All I can handle....

We've all been there. We've thrown pity parties, we've consternated “why me?”. We've all clammed up, screamed, pulled hair, taken DEEP gulps, looked in mirror... asked self... er... told self... “I don't think I can handle any more”...

Victor, ain't this about where you write that you write to yourself, for yourself, but hitchhikers are welcome? Nah, let's do that later.

Actually, life has been rolling along fairly decently. Work is very good. Good times with buddies after work, sometimes too good. Family, no devistation that I'm aware of...

But then... we're all occasionally confronted with reality... could we paint the picture any brighter?... The lows... Do you have to make it so dreary?...

Then we look around at life, see stuff ongoing, and get pissed at ourselves for bemoaning.

I walk - ok. Friend just outta hospital, new knee. She's gonna be great – but how can I gripe about struggling sometimes to get outta car? Gotta go clear downstairs to get that document? Pah! Wakeup Victor.

Riding into work. I have a lovely bubble on my right front tire. Lovely bubble as in “any time.” My right rear tire needs it's (air) thirst quenched every other day. I am a HUGE lover of “Sports-talk” radio, but my GD (gosh darn) AM doesn't work in my checkenginelight vehicle. DAMNIT! WHY ME?

So... inbetween The Rolling Stones and Stevie Ray Vaughn on the drive in... it's “Military Monday” on my favorite FM rock station. YES, I still rock. NO, it's not a rocking chair – it's my station.... Every Monday morning, they give away a car to a vet. Way cool. The vet this week, just lost his job. He, wife, kids, living with his very, very old mother. To get groceries, using her car. On it's last leg. Needs more oil than gas, and in today's prices, that's hella a lot.

Oh, and his wife was just diagnosed with breast cancer. So, Victor? You're all bent outta shape about a bubble on your tire and that you can't listen to KCMO Sport's talk? Sorry. I hearya, and I apologize.

Pulling into the Piggly Wiggly. Observed two separate cars in Handicap spots. One, the door was open, but the lady was simply mustering up energy to stand, walk in. The other – the driver was simultaneously bracing himself against the car whilst he opened the trunk to pull out/put together his motorized cart.

I'm very sorry. I feel guilt. My life ain't so bad. If I said “I've had all I can handle” I apologize.

A halfa mile away after leaving the Piggly Wiggly – a man, probably late 70's, mebbe early 80's, carrying two VERY full bags from the Piggly Wiggly back to his home - EXTREME stuggle written allover his face – who knows how much further home was. I guessed he didn't have a car (or helpful relatives), and I absolutely know he was carrying “all he could handle.”

“Geez” I thought to myself, “I wonder how often he does this?”... and then, I tried putting on his shoes... He obviously had some money, he obviously was headed toward a home with a roof, refrigerator... what if he encountered a homeless person en route home? Would he still think “I've got all I can handle”?

Life lends us the occasional gutter ball. Yes, sometimes we miss that “gimme” 5-pin. Victor, for behoogity sakes, you even struck out (SWINGING) in slowpitch softball last year.

But, ya know what? None of us have “had all we can handle” yet. God Bless, happy day, love, Victurd.