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Scrambled cities: If you're not gonna do the work(on your soul), then you might as well work til you die

 There are two tiers in normal life. Those who are survive and those who thrive.  But nothing is a mistake in life: Nothing comes by chance. You have to prepare for it.  If you thought life was about making money and beating out the Jones's, you've lost already.  Life is: Desire for connection. All unhealthy competition is isolating. We live in an isolated-enough world already. This connection comes from a surprising place: Self-acceptance. A lot of us need to go back to the classroom. A lot of us need to take a silent breather and check in with what we need. This takes serious work. It's the real work. It relies on respect for others and self-respect.  A lot of people in the self-help community try to push the self aside: Manning up is the only side of it they see. But there are certain non-negotiables in this life. Certain things we can't cheat ourselves out of. We are not a piece of meat being acted on.    However, this is where God comes in. Some o...
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I don't want to fight anymore

 I know it sounds like I'm on the complaining warpath again, but really I'm not (this time). I simply want to give chase to something of considerable meaning. The dry aristocratic, even fatherly tone held by the boss-man had me astounded to my core earlier today. I'm a 35-year-old boy I thought, and that's why I don't need to handle every situation. It's not within my power nor does it have to be. I said "This lady came in with a bank-roll today." The 20's lay on the counter and there were about 35 of them, which is not usual in a change-poor station such as that.

"cONcentRATE on WhAT yOUr'E dOiNG" came the deranged, psychotic voice.

 "Well alright, I thought; but the cutting tone of that example held me in a kind of orbit. How could it not? It's a form of hypnosis. It's supposed to be. There you are, engaging in a joke and trying to bring the boss-man on-board, maybe he'll laugh you think, but no, there he goes, his beard wagging with razors. What am I going to do? I'm not psychotic, so naturally, I'm going to think it's all my fault. I've had a psychotic-abusive stepfather. It used to break me. But not anymore. I came home and I lay down and let the poison seep out of me. 

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