonight and do the whole damn thing again tomorrow.

Then there is the path of this 74-year-old doctor. He is off to war. For about the 3rd time and on one of his previous deployments he took care of Saddam Hussein.

I ask, and maybe I'm being a tad unfair or a bit cavalier toward myself and my path, but would you consider this man way more salty than I?

I'm doing the American thing. Choosing my choices. So is he. I put toward and redeem from the GNP of this great nation. So does he. I'm perhaps saving lives in deciding my route to work and my decision to recycle and compost. So as he is saving lives on his own as well. But who would ever consider me a hero? (Beside those anti-war people) What will I ever do at 74 that will pop up on msn.com and create a buzz?

Like I said my breakfast and this man's deployment mean nothing to each other. But I feel as if this isn't and apples to oranges or even apples to apples comparison.

The Worst Thing a Person Can Do

Think for a minute about the absolute worst thing possible. It's not selling your great-Grandma's dagger collection or breaking up with a priest or anything. No. I encountered, but did not participate in, the exact act of complete and total worstness.

I was outside a McDonalds in a busy thoroughfare and some guy next to me straight farted with audibility.

I'll give you a damn minute.

Or two.

It was the total worst thing. You got the greasy, industrial meat microwaving smell, mixed with actual car-induced methane, and then person induced methane intermingling. Whoa! It was intense and uncalled for.

Not like a suicide Coke. Not like a handful of Jelly-Bellies. Not like a Tampon variety pack.

No...it was like a pot-luck of smelly, nasty nuances. Like if your company had a Anglo-East African-Scottish-Lebanese themed potluck and then drenched everything in day-old mayonnaise and washed it down with a nice Tahitian Treat.

It wasn't right.

I Have to Stop Thinking

I reached for a jar of peanut butter this morning and now I don't know what to think about things anymore.

My right hand got to the jar first, the left wasn't too far behind in the race.

Did I intend for my right hand to be the only retriever? Is my right arm longer? My right hand stronger? Am I truly right-handed or is something going on? Did he intend for my right hand to be this omnipotent glory hog of an appendage? Did he even have a hand in this event? Did I tell my brain to tell my right shoulder to tell my arm to tell my hand to grab the jar with a sured agility and faster than I told my brain to tell my left shoulder to tell my arm to tell my hand to?

I know what you are supposing...you are chronicling your life here, starting today, and getting into a very cliched conversation of is the glass half emptied from fullness. But I kid you not...I am at an impasse.

Am I competitive within my own body? Do I race my body parts against each other just to see if I have the will? If I favor one over the other? Or if, and I'm going to stop calling God "he" or 'Him" I'm from effing Texas, God kinda got a little bored with guiing the country into a recession and decided to nudge my right arm a little?

And now I'm thinking: Am I two-years-old? Why am I reaching for things like jars with both hands? I know approximately how much a jar of peanut butter weighs and that I could've handled it with just telling my brain to tell my right shoulder to tell my arm to tell my hand to grab the peanut butter, but I totally lunged at it with both perfectly capable hands and arms. And now have distressed my state-of-mind.

(Hold on a minute, Facebook is distracting me...I've been poke by like 20 people today).

Yeah so. Omnipotence. Do you think that the pope looks back on his life prior to being omnipotent and thinks, "Wow, I was like a powerless douche like a year ago, and now no one can argue with me any longer?" And I'd like research on the edict of omnipotence. I'm not going to do it myself, I'm getting poked like crazy. So help me out because it seems like a very convenient concept for a religion to implement and encourage people to buy into. But I'm wrought with frustration over my own two hands, literally, so who am I to really judge a very fine establishment like the Holy Roman Catholic Church? Don't answer that. I'm not ready for your honesty.

The only thing that is comforting me today is the recent discovery that an ex of mine is married to and has a child with someone not so good-looking and considerably chubbier than I. They have a nice smile and everything. And I'm damn happy for them. Kudos on the plunge my friend! But it's strangely comforting to me. Like a decision, whether life altering or simple and inert, is a thing. In effect, a simple noun. It's what they effectually do to us in the long run that matters.

I think my right arm is now oddly stronger.