Sit Down Comedy … October 4th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4187)

Sit Down Comedy

I don’t know if you knew this or not, but there are grown-ups and there are grown-downs. It’s rather simple:

Some people get older in an upward direction and other pilgrims use the passing of time to turn downwards.

You might ask yourself, how can you tell the difference?

1. You might just be a grown-down if you think you’re always busy.

 

2. You might be a grown-up if you consider something funny and laugh to yourself, while simultaneously knowing you can’t exactly share it out loud because the grown-downs would think you were immature.

 

3. You certainly could be a grown-down if you’re constantly finding reasons to avoid doing something that you’re pretty sure would be good but you think it makes you sound more mature if you mull over the choices and decide not to do them.

 

4. You might be a grown-up if you just keep your mouth shut if somebody actually has a good idea before you step forward and try to shoot bullets in it.

 

5. On the other hand, you could be a grown-down if you find yourself spending a lot of time sighing, crying, complaining and disapproving.

 

6. You might be a grown-up if you ignore the difficulty of the opportunities that pop up in front of you and instead, find ways to turn them into adventures in living and giving.

 

7. You really are a grown-down if you believe that politics has a chance of doing something great.

 

8. You might be a grown-up if you stop waiting for politics to solve your problems—and you, yourself, go out and do something great, or at least something that could pass for it.

 

9. You might be a grown-down if you’ve cast your allegiance to a political party.

 

10. You might be a grown-up if you’ve found a good path for yourself and demand that the political parties begin to follow you.

 

11. You might be a grown-down if you know all the diseases, conditions and allergies that just might afflict your young children.

 

12. Or maybe you’re a grown-up if you realize that those kids only remain healthy by being exposed to the life around them and developing immune systems.

 

13. You might be a grown-down if you take God real seriously and become somber whenever serving Him is brought into the conversation.

 

14. You might be a grown-up if you seriously take God into every part of your life and enjoy the hell out of Him.

 

15. You might be a grown-down if you believe that sex and romance are the same thing.

 

16. Welcome to the grown-up world when you realize that sex is for fun and romance is necessary for the heart.

 

17. You might be a grown-down if you’re too concerned about your health.

 

18. You might be a grown-up if you’ve discovered a healthy concern.

 

19. You might be a grown-down if you’re laughing less, arguing, fussing and objecting more.

 

20. You might be a grown-up if you learn to laugh over the limitations of your reasoning power.

Walking around in today’s world is similar to a mine field.

(No—that’s too dramatic.)

It’s more like strolling in a cow pasture, trying to avoid the bullshit.

(No—that’s too dark.)

Actually, it’s almost identical to walking into the room where your kids keep their toys, without your shoes on, in the dark. Because you know that somewhere, there’s something that’s not put away, and if you step on it, it’s gonna give you a nasty ouchy.

It’s kind of like what my friend, Vic, said about it:

Sometimes you know you’re a grown-down because you insist you’re a grown-up.

 

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Iz and Pal (Bedouin Buddies)


Iz and Pal

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4029)

Sitting Seventeen

The desert has little to offer—mainly the presence of persistence.

After Karin left Iz and Pal, they were suddenly overtaken by the sleep of exhaustion—just two boys, lying flat on their backs in the ragged remains of a tent, deeply asleep, overcome by worry and woe, welcoming the needed rest, yet nervous about the pending dreams.

And there were dreams.

Iz floated, his body upheld in a liquidy glue of moisture, suspended a few meters above his family’s home. He tried to flip himself over, to look into the windows and see Pada, but he was held down, some force holding his arms, squeezing his legs, forbidding movement. Then it was as if the glue became thicker and oozed around his nostrils, threatening to suffocate the life from him. Struggling, he loosened himself and fell, landing on the roof of his home, hearing the crack of a bone in his right leg.

Voices ascended to the rooftop where he was impaled, writhing in pain. They were mentioning his name. It was “Jubal this” and “Jubal that.” Nothing he could actually discern, nor words that were perceptible. More an angry, disapproving tone.

He was in pain. Then, all the bones in his body started to break, one by one. Gradually the agony was displaced by oblivion. He melted like a piece of ice on a hot summer’s day, his body dribbling down the walls, through the window, pooling in a puddle on the floor of his home. It seemed he was all there—eyes, nose, hands, ears. But each part separated—a toe where an ear should be, a mouth replacing a knee. Gleaming, watery, flat against the ground, he was trying to see, attempting to find Pada.

Then there was a sound—a whoosh of a broom. Dust flew around his puddle of life. He choked—coughing, wheezing. The broom was sweeping him, pushing him toward the door. He splattered down the steps of his home, gushing his life away and landed on the bottom step in a splat—but somehow, once again, whole. Free of all broken bones and molten flesh.

Iz tried to stand but could not. Instead he walked backward on his hands like a crab, reconnoitering his way into the street, which was busy with cars and buses. Yet no one saw him. No one noticed the crab boy creeping along. All at once, a giant hand wearing a yellow shirt-sleeve reached down and picked him up by his right arm, yanking him into the air and placing him at the gate of what appeared to be a great shining city—an ancient site. There was carvings of gold and statues of granite and cedar. He did not know any of the figures, just that they were large, massive and overwhelming.

The gate suddenly opened, and he heard laughter. No—giggling. It was much younger. Free, absent of trouble, broken bones and gelatin flesh. Then a dog, barking at the gate, and men with beards who came and packed him up, carrying him into the city, as a beautiful woman with long, black hair stepped forward and kissed him. It was not the smooch of a sister, but rather, the caress of a friend who would be a lover or at least as much as a twelve-year-old mind could conjure.

He was giddy with the sights and sounds. He was stimulated even more by the woman’s lips. The bearded men carried him on to a huge castle, where he entered the portals and seemed to disappear forever more.

Iz awoke with a start. It was nighttime.

There was a single candle lit, and Pal sat in the shadows, staring at him. “Did you have a dream?” he asked.

Iz was not sure whether he was awake, or if this was part of the continuing saga.

Pal spoke again. “I had a dream.”

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