The magic of the ideal and the logic of being far away from it.

I love the ideal and then I love myself too. You knew that counting the number of Is in that sentence, right? Coming back to the point, the situation of being far removed from the ideal does not make me jealous of perfect lives. I am a fan of perfectly good looking, totally kind hearted and brilliant, dedicated people found scattered over this earth.

The ideal of love, despite the lack of any noticeable romance in my life; the ideal of bravery, although I walk away from street dogs that get enraged when I enter their domain with my puppy; the ideal of dedicated service to the public by certain people , while I just about survive as a freelancer; all these great things inspire me. Inspire me to what? Don't ask. I have not accomplished anything inspirational myself. Being inspired is my speciality. Not being inspirational.

Such a shame. hmmmm
Also feel ashamed when I read the news of people killing each other in wars that seem to be unceasing and killing dozens of journalists covering the news, while I watch fox crime for thrills and the news during the ad breaks.

Yuck! Isn't there a way to help without stepping down from the lap of luxury? Or at least without the risk of being killed? Feeling really bad for the journalists being killed by the extremists.

When logic seems to be just not there

Why are some people happy, no matter what?

Why are some pissed off, no matter what they get or get to do?

Why did that super successful beloved beloved beloved artist kill himself?

Why is my dog never illogical and all animal instinct?

What's with bitching and hurting others? Just what about it is so great that it is universal?

When will I earn more than I do now?

Just don't get it!!!!

As a kid, I loved taking the public transport. Thirty five years ago, buses were not so crowded, and I lived in a cool (literally and metaphorically) part of the city. So waiting in the bus was a time to feel the breeze and check out all the fascinating humans who were around me.

The thrilling part was judging where exactly the bus would stop, and beat others running towards the steps and feel the movement of the heavy vehicle under your feet.

If I got a seat, I would put my head out like a dog and feel the breeze. I loved standing too, because my feet felt the buzz of the engine, and it was great to hold the bars and sway as the bus turned and braked. I do not know if bus technology has improved and we no longer get tickled when we stand. It is a long time since I travelled by bus.

Once as I was about to climb a bus my friend asked me "What's the time?" I tried to look at my wrist watch, but was too engrossed with the running towards the steps that I did not answer her."No time to see the time." said a young man behind us. My friend and I pretended not to have heard him but smiled secretly at each other. I used this incident in a story I wrote for a school text book.

Now the buses are much better, although the crowds are unbearable. However, my memory of the rickety old buses makes them precious to me.