You Don't Pick

There are people in my life.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sometimes I would have the people be another way. Or at least I think I would. Maybe.

Here’s one: This guy can annoy. I would say that he does it without half trying but I think he often does try, and more than half. Probably 3/4 or better. You cannot tell him anything. You are wrong, I’ll just let you in on that right off the bat. If you are silly, you can try to tell him that he probably can’t build a robot out of random parts he’s extracted from what used to be a functional clock radio and a broken telephone. You can try to tell him that it would take years of studying before he’d even know where to start, but, as I’ve already informed you--you’re wrong. At the moment I’m trying to get this guy to write a good paragraph on the conflicts found in the storyline of The Golden Compass. He is on refreshing break number 10.

(edited out a part here. Just because. There are things you should say, and things maybe you shouldn't say. ) I had a little online tarot reading recently, that spoke to [the edited out thing] with unexpected clarity. A great deal more clarity than my memory, in fact, but it said something like this:

I had 10 jars, all full. I’m not sure what they were full of but it was something good--it was the essence of goodness. Several spilled. Dumped. Gone. I have maybe five or six left. The reading went on to advise that I make the most of the remaining jars as opposed to going all cranky about how I used to have 10.
Anyway, if I want to personally extend the metaphor, I’d say that I have quite a few other types of vessels as well, in addition to those jars. I’ve got some amphoras, several pitchers, a number of coffee cups, and quite a bit of tupperware as well. All the more reason not to make life a shrine to the spilled jars.

So, I said I would have people be another way. But then I’d have to be able to suggest an alternate storyline. Which means it would be boring, and most likely trite. Which is another subject.
(next: My damnable need to have a meaningful life, as defined by my personal, inadequate comprehension of meaningfulness.)