I used to be

curious.

 

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*