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At any point in the future, should you read about a house mate in Oregon being pushed down the stairs, I didn’t do it. She fell. Honest. Let’s not even joke about that or create it. It’s my intention that no one falls down the stairs. Instead, I intend to go get ice cream. This time, I intend for Laurie to pay for mine.

No, it's your turn to buy the ice cream

If we would look more closely at our thoughts, we might be surprised to discover how much we create in our lives. It’s not merely coincidence. We’re the common denominator in the world revolving around us.

I believe that belief is all there is. Perhaps I’m just not recognizing the pattern of thoughts that precede the forms that take shape in my world for good or bad, but I’m rather certain that I am the cause of these effects. I am not a victim. I am responsible for my thoughts or the reactions to my thoughts, at the very least.

In today’s show, I meant to say gravitate, though cavitate still might be more appropriate to describe my perception of Laurie’s continuing attempt to torpedo my Katamaran like she’s some WWII Nazi U-Boat commander. It’s just that sinking feeling I get when she approaches me with a twinkle in her eye and I know I may soon be flailing about the seven seas of discourse with never-ending salvos of sarcastic repartee flying across the bows on both sides.

Both of us are shell-shocked, at times, and the laughter and fun can, occasionally, become too real, too uncomfortable and too close to home. Playing is serious business and it takes a lot of respect, compassion and caring to not cross a line that pushes the wrong button in the other child in the sandbox.

Sometimes, we both fail at this, but have always been able to come back to the playground with, perhaps, a new awareness of boundaries. And sometimes one of us will pout, take their ball and go home. Do we ever really grow up?

Most of the funnier or deeper conversations never make it into the microphones. I’d rather be authentic and let all those talks get whipped away in the moment by the winds of zen than attempt to artificially create some interaction for the sake of doing a podcast. Likewise, we don’t walk around the house with headsets and mics in place, ready to pounce on an opportunity to record.

Usually, we’ll end up talking for a couple hours and, suddenly, realize that we should have been recording. I do wish that she’d stop smacking me in the forehead whenever she has that aha moment and recognizes what dolts we’ve been. C’est la vie.

Oh, and I have never once attempted to push her into traffic, no matter what she says. Trust me, if I wanted to shove her into the street . . . oops, cancel cancel!

See, I’m a good boy. I deserve some ice cream.

The Kat