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  <title>What Dreams May Come</title>
  <subtitle>chaplinjfk</subtitle>
  <author>
    <name>chaplinjfk</name>
  </author>
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  <updated>2008-01-10T21:54:08Z</updated>
  <lj:journal userid="11488976" username="chaplinjfk" type="personal"/>
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  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:chaplinjfk:13288</id>
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    <title>Happy Birthday April!</title>
    <published>2008-01-10T21:54:08Z</published>
    <updated>2008-01-10T21:54:08Z</updated>
    <content type="html">I decided to post a short story that I wrote at the age of 13.  I made a sorry attempt to polish it up at the age of 14.  I lost the story for several years.  I recently obtained a copy of it.  I read it as if my 14 year old self was telling me a story I vaguely remember.  My intent was to always go back and re-write it.  It's almost nauseating to read now without getting some white-out and fixing it.  In respect for who it is regarding, I am posting it untouched.  It's a gift to a girl that I miss and a gift to me from my past self.  Happy Birthday, April.  I think about you frequently.&lt;br /&gt;*******************************************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“She’s Really Gone”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadness is when someone you know passes on or dies.  Unfortunately, everyone reaches that sadness.  I know because I reached that sadness along with others.&lt;br /&gt;	A lot of feeling occurs when death strikes suddenly.  But what happens when you have to suffer from the long pattern and phases of the death sequence?  You will only know that answer if you have seen it happen to someone or had an experience yourself.  Unfortunately I did see it happen to a young girl.  &lt;br /&gt;	Her name was April Charity Zimmerman.  People smiled when they saw her innocent face.  I first met her at my elementary school.&lt;br /&gt;	In first grade, most kids I knew began to form reputations.  It was at that time when I met April.  It started with my brother, Keith.&lt;br /&gt;	Keith ran to me one day and said, “Look over there.”  &lt;br /&gt;“What do you want,” I asked.&lt;br /&gt;“You see that girl over there?”  He asked pointing over to April who was in the fun house.  The fun house was a rotating barrel inside of a little play house.&lt;br /&gt;“Yeah, what about her?”  I asked already knowing the answer.  He had a tremendous crush on her.  When he told me, I ran over to tell her, and Keith ran to hide.&lt;br /&gt;I approached her, and she kept silent.&lt;br /&gt;April was one who built a wall around her so you couldn’t see her natural beauty.  The only thing that could break that wall was if you said “Hi” to her.  I found that out after I greeted her.  As soon as I said “Hi” to her, it seemed like I either knew her before or I was going to be spending a lot of time with her.&lt;br /&gt;April had long brown hair that was put up in two pig tails.  She wore blue, red, and green shirts a lot.  Her blue jeans, she adored.  Her eyes would be the most you would remember from her because they were attractive and the brown color to them really reflected a lot of feeling from inside of her.  Her smile was a small shy smile that you would rarely see.&lt;br /&gt;As I said “Hi”, her only return was a bashful red faced grin.&lt;br /&gt;I thought right away that she was going to be difficult to talk to, but she would always smile or look at you in a certain way.  Her response to me then was very difficult to find; yet it was there.&lt;br /&gt;“You see that kid over there,” I asked pointing at my brother who was hiding behind the upright log.  &lt;br /&gt;She nodded.&lt;br /&gt;“Well, he is my brother, Keith, and he really likes you,” I said to her straight-forward.&lt;br /&gt;Her eyes became wide and her smile grew even larger.  She had seen him before and she liked him too.  She stayed in the fun house where I approached her while I went and got Keith.&lt;br /&gt;After that, it seemed they had started a relationship that would never end.  The question on my mind was “will they ever break up?”&lt;br /&gt;They started holding hands and walking together.  The only time they would separate was when the bell rang to go home.  They even held hands during class time behind the desk.  For a first grader, that was really something.&lt;br /&gt;One time, Keith was in class when April called his name.  Keith turned around, and to his surprise, April’s mom stood at the classroom’s door and took a picture of Keith.  He didn’t really meet April’s mom, but he made a good impression.&lt;br /&gt;Keith came to me one time and started mumbling and laughing.  I asked him what was wrong, and he told me his big secret.&lt;br /&gt;“You know what I did on first recess?”  he asked.  As I began to ask him what was so exciting, he went on by saying, “I kissed April!”&lt;br /&gt;For us two, that was the most exciting thing that had happened since Mt. St. Helens erupted.  &lt;br /&gt;One school morning as I was walking to class, Keith and April ran over to me and grabbed both of my arms so that I could meet April’s younger brother, Eric.&lt;br /&gt;I walked over to Eric and thought that he was going to be a nice kid.  As I said hi to Eric, he immediately returned my greeting by kicking me in the shin.&lt;br /&gt;Eric was short and his dark hair showed he had at least attempted to comb it.  It stuck up in places, and he didn’t care.  With revenge in his eyes, he glared.  He wasn’t mean, but he was trying to protect his sister.&lt;br /&gt;April and Eric had divorced parents, and their father, Jim, only had visitation on certain weekends.  Their mother, Carmen had full custody though.&lt;br /&gt;One weekend as my mom, Keith, and I were leaving a store, a woman I’d never seen in my life came up to me and said, “Keith?”&lt;br /&gt;I jumped think this lady was going to kidnap me.  Me, protecting myself and not caring about anyone else, pointed to Keith and said, “That’s him.”&lt;br /&gt;Little did I know that I had just met Carmen while April hid behind the grocery cart.&lt;br /&gt;Carmen was hidden in a coat.  She had a purse almost as big as a suitcase drug over her arm.  She held a pleasant smile and an interesting conversation with my mom!&lt;br /&gt;My mom looked at Carmen with a puzzled expression on her face because she didn’t know the stranger.&lt;br /&gt;“When is the wedding,” Carmen asked.  &lt;br /&gt;“When is the what?” my mom asked wondering who she was.  That is how my mom and Carmen met.  Carmen laughed and repeated her question and then introduced herself.  She went on by telling my mom how April had Keith’s picture everywhere in the house.&lt;br /&gt;“She has it on the TV, she has one on her bed, she has one on her ceiling, and she even has one in the bathroom!  Everywhere you look, she has a picture of him!” Carmen explained.&lt;br /&gt;In elementary school, relationships often will be just a game.  With April and Keith, it ended up that way.&lt;br /&gt;Keith and April would break up and then get back together, and then break up and get back together.  It ended up being a joke missing the humor.  At the end they had become only friends.  They still spent a lot of time together.  To me, it was the same as when they were girlfriend and boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;I guess a year went by, and Keith and April’s close friendship grew yet, they also developed separate interests.  &lt;br /&gt;In third grade, Keith and April barely talked and that is when April started riding our bus.  Eric would tell Keith jokes on the bus while I talked with April.  I would sit with her, and we always talked about school, weekends, and things like that.&lt;br /&gt;April started liking Keith again, and Keith felt the same.  While this happened, April faded away from me and back to Keith.&lt;br /&gt;Somehow Keith and April started going out again, and I started hanging around a girl named, Danielle.  On September 10th, 1983, Keith and I were getting ready for our late birthday party that was going to be at the skating rink.  April, Eric, and Danielle and several other were invited.  We didn’t know then that exactly a year later to the day, April would discover she had a severe illness.&lt;br /&gt;April and Eric kept on calling us that morning because they were as excited as we were.  I remember we played games on the phone that morning.&lt;br /&gt;The party was great.  It was the last time we were all together having fun.  April and Eric were quiet.  April wouldn’t get near our video camera so we only got a few glimpses of her.  Still everything went perfect.  Keith and April were too bashful to skate together in front of anyone.&lt;br /&gt;April and I became friends later on again, and Keith was with Eric.  April would sit with me on the bus everyday.  I would wait on the bus and already know that I was going to sit with April.  She got on the bus with a big smile and plopped herself next to me.  It was so much different being able to talk with her because when I met her, she was silent and liked it that way.  Now it was the opposite.  The closest thing that ever happened to us was sitting on the bus together because we actually talked.&lt;br /&gt;Soon school ended, and the summer began.  It was the end of our third grade.  It was the end for a lot of things.&lt;br /&gt;April began having sharp pains in her back which made it difficult to walk.  I didn’t know about any of this for a long time.  Carmen and April’s grandma kept it quiet the whole summer vacation because they weren’t sure.  I don’t know how a nine year old could have tolerated the pain that April was having.&lt;br /&gt;After a trip to Canada, April squeezed in an appointment with a doctor in Longview, our hometown.  The doctor said it was all in April’s head.  I don’t understand how a difficult time walking and a pain in your back could be an emotional or mental problem.&lt;br /&gt;In September, when April should have started going to school as a fourth grader, she couldn’t even walk!  She had to crawl.  Carmen immediately rushed April to Portland because a neurologist in Longview referred her there.  It took less than 15 minutes for the neurologist to discover what Aprils rare disease was.&lt;br /&gt;Only four other people in the United States had the disease and April was one of the youngest to have it.  &lt;br /&gt;The doctor said, “Carmen, I am sorry.   April has cancer.  It’s a rare from of cancer, but April does have it.”&lt;br /&gt;The Zimmerman’s found out that April had cancer exactly a year after our late birthday party.  It was September 10th, 1984.&lt;br /&gt;On the first day of school, I looked at the list of kids that I would be in class with.  April was in my class!  Everyday she was absent though.  I began to worry.  On open house I found out why she was absent so long.&lt;br /&gt;Carmen told my mom at open house, and my mom was upset.  My mom told Keith and I, and we were told April had a chance of dying.  I though to myself, “No way.  She’s just a little girl.  Why would God do that?”  I didn’t exactly understand what cancer was.  When I was told that April might actually die, I thought it was impossible because she was my friend.  I laughed to myself because I thought it was impossible for one of my friends to die.  Keith’s reaction was totally opposite of mine.  He cried as soon as he found out.  I told Keith there was nothing to worry about.&lt;br /&gt;At that age, I thought I understood death.  Well I didn’t.  I had to experience it to understand it.  &lt;br /&gt;In October, the big day came for Keith and me to go see April at her grandma’s house because April lived right next to her anyway.  Keith and I had been exposed to the chicken pox.  If April caught the chicken pox, that would kill her.  So we talked to her through an open window.&lt;br /&gt;Keith and I traded off by one of us spending time with Eric and the other talking with April.  I spent most of my time with April.  I just knew she would get better.  That is what we all hoped.&lt;br /&gt;Later after we left, Eric came into his grandma’s house where April was lying down.  He gave her this little rock that he colored all over.  April took it as a gift.  She loved it.  Anything around Eric, he would give it as a gift.&lt;br /&gt;Again, April had to go to the hospital.  In November it was time for us to go visit April at the hospital.  When we arrived, April was complaining to Eric that he was shaking the hospital bed.  One slight move and April had pain.  I still wonder why she went through so much of it.&lt;br /&gt;Later on while we were still at the hospital, Keith and I were left alone with April while the others went for coffee.  We played a Cabbage Patch board game, and during the game I was the happiest.  April and Keith just had this silence between them.  She knew she wasn’t going to be able to enjoy Christmas without pain, while I was excited and getting prepared for my Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;One day, Eric came into the hospital to take the colored rock that he had given April.  She wouldn’t let him.  IT was her rock, and she said, “You can’t take it from me!  It’s mine now!”  April loved that little rock.  Eric didn’t know how special it was to her.&lt;br /&gt;I still wonder what was going on in her head.  The doctor told April that he would get her to be able to skate again.  He didn’t say it as a lie.  He said it for hope.&lt;br /&gt;April loved skating and swimming.  Unfortunately, you need legs to do that which April lost the use of.  So when all her hobbies were gone, April met a young 4 year old named Jessica.&lt;br /&gt;Jessica and April went through their pain together and chemotherapy.  Both of them had cancer but a different form of it.  April and Jessica got along very well.  As their friendship continued until mid-November, Make a Wish Foundation decided to give April a wish.&lt;br /&gt;April didn’t even have to think of what her wish was.  Immediately, she said she wanted to go to Disneyland.  The day of her trip to Disneyland was set, and April waited.  Dramatically, April got worse and was rushed to the hospital on November 16th.  The trip was cancelled leaving April’s wish shattered in thin air.&lt;br /&gt;Jessica told April she wanted to go on a toy shopping spree.  April decided that was a good idea for herself since she loved toys.  So the date was planned for December 15th, 1984.&lt;br /&gt;The 14th of December, Jessica went home and April and her said goodbye.  April was going to miss Jessica, but at least Jessica was able to go home.&lt;br /&gt;The day came and April went for her spree.  She went a little bit over the amount she was supposed to spend, but the authorities let is slide.  During the spree, April bought Eric toys first which surprised Carmen.  April was very considerate for doing that for Eric.  &lt;br /&gt;A day later after the spree on the 16th, April’s grandma took all the toys she could fit in her car and took them to her house.  On the same day, April’s friend, Jessica, died.&lt;br /&gt;April took it as a real shock.  April reacted by saying, “It’s not fair!  The old people are the ones who are supposed to die!”&lt;br /&gt;She was right.  It wasn’t fair because both of the girls were children.  Jessica was not even in elementary school yet.  April had so much love and innocence—so why the pain?&lt;br /&gt;On the 17th, April finally got to go home to her grandma’s house.  The toys were waiting for her as more arrived.&lt;br /&gt;The next day, Keith and I had our school music program.  The Christmas songs kept my mind away.  My dad recorded it on our camera because Keith and I wanted April to see it.  After all, she should have been with us singing along.&lt;br /&gt;That night, when I saw April, I didn’t realize how sick she was.  I didn’t know how to cheer up a dying child.  I sat on the floor beside her while Keith was with Eric.  She didn’t seem to hear a word I said.  I could tell that she was glad to see friends, but the video tape of the program probably just made her miss her school friends.  The cancer was pinning her down.  She was not going to stop fighting it.  She was strong inside.  I don’t know how she put up with her body in so much pain.&lt;br /&gt;As we left that night, I saw April lying down on the couch out of the corner of my eye.  Something told me to turn back, but I didn’t.  How I regret that because it was the last time I was to see April alive.&lt;br /&gt;A few days went by, and on the 22nd of December, April was on the front page of the newspaper.  She was smiling and holding a doll next to her face.  I had many copies of the paper.  I was proud April was happy.  Through all the pain she went through, she still managed to smile.&lt;br /&gt;On December 30th, Jim, April’s dad, went to visit April at her grandma’s.  That night, Eric came over to spend the night with us.  We all sat in the kitchen and started drawing pictures for April.  We all laughed and had fun, but we didn’t know that April was having trouble breathing because nobody told us.  I think Eric knew.  Keith and I set up our indoor tens and got ready to sleep.  We all watched a movie and went to bed.  Two minutes later, Eric got up.  He stood and went into the kitchen to call his mom.  He wanted to go home.  I was confused.  It was his first night to stay with us.  Whey did he want to leave?  It was 1:00AM and we were tired.&lt;br /&gt;My mom got up and got ready to take Eric home.&lt;br /&gt;“Can we go with please, mom?” I asked in hope.&lt;br /&gt;“I think it’s best if you two stay here,” she answered.&lt;br /&gt;That night as Eric left, my chin wrinkled up.  I laid down on the couch and tried to think things out.  Would we see April again?  My stomach rotated in big helpless circles.  I swallowed my yawns and I fought each small tear.  I felt so helpless.  Keith and I wanted to help.  Could we?&lt;br /&gt;Keith was on the other couch and I could hear him snort with his stuffed up nose.  He was upset as he sat next to the phone waiting for a call.  He got tired of waiting and called there.  &lt;br /&gt;She was fine we were told.  We were told wrong though.&lt;br /&gt;At 3:30 that morning, April died.  Dreams and hopes for her future left with her.  April was really gone.  It took some of us a long time to realize it.  I have just begun to understand what happened that morning while April laid there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kevin L. Jacobs&lt;br /&gt;July 10, 1989&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It’s not fair.  The old people are the ones who are supposed to die.”</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:chaplinjfk:11275</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://chaplinjfk.livejournal.com/11275.html"/>
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    <title>On the Spot</title>
    <published>2007-08-21T07:19:21Z</published>
    <updated>2007-08-24T14:01:22Z</updated>
    <content type="html">Starlight falls, it's not too late.  I have time to hesitate- whether or not to fall...down.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:chaplinjfk:10917</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://chaplinjfk.livejournal.com/10917.html"/>
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    <title>The south.</title>
    <published>2007-06-28T04:44:31Z</published>
    <updated>2007-06-28T04:44:31Z</updated>
    <content type="html">He is dressed in black with a matching leather coat.  He hides his eyes with his dark sunglasses.   His long black hair is being blown by the cool breeze.  He glances down at the water just for a quick moment to adjust his thoughts.  The strings begin to play.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cars pass by not noticing the man whose eyes are hidden.  Another man on a bike is wishing he had some water to drink while he rides on his lunch break.  The man in black doesn't notice the traffic, the biker, or the one thing watching him.  The strings continue to play.  &lt;br /&gt;The man dressed in black takes one last glance at the water below the bridge and then turns back towards the deafening traffic.  His hair continues to show it's length.  &lt;br /&gt;He then stands up on the rail of the bridge with his back facing what he knows will be his freedom.  The traffic going by doesn't notice his determined expression - the expression that hides behind sunglasses.  I want to run to his aide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am jailed behind a screen.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without hesitation, as the strings sadly play, the man holds out his arms and allows himself to fall backwards off the bridge.  His arms stay out as he falls while I feel sadness that is too late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he hits the water, a flock of birds head to the south not noticing the man that just died.  They are also unaware of the camera that invaded the privacy of someone choosing death over life.  And I would rather have been heading south myself than to invade something I couldn't prevent.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:chaplinjfk:10709</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://chaplinjfk.livejournal.com/10709.html"/>
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    <title>Lesson</title>
    <published>2007-06-15T06:09:02Z</published>
    <updated>2007-06-15T15:02:30Z</updated>
    <content type="html">I held my friend's new born daughter today for the second time.  We made eye contact.  I watched her eyes focus and stare.  The heat I normally generate while holding babies didn't seem to bother her, and it certainly didn't bother me.  I just held her spine against my hands and watched her beautiful eyelashes try to find their place.  I loved it.  We made eye contact.  When I returned home, I wondered if I made someone feel the same way I did while I was holding her.  Holding someone that does not judge but only reaches out for hands reaching for.  It's not so bad being human after all.  We start out with so much trust-not knowing what the word "pride" means while defining the words "delicate" and "angel" to those that hold us and see.  We start out teaching others.  We start out perfect.  When I held my friends daughter, I found myself surprisingly amazed at how much she was teaching me without words, without a book, and with all the trust one can have for another.  We made eye contact.  I was amazed by this wisdom.  I am envious.  We made eye contact.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:chaplinjfk:10447</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://chaplinjfk.livejournal.com/10447.html"/>
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    <title>Yellow taped sunset</title>
    <published>2007-05-24T03:47:11Z</published>
    <updated>2007-05-25T05:14:13Z</updated>
    <content type="html">It's been a while now since I subscribed to cable television.  I thought I would miss some of the programs I used to enjoy.  In reality, I don't miss television at all.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't miss the boring car commercials.  I don't miss the scare tactics that the local and national NEWS stations used to keep me on the edge of my seat while I had to sit through yet another boring car commercial.  I don't miss the ridiculous amount of "reality tv" that wasn't much reality at all.  I don't miss being reminded that no matter what good there was in my life, I should still be depressed as others have it worse than I do.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am thankful for not needing television to keep me busy.  I am thankful that I didn't become a hungry consumer of crap information.  Most of all, I am thankful that I am not that audience anymore.  I am free from that.  I am liberated.  I am not scared.  And I am just fine driving my cheap car with one yellow taped tail light and a muffler that isn't muffled at all.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:chaplinjfk:1338</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://chaplinjfk.livejournal.com/1338.html"/>
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    <title>Humble?</title>
    <published>2007-01-22T05:36:17Z</published>
    <updated>2007-01-22T05:36:17Z</updated>
    <content type="html">I try to help people when I can.  Giving to others is something I find joy in.  I never expect anything in return.  I am happy and feel great after one "thank you".  The one thing though that I have noticed that is consistent with me is my trouble feeling comfortable when someone does a favor for me or gives something to me.  I get emotional and find it difficult to give acceptable thanks.  My emotion is hidden, and I worry that I am not expressing my gratefulness the way I truly feel it.  Usually I drown the person with countless “thank yous” followed by more “thank yous” because I found the previous “thank yous” not sounding sincere enough.  Why do I always have this trouble?  Maybe it will change as years go by.  Maybe I won't be in a position to accept a favor or a gift that will lead me to this discomfort.  Yet maybe I will determine that only one "thank you" is good enough after all.  I will think about that as I make a phone call.  It's time for me to give a 10th "thank you" to someone.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:chaplinjfk:1274</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://chaplinjfk.livejournal.com/1274.html"/>
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    <title>I hate going to the dentist.</title>
    <published>2007-01-06T02:13:23Z</published>
    <updated>2007-01-06T02:13:23Z</updated>
    <content type="html">That's all I have to say.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:chaplinjfk:571</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://chaplinjfk.livejournal.com/571.html"/>
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    <title>Premature and behind</title>
    <published>2007-01-02T05:22:38Z</published>
    <updated>2007-01-02T05:26:02Z</updated>
    <content type="html">A friend of mind was asking me recently for advice.  Out of pure instinct I said, "Follow your heart."  The words that left my mouth actually made me cringe because I'd heard them before.  My reaction to these words in the past has been "I spill my guts and you suggest I follow my heart?  That's all you have to say?"  So when I heard me say those words to a troubled friend, I cringed and waited for that same reaction although I really meant what I said.&lt;br /&gt;The reaction I received was the opposite.  My friend wanted to hear me suggest that.  My friend said that he was looking for some support from a believer that the heart might not be right, but it wasn't a bad thing to react to with it...to react to feelings.&lt;br /&gt;While discussing this with my friend, we spoke a little more about alternative solutions.  I finally realized and had to collect my thoughts on this.  I said to my friend something along these lines....  We tend to give into fear and not follow our hearts because we fear making a mistake.  Isn't the true mistake the sad case when we don't make any attempt at all?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been said before.  I've seen this lesson many times.  It means more now.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:chaplinjfk:420</id>
    <link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://chaplinjfk.livejournal.com/420.html"/>
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    <title>Images</title>
    <published>2006-11-04T05:53:24Z</published>
    <updated>2006-11-04T07:50:59Z</updated>
    <content type="html">I noticed how much I get irritated by the man behind the counter.  The one that when he hands me back my change, he tosses the coins in his hand...each one separately.  I am not sure why I am irritated by this.  It just gets included in this web of flashing images that once in a while I will explore.  In this web of images, I see a man picking his nose while driving next to me, a man talking on his cell phone that consists of an ear piece while purchasing a custom made cup of coffee and 3 lottery tickets, a child bullying another child, a husband spitting in his wife's face, two co-workers gossiping, and a President that has not even mastered the English language yet.  These are random images that irritate me.  There are plenty more.  I'd consider writing more about them, but it's kind of a downer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With these little images I come to realize that I should flag the moments I like more.  I do have a web of good images inside somewhere.  Ah...yes....  The way my parents look at each other, my grandma's smile, my reunion with my mom when I was gone for so long, the October sky at Twilight, being kissed for the first time, giving that sandwich to that homeless man that didn't even ask for one, the first time I heard my first nephew's cry after he was born, every lightning storm, star gazing along the beach after sunset, and the way that my parents look at each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe there is something to this whole sorting of memories.  Perhaps it's better for my soul to focus on the images that enlighten me.  The moments that I have flagged.  From an author I enjoy, she suggests flagging those moments of pure joy.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's rare as we do live in a world that reminds us of the bad constantly.  I will work on tuning it out.  I am sure that there's joy happening more than I realize.  If I can't get away from the negativity then I will either adjust my focus or change channels.</content>
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