off to see the wizard…

wizard

Yes, I’m gonna talk about the Wizard of Oz... not that Potter guy…

You always have the power within yourself to be or do whatever you want…you just need to be tested.  The journey is part of that test… to have adventure and to see what you’re really made of.  Maybe, the journey reveals that what you initially sought didn’t mean as much as you thought it did.  Maybe, placebos work much better as a cure than actual medication.  Maybe tin men should get clear coated to prevent rust…or maybe find a less in-the-elements type of vocation to pursue.

The Wizard in the Wizard of Oz was a faker… but a faker with a heart… albeit a conceited, cowardly and selfish heart.  It was a heart nonetheless.

We tend to fool ourselves more than we’re honest with ourselves.  I think that this is completely normal just so long as one doesn’t eliminate the other completely.  Fooling ourselves allows us to do things we never thought we could do.  Being honest with ourselves allows us to figure out what needs to be done.
If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I’m the Wizard.  If I’m fooling myself, then I probably already forgot.

Just follow the yellow brick road, okay?

 

pressure…pushing down on me…

pressure

Ah, pressure… how I love thee.  I don’t know even if I’d ever want to be a diamond… it might be a bit uncomfortable trying to get comfortable all the time.  The same is true or being dust… you can never be too sure if you’re entirely there… because, well, you’re made of dust.  There must be a happy medium between the two.  I’ve seen Frank take the pressure he’s under and turn it into some great work.  A day later he takes that same pressure and does nothing but eat vanilla pudding all day.  He’s not diamond or dust… he’s like wood with a coupon for some steel.

All this is easier said than done.  You can learn how to deal with pressure, but until you’re actually pressed, what does it mean?  Will you deal well or not so well?  Will you be hard or will you just be blown away?

the fight…

fight

I don’t like to fight.  Even when I need to fight, I don’t like to fight. But when one ends, another one begins… sometimes there are multiple going on at the same time… the ring is to big to find a corner to get some rest in.  Doesn’t matter because the bell never seems to ring anyway…

turned a corner

turned a corner

I think a lot.  I turn a lot of corners.  The life of a squirrel consists of many twists, turns, stops, merges, yields… everything you go through, I probably go through.

Ever think you were the center of the universe?  That you control gravity and therefore must control everything around you?  The length of a day?  The length of a year?  I think i may have mentioned this before, but since I like reading myself talk, I’ll just lay it on you again.  We can control everything but time.  So, the length of the day or year?  I may think I can do something about that… but I’m just fooling myself.  Even if my perception of time were to change, time would not.

Being the center of a universe really, is kind of a misleading statement.  If we can’t truly measure how big the universe is, how can we genuinely determine what point is the center?  We can’t… so don’t think it.  If I turned a corner in the universe, how would I know?

unfinished bob…

unfinished bob

Pay no attention to that man behind the unfinished curtain…

He’s just a dude who thinks that he controls everything when if fact he’s just another twig in that stream that I like to talk about in really drawn out run-on sentences.

If at some point we felt finished, I suppose we would LITERALLY be finished.  That’s it.  You have to keep something unfinished on your horizon… otherwise, what the freak is the point of anything?  Yes, you get frustrated, you get tired, sad and did I already say frustrated?  Yeah, I did.

I also like to complain.  A lot.  I think it’s mostly because I have a very soothing voice.  And I’m hardly ever satisfied.

So, finish something today.  But when you do, make sure you start five other things.

squirrel cookies…

cookies

It would only be cannibalism if I were made out of cookies.  I mean, Frank is shaped like a gingerbread man.  He eats those things by the dozen and no one gives him any static.