She's got eyes of blue...

It's funny how the unconscious mind works, isn't it, Bush? I say this because I woke up this morning with the snatch of an old ditty from the 1920s or 1930s on my mind:

She's got eyes of blue,
I never cared for eyes of blue,
But she's got eyes of blue
And that's my weakness now.

Remember that one? It has a catchy tune, to go with the catchy chorus. Anyway, to my knowledge I haven't heard or thought about the song in years; it's not as though it had been playing last night on the car radio and I'd picked it up that way. It just arrived, unbidden, as I woke up, and wouldn't go away.

She's got eyes of blue...

So I lay there in bed and puzzled about it for a while before the answer came: my unconscious mind wanted to talk to me about my weakness.

Now I'm a pretty disciplined kind of a person, Bush. I was drilled in self-discipline in years of private boarding school in England. But my discipline seems to crumble at the sight of food and wine. I lose it. I lost it last night, again, when our group of artists met at one of our member's homes, and our generous host had laid on a feast for us. Neat, beautifully presented hot hors d'ouevres--miniature quesadillas, tiny pizza slices, shrimp tempura… I couldn't stop. A choice of red or white wine. Drank a couple of glasses of white before switching to red when it came to the entrée: a choice of pasta, salad, a nicely constructed ham and cheese sandwich on a tasty, small round bun, poached salmon with cucumber sauce, a slice of garlic-buttered bread. Nothing bad, then. I couldn't choose, so I ate all of it. And then, for dessert, a generous bowl of chocolate mousse with a dollop of cream on top. Irresistible...

The thing is, Bush, I know that I really can't afford this. Not that I'm obese or anything, but probably fifteen pounds weightier than I should be, for good health--and looking toward (optimistically) the last third of my go-around on this planet. I know what good sense dictates and in most other aspects of my life, as I say, I'm pretty much disciplined. It's just in this one little area that I go crazy. Well, maybe one or two others, too...

You'd think that my daily meditation practice would help. But no… I just pig out. Every time. So this is the weakness that I think my unconscious mind was just trying to remind me of this morning.

You might be wondering why I'm telling you all this. Well, the reason I bring it up is pretty simple, really: I wanted to ask you, Bush, what your weakness is? I know you came out of your annual medical saying you were a few pounds overweight, but to look at you on the TV, I wouldn't say you shared my weakness for food--and certainly not for wine. We know about that. An occasional cigar, I hear: that's something we have in common.

So what is it, I wonder? Not knowing you too well in person, I'm not sure what your vices might be. Given your religious bent, I don't suppose you have too many of the common sins. I could be wrong, but I don't see you doing a Bill Clinton in the Oval Office, for example. One hint, though: if I were you, I'd be looking in the general area of, um... pride? Dogmatism? Inflexibility? Closed-mindedness? Impulsiveness? That kind of thing. I mean, if any of them fit… I hesitate at the word arrogance. But maybe... So. Just wondering, Bush, as usual. Give it a thought, and let me know what you think, okay?

And that's my weakness now...