I was demanding of ideas,
I was quick to comprehend,
I was voracious of discussion.
I loved new information and adjusted what I already knew to accommodate it.
I enjoyed having a flexible mind,
and a store of inter-related knowledge.
I drove my reading family nuts be only wanting to read non-fiction
(a great failing according to my mother).
There were few topics I wouldn't entertain,
but mostly I loved people topics.
What makes us tick?
Why do we do what we do?
How can I influence others behaviours towards whatever
and move them over here?
I loved the alchemy of figuring out people.
But where has that gone?
Is there an age limit on curiosity?
Did it really kill the cat?
Why don't I care anymore?
Have I been ground down by reading too much non-fiction and
my mother's predictions have come to fruition?
What the hell is going on???
Or is it that finally I have realised that there are problems too big,
too complex, too repetative that
it is easier to keep to my knitting?
Maybe it is a quiet life I need now?
But the flicker is there...... *sigh*