Anything but myself. Unfortunately, that seems to be the main mode of social discourse in the world. People mostly want to hear enough about me that they feel justified in telling me more about them. I’m an ideas guy: philosophy, science, literature, technology, economy, international affairs, etc. (Also, travel, but that only works with travelers — a tiny segment of the population.)
When is the last time you took a risk? Getting out of bed. (Every action or enacted decision generates some risk.)
How did it work out? I’m still alive, but the day is still young.
Chemical interactions in (and between) my nervous, enteric nervous, and endocrine systems make me nervous.
I’ve heard it said that it’s kind to rewind, but everyone who’s said that is quite old.
But I just lie on my back and contemplate the ceiling.
I don’t use social media. It uses me, or — more precisely — it uses my information and attempts to use my attention — as it does of us all. Perhaps it was a symbiote but it’s becoming ever more parasitic.
How does one mambo to the banana patch?
I once hitched a ride and was not murdered. [I hope it goes without saying that neither did I murder the person who gave me a ride. If it does not, I did not.]
Every decision to travel anywhere has paid a dividend.
The molten core. Because it’s not a dry heat.
Not slapped me in my stupid face when I said or did something idiotic. (Or is that a “negative thing,” since it involved inaction, rather than action.) Anyhow, it always feels like a rather positive thing to me.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 