Wiggle Room
Good bad or indifferent, there are always those who seek out wiggle room in all they attempt to accomplish in life, or in any pursuits of the good life, or even a slightly better life than fate has bestowed upon them.
Here are some personal definitions I’ve developed along my way.
· I prefer jeans to fit snuggly, no wiggle room.
· As a child I felt comfort in the way my Dad held my hand while we crossed a street together, certainly no wiggle room.
· People who set an appointment saying they’ll be there at a time they add an “ish” to – as in sevenish or eightish. If you’re running a company or if you’re in a management position never put an “isher” in charge of anything; you’ll go broke.
· Stay away from those folks who use the words “typically” or “assumed.” The only way the word assume is typically a good choice or has an acceptable usage is in the sentence, “Typically, those who assume anything are more often than not incorrect in their assumptions.”
· Tomorrow will do. The person who delivers that assumption is absolutely wrong to begin with. What tomorrow brings is secret. There is no wiggle room. If you can do it today, do it today.
“I’ll get to it tomorrow chief,” he said assuredly. My God, he thought, it will only take me a few hours; that’s plenty of wiggle room. He never showed up for work the next day. It seems a hurricane hit his town. The incident became part of the man’s history, permanently, without wiggle room.
“This, A Short Biographical Teaching”
There was this lady named Lizzy
Lizzy, always late, always in a tizzy
Contemplation was her thing, whether slow or busy.
Each and every item, which came her way
Always destined for extensive decision-making,
God give me an hour or two extra she’d pray
Rarely did it happen that way.
The simplest was placed on her list of things to do.
But her list got longer,
There was always something new.
Then notes.
Then notes about the notes,
About the notes.
And more notes,
You guessed it,
About all those notes!
But all was never to be lost,
Lizzy hired more help.
All the old sacraments
Would certainly be tossed.
This new helper, however
Did come with a problem,
She was an “isher”
And a tomorrow seeker.
Poor Lizzy, so distraught
The extra help for naught.
Her situation was weaker
Her helper it turned out,
Also a seeker.
Then entering
Neat as a pin, his looks and sound
Shear bravado when this guy was around.
He did all he could today,
Nothing left for tomorrow.
No piles of stuff ever to be found.
Smiling, and dancing, he forever clowned.
Daring deeds along with those of minor account
Never left undone,
No minute amount would mount.
One goal only, a chosen populous to astound.
These, the sounds that reverberate within my skull
As I prepare to exude my latest creative vibe.
I just got the idea I’ve been searching for
All these many years.
When others waste valuable time,
Mine are meaningful and yes, sublime.
Unlike Lizzy
Wondering,
Mind wandering
Searching for an insightful ending.
Then shouting out:
Oh manure, I’ve forgotten what I was thinking about
When I began my explanation of how I think
About things beginning or ending.
Where are my notes?
I should have made more notes.
All those historical quotes.
If only I was more like her.
If only I made some notes.
They sat there together,
Beneath the mounds of paper.
He had brought her a gift,
A brand new shredder,
This would surely elate her.
Not so was the case,
Insinuation written on his face,
Try making some notes
Maybe it would fill your brain’s empty space.
You may have surmised
A compromise was devised.
She kept her notes in a new room,
Just hers alone,
Free from scorn, no worry about time
While he, on the other hand
Used her notes,
Somehow making them rhyme.
They stood watching a sunset,
Sipping and celebrating their tidings divine.
Her notes became his stories.
They filled both their spaces
Never again rushing to save time.
Without poetizing what was hers,
He scrambled within.
If we marry, he quipped
What’s hers will become mine.