zacharyaaron

I've had half a bottle pinot noir tonight, and I'm feeling funny. Teeheehee...

A random assortment of thoughts:

If you've never read Ursula K. LeGuin's short story "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas" then I highly recommend you do. It's the only story that I've encountered that still makes my heart cry out, even after dozens and dozens of readings. If Ms. LeGuin were a few decades younger, oh the things I would do to express my gratitude for such a story...

I screwed something up at work yesterday. Not really a big deal. But in my occupation, little things turn into big things very quickly. What is it about holding the power of a sun in your hands that makes people so distraught over the smallest mistakes? I've decided to take a Lt. Aldo Raine approach to the impending "talk". That frame of mind being: "I'll be chewed out. I've been chewed out before."

I think it would be very nice to fall in love again. Realizing, however, that the opportunities for such an encounter at my present location are quite limited, I'm trying to resign myself to another two years of physical and emotional solitude. This wouldn't be such a problem, if I didn't have this fucking "unyielding optimism" program running a loop in my fucking brain. A friend tried to introduce me to a girl she met at a wedding. I was inundated with information pertaining to how wonderful this lady was, and how compatible we were. And, Heaven help me, my heart LEAPT at the thought of her, and my my mouth curled into a silly, ignorant smile when I thought about her. Even though I had never met her. And when the news came that she has been in a relationship for quite some time, I couldn't help but feel some animosity toward my friend, for making me so damn hopeful again. Hopelessness it manageable. But how does one manage hope?

It's negative five degrees Fahrenheit outside right now, and I am remembering how much I dislike the chill. My bed is very cold at night.

I sometimes talk to my dead dog. I imagine him right beside me, and speak to him in baby talk, as if he were as real as the bottle I hold in my hand. He may not be right there, I realize, but I am sure that he is somewhere close by, and that he hears me.

I mentioned to some friends that I think some pregnant women give off a radiance, and a beauty that I find undeniably sexy. Both of my friends looked at me like I was an idiot, and that my statement could not be farther from the truth. One went so far as to say that my opinion was completely misguided and wrong. I don't give a shit what these immature little bastards think. I do however feel a slight twinge of remorse for the poor women who end up bearing those little monsters' children. It won't be easy to go through several months of pregnancy with a husband who finds you disgusting.

I've blabbered on enough now. I am quite sure that no one is reading anyway. But I feel better, just having gotten these thoughts out of my head.