I always reference myself when I begin one of these dissertations.  Usually, it's to infer, insinuate, insist, inculcate that I am smart enough to do one of these dissertations.  While I'm doing one my mind begins to wander.  It doesn't seem to think what I'm dissertating about is all that important, and it gets bored with the effort.  I tell it, "Discipline is required; a certain stick-to-it-tiveness!"  (That sounded like a real word when I first heard it.)  My mind understands what is meant by it.  However, it thinks its stick-to-it-tiveness resides in methodically becoming bored with all such endeavors.  I can't criticize the consistency.

     Sometimes, when no one's looking, I pass my hand through solid objects just to enjoy the fact that matter, and so the idea of its density, are age-old myths.  My mind tells me if I were a real man I'd do it in front of other people and suffer the consequences whatever they might turn to be.  This, of course, can only be interpreted as the surrendering of free will, an act toward which I have sworn eternal hostility.  So, I have resolved to continue to stealthily defy conventionally-accepted laws of the universe all the while chuckling to myself as I do.  Now and then I have a fleeting thought that it would all make a good sitcom.  (Notes Spellcheck didn't alert on sitcom, but it did alert on Spellcheck.)

     We all wait a really long time to become adults, then we spend our matured years behaving childishly.  (Makes a mental note to note that's mental.)  We all sometimes wish we knew then what we know now.  One songwriter said he wished he didn't know now what he didn't know then.  Another one wished he'd known then what he doesn't know now, but I thought, "How does he know?"  Arbitrary wishing is as much a right as is access to oxygen.  I once wished squirrels owned color televisions that fit in their little tree holes.  A later visit to a doctor revealed nothing happened as a result.  I was at peace.

     Sleep overcomes us all eventually.  Even so, I find myself sitting at a keyboard pontificating.  I never asked the pontiff if that was okay.  Next time I see him on the balcony I'll ask.  (Makes a note to ask.)  When I wake up and read what I typed I'm always impressed by its eptitude.  Having once been told I'm eptitudinally challenged it's a shaky thing for me.  "It is of no importance at all."  I think to myself,  "Yeah.  Right.  Sure it isn't."  Ending one of these is always a bit tricky.  Resolutions require one to be resolute and as I've already intimated I'm in-solute.  What would be weird is if we were all soluble, like Fizzies.  I've just been told my Google referrals are up.   The complexity of that is beyond my own constitution.  One can but hope reality simplifies itself like a fraction before we all dissolve.
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