Choices

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where life is a buffet, and the rich get to eat first! Don't worry. There will be scraps in the dumpster. Maybe.

Last week I wrote about a woman who chose to have eight babies in one delivery. This past weekend I wrote about a quadriplegic man who, after 25 years of disability, chose to visit Dr. Kevorkian.

People and their choices. Wacky, huh?

You could argue that both of these people made bad choices. But who are you to tell them what to choose -- either one of them? The only person you can choose for is yourself.

This free advice comes from someone who had a bipolar mother in the days before lithium. She would be loony as Bugs Bunny on acid, but we couldn't commit her to a mental institution until she tried to inflict harm on herself or others.

As you might imagine, Mom's dilemma led to some mighty dicey situations. If she had owned a firearm, I wouldn't be writing this.

You know what's the worst position in the world -- and the most common? Being in a situation where someone is doing the choosing for you. Oh snap. You're powerless!

I'm not only talking about slavery here. I'm talking about how you feel when you see the pink slip in your cubicle. When you watch a loved one suffer needlessly because they're too far gone to sign a DNR. When the doctor says, "I'm sorry, but it's Stage Four."

We at "The Gods Are Bored" endorse the power to choose, even when the choice is absurd. So long as no one else gets hurt, and the furniture doesn't get stained.

Do not. Do. Not. Do not stain my furniture!