I'm trying to deal with bugaboos.

I like to confide. That's a word that I embrace. And savor. Because it's so meaningful. To me. In terms of the way I deal with life. And people. I confide. A whole lot. In people that I like. But even in strangers. My desktop dictionary defines 'confide' this way: 'To have confidence. To trust. To show confidence by imparting secrets. To tell confidentially.' But then, I don't have secrets. Or at least not many. Not intentional secrets. Only things that I forget. Unintentionally. Anyway, I like to go naked into the world. To hide nothing. Maybe that's an impossibility. Because there's so much to hide. A huge collection of experiences. Can't possibly keep tract of 'em all. Maybe that's the bugaboo of life. Yes, that's another word that catches my fancy. Bugaboo. So many, many bugaboos. Here's the definition: 'An imaginary object of fear. A source of concern.' Maybe that's why I confide in people. In virtually everyone I meet. Because I'm trying to deal with bugaboos. With misunderstandings. --Jim Broede