Surmounting Your Old Habits

I have a growing concern that my old habits are limiting me. That I have limited myself by allowing habits to take root and grow old. Now that they have I'm stuck in their oppressive groove, up against limitations of my own making.

I see the truth that there are people who can stride and strut, cowing other people into willing submission based on a number of factors. One, people are easily cowed in certain situations. Two, these people know the facts of habits limiting people and, with consciousness, rise above their own limitations and take advantage of other people's. Three, the more they do this the more it sets other people in their ways and the more they themselves are distinguished.

We all have ways of rising above this but it does mean being conscious of it and desiring to do something about it when the opportunity arises. So have you guessed where all this is leading? Probably, you seem smart.

That's right! I'm going to the big dance at the grange! No more wallflower me. I'm going to put it out there. I'm going to be Scrooge after his epiphany. And it didn't even take a ghost to talk me into it. But Scrooge didn't have a blob as big as his house infesting the place. I did and I was cramped. Then I came to the realization that the one cramping me, after the blob got done cramping me and left, was myself, still not excusing the blob. And just as Scroogie-boy owed a debt of thanks to his ghosts, I guess the obvious conclusion is that I owe a debt of grudging thanks to my blob enemy. I just hope he doesn't crawl back into my life to receive the thanks from my own two lips.

It's like the preacher said to the demon that one time, "You shall not return to my brother or to the light. And if you do return, you must bow down and serve the light." Something about that makes me uncomfortable. He tells the demon he shall not return. But then he makes allowances for What if he does? If the blob returns -- my version of the demon -- I will thank him with my lips, but behind my back will be a finely honed sacred sword, destined to dispatch him off to some other world where he can serve the light there, whatever light there may be.

The Grange dance awaits! To which you typically go stag. And hope you pick up someone's daughter, preferably a farmer's.