Opportunity and I

Opportunity is a friend of mine. He calls me from time to time and we chat about what we could do together. Then he starts one of his sentences with a preposition and begins digging around in his mind for the rules of proper English and becomes distracted or becomes reminded of a dream he had by hearing of mine and loses focus. Sometimes the main thing becomes some other thing and quickly becomes nothing. Opportunity is just that way I think.

Still I admire Opportunity for all of his talents and vision. I don't disregard him because of his shortcomings. They're a lot like my own. Of course, I see in Opportunity failures that I would never succumb to because, of course, I am better than Opportunity. I sense fear in Opportunity though He denies that fear is something He knows of. Opportunity is a liar but then aren't we all. Not to suggest that You are a liar...well really yes...I know You are a liar.

I grow weary when Opportunity begins to make excuses for I sense in excuses the lies that they are born of and I grow angry. Then I begin some sentence with a preposition and get distracted and again I love Opportunity for the things that I see in Him that remind me of me. Occasionally He asks of me something that I should have done long ago and I make excuses, or lie, that is.

We sometimes wear the same clothes and bear the same shoe size you know. We are cousins or brothers. I can't remember which. Once I had Opportunity look it up for me but He forgot the answer or that's what He said and I took it for granted that He had forgotten to seek the information at all and then we politely dropped the subject altogether. He forgot though, I'm sure of it.

Opportunity called the other day. I missed the call. (actually I was busy flirting with a lady named Ruine (French lady) and didn't want to talk). I called back when it was convenient for me (and at a time when I knew He would be busy) but He didn't answer (which worked out well). I left a funny message like 'Tag, You're It!' or something to that effect. He'll get back to me, I'm sure. We're close like that. Once we got together and did some things. Some GREAT things! Maybe a couple of times. We still reminisce and joke with one another about how talentless OTHER people are and how much we'll get done when we find the time. There's always time, you know. Always time.

hang on, there's the phone

It's not Him. It's some other joker pretending to be Him. Jackass.

Anyway. Opportunity has been ill lately. Not feeling Himself. Chestpains, etc. I'm a little worried. If the bastard die's off I don't know what He'll do...I mean what I'll do. We get to feeling like this and then things get all weird for a few sentences, a few conversations...for a bit. I mean He gets to feeling like this...you get it, of course. Our mother says it's a result of the ill-fated conception of us. The connectivity or Siamese disorder, if you will. He talks, then I talk, then we talk...we talk a lot! Pushing and pulling, Opportunity and I. When I push Him he, of course, pulls me into the fall. It's useless. Yelling at each other in our minds and fully aware that our ears are are just two. It's all going to be just as loud for one as the other. No sense screaming at Him. I'd kick Him but I can't and if I could coax someone else into doing it for me it would hurt. It gets frustrating, all the talk and disgusting silence and waiting and and pondering and discussions about discussions and really nothing of a result.

I blame Him, He blames me...we just talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk....

There, I think He's going to shut up.

jf