A flared shot glass is smooth for gentle lips

Here’s the scene: I’m sitting on a table for one, well, it could be a table for four but it’s just me, so it’s just One. My fingers gently hold the crystal clear flared shot glass filled to the brim with chilled Emergen-C with Vitamin D (citrus flavor) so yeah, I like it strong to combat those nasty free-radicals. I no longer sip on Jack Daniels or Barcadi rum anymore but at least I still have an imagination to pretend.

They say, as we get older, we regress to our younger years. I guess, I don’t mind play’in youthfulness again.

This morning’s thought is about personality changes as we get older.

Nowadays, it seems I seem to lean toward being more introverted, while other times I seem to be more extroverted. A lot of times the shift depends on who I am with.

I thought perhaps, this was due to being single and retired, and then I thought perhaps it was all due to the aging process. Then again, perhaps it has to do with all these things of just being human in this day and dealing in contemporary times.

But I’ll also mix thoughts about aging and time, and which has nothing else to do with being an Innie-Outtievert but it’s on my mind so I’ll just drift in and out.

I just want you to know, it’s deliberate and not senility.

Senility. noun

  1. the condition of being senile.”the onset of senility”synonyms: decrepitude, infirmity, feebleness, unsteadiness, senescence, decline, old age, dotage, second childhood, confusion, Alzheimer’s (disease), senile dementia; 

As a teenager, I used to read the daily astrological forecast in the newspaper. I would anxiously seek daily confirmation of what my day would be like and how I should react to these daily events.

While reading, I wondered daily: Who Am I?’ Do i really have traits of a Greek Capricorn, or do I have traits of a Chinese Dragon, am I an introvert, or am I an extrovert?

As I get older, I’ve noticed I’m neither an introvert nor an extrovert. Instead, I think I am as confused now as i was when I was younger, but most definitely I am more accepting of who I am even though I get anxiety when asked: What astrological sign are you?

Uhhh, is there such as thing as an astrological borderline bipolar personality?

Let me take another shot of Emergen-C.

At this very moment, I’m a self-professed “Innie-Outtievert”. When it comes to my personality, I am good with being indecisively, situation-ally both introvertie and extrovertie. And once the effects of the vitamins, antioxidants and electrolytes wear off, who knows, astrologically I may just be what i was last week Monday and what I will be next week Friday.

For illustration purposes only! All Rights Reserved to model and photographer.

I don’t consider myself “old” although I make excuses that I’m merely older. Deep inside, I am still capable of being the entire spectrum of a rainbow through misty rain and iridescent sun rays of the sun.

Still just recently, say for the past 3-decades or so, I have been paying more attention to myself by looking in the mirror of avoidance in a desperate futile attempt to disprove the physical reality of aging.

It’s funny. Nowadays, in the mirror, my reflection doesn’t say, “Man! You look great!”

Instead my reflection says, “You look like when I remember that time when you were in youthful love.”

My reflection says, “It’s not about looks, but it’s all about your state of emotions. Stay in touch with your emotions.”

Age marks are like the young lady next door who is kindly polite to me just because she’s her naturally friendly, courteous self bringing sunshine into other people’s lives. Makes sense considering she’s probably in her youthful twenties or early 30’s. I remember being that too!

Age marks like youth, is a reminder of once upon a time ago, and present time transitioning onward. We are what we are. Time is what it is.

So it’s 6:45 am Sunday and I feel awake for a change. Never mind that I’ve probably slept for 12-hours give or take 12-hours, because I sort of remember dozing, but don’t really remember what time I really slept.

To avoid being pinned for being forgetful aka “senior moments”, I just tell myself, no worries, don’t be tied to the clock. It’s another morning and in twelve hours, it’ll be another night.

Since we’re talking not being tied to the clock, maybe seniors ought to re-frame their concept of time and base time on seasons instead?

“Hey what time is it? It’s Spring of course!!”

You realize, dogs don’t wear paw-watches. They get up when you get up. They sleep when you sleep. They actually never seem to sleep but according to studies, dogs sleep a lot more than you think they do.

In fact, dogs sleep when you’re not really paying attention to them, such as when you can’t because you’re at work, or busy with your life.

All Rights Reserved. Happy Dawg. Love love.

That’s why if you were a dog, with lots of sleep quota you’ll always greet your significant other in a jump happy sort of way! Globs of unconditional love with bright eyes and happy smile! Miraculously, 24/7. Your significant other would be sooooo happy! And if your significant other did the same, so would you!

As we end this morning’s thoughts, may I wish you lots of sleep everyday, be happy as a dog, accept those little age marks, just be your happiest self so you and others may enjoy happier days.

I have an Innie-Outtievert day!


I hate to say this, but I’m stuck in the fraternity of stigma. STIGMA OF STIGMA.

The non-collegiate organization of life where Alpha and Omega is where I ended up: Stuck in the middle between the Beginning and the End.

It’s like being a piece of bologna stuck between two halves of country bread. Sort of there, sort of occupying something, sort of serving a purpose, sort of being ignored, sort of living on a pantry shelf waiting for a bologna lover to take notice of me.

I hate to say this, being divorced in the faternity of STIGMA OF STIGMA, you live alone. There’s no booze, no romanticized John Belushi, just the Blues Brothers of me, myself and I.

Being divorced is stigmatizing. Nearly a decade ago, I never struggled to fill in the martial status block of any form: Single. Married. Divorced. Separated.

Being divorced I struggled to fill in the block: Single or Divorced.

The toga party in my head played brain games. Slurred, “Isn’t that the same?”

A toga party is a Greco-Roman-themed costume party where attendees wear a toga with sandals. The costumes, party games, and other entertainment often adhere to the Roman or Greek theme. Wikipedia

“Divorce sounds so Omega”.

“Single sounds so Alpha”

Why don’t the Fed revise the blocks: Very happy. Somewhat Happy. Not too happy. Confused.

That would make things simpler.

Some casual friends who are very strict religious people adhere to the rigors of their religious doctrine. They live in the realm of blocks: You are single. You get married. You do not divorce. If you divorce, it’s bad news. If you divorce, you are an outcast and a resultant stigma will never let you forget that.

It doesn’t matter if you called it, or your spouse called it. It makes the flock nervous. So mostly, you’re labelled. You’re stigmatized. Frankly, that’s just the beginning of being stigmatized by the old world itself.

People are funny. What’s the first thing most people think when they hear that someone is divorced?

Yep. The chorus sings: “Ohhhhh?” “Ahhhhhhh?” “Hmmmmmmm?”

By contrast, you’ll never hear anyone say: “You’re divorced? That’s soooo beautiful! That’s soooo wonderful! It just brings back warm and fuzzy memories of my divorced day!”

People are funny. What’s the second thing most people think about when they hear that someone is divorced?

Yep. The chorus sings again: “Ohhhhh?” “Ahhhhhhh?” “Hmmmmmmm?”

Behind the polite smile you hear their thoughts. They’re thinking, I wonder why? I wonder who called it? It must have been this. It must have been that. Oh my! Was it criminal? Was it weird? Did he? Did she?

Or maybe, they were as weathered fallen leaves drifting down the flowing river, caught between ebbing white water, drifting apart, until they were too far.

Run from the divorced! Hide the children! Hide your spouse! Just hide!

I looked at the form. The Stigma blocks: Single. Married. Divorced. Separated.

What do I put down?

The lady next to me looks so peaceful, understanding, nurturing. Someone maybe I could share a warm cup of coffee over some rainfall on a dark and stormy night…

I mean, what do I say to this total stranger: “Hi, excuse me. But could you help me fill in these stigma blocks?

No. that doesn’t sound too good.

What about an honest approach: “Hi, excuse me. I’m divorced. Are you single, married, divorced or separated?!”

“How about a cup of rainfall over some coffee on a not so dark and…maybe, not so stormy night…or uhhh afternoon…or maybe on a bright sunny day in the courtyard with tons of people protecting you?

I know. RUN! HIDE!

The faternity of STIGMA OF STIGMA is no toga party. You won’t find John Bulusi’s Blues Brothers here.

For those who are divorced or about to be or need to be, and learning and struggling with it or through it, prevail. There is an end. More importantly, there is a beginning.

Be true to your inner self. Time is on your side. Allow yourself lots of time. Seek support, understanding, kindness and love.

Further reading:

Alpha (Α) and omega (Ω) are the first and last letters, respectively, of the classical (Ionic) Greek alphabet. Thus, twice when the phrase “I am the alpha and the omega” appears it is further clarified with the additional phrase, “the beginning and the end” (Revelation 21:6, 22:13). The first and last letters of the Greek alphabet were used because the book of Revelation is in the New Testament, which was originally written in Greek. Source: Wikipedia.

Further reading:

In Rabbinic literature, the word emet (אמת meaning “truth”), one of the names of God in Judaism, has been interpreted as consisting of the first, middle, and final letters of the Hebrew alphabet.

The Qur’an gives al’Awwal (الأول), meaning “The First” and al’Akhir (الآخر), meaning “The Last” as two of the names of God57:3.