I.F. (Idiot Factor)
Again I evoke the IF reminder. I can and have IFfed my way in to jail. I have the rap sheet to prove it.
Yet, "if" remains a valuable concept when one is reviewing options. I am not going to have financing for road excursions in the near future. IF I continue isolating relapse is likely. Keeping that community service docket full has been my best isolation breaker in the past. I still trust it for the job, though I have learned to be careful about the commitment factor. Many a volunteer leader was elected for missing the wrong meeting. Getting out of volunteer commitments isnae always easy. Replacements can be hard to come by and it kills me to look individual humans in the eye and say, "Sorry, Charlie. Life just got in the way. The road calls."
As I iffed my way through this contemplation, a letter looking for volunteers came in the mail. It is from an international group of dreamers who also miss the stars. They want to set up a suburban network of star gazers to muster astronomy interests in suburban children and educate them on ways to have their security lighting without shadowing the stars.
I am paraphrasing badly. Their wording sounds like it was written by a techno geek with a big string of acronyms behind their name.
I am all too familiar with the stormy silence with which my beloved responded when I showed him the letter. Electric lights and their inky shadows have figured in to every episode he has been through with me. They have become nearly as much of a trigger for him as they are for me. He flinches when he sees me shade my eyes from an enthusiastic lighting scheme. It is still on our taboo topic list.
I.F.
Yet, "if" remains a valuable concept when one is reviewing options. I am not going to have financing for road excursions in the near future. IF I continue isolating relapse is likely. Keeping that community service docket full has been my best isolation breaker in the past. I still trust it for the job, though I have learned to be careful about the commitment factor. Many a volunteer leader was elected for missing the wrong meeting. Getting out of volunteer commitments isnae always easy. Replacements can be hard to come by and it kills me to look individual humans in the eye and say, "Sorry, Charlie. Life just got in the way. The road calls."
As I iffed my way through this contemplation, a letter looking for volunteers came in the mail. It is from an international group of dreamers who also miss the stars. They want to set up a suburban network of star gazers to muster astronomy interests in suburban children and educate them on ways to have their security lighting without shadowing the stars.
I am paraphrasing badly. Their wording sounds like it was written by a techno geek with a big string of acronyms behind their name.
I am all too familiar with the stormy silence with which my beloved responded when I showed him the letter. Electric lights and their inky shadows have figured in to every episode he has been through with me. They have become nearly as much of a trigger for him as they are for me. He flinches when he sees me shade my eyes from an enthusiastic lighting scheme. It is still on our taboo topic list.
I.F.
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