I'm sure I've said it (I've done everything that I've disliked in my time).
You're the Best.
It was said to me yesterday. I smirked.
I'm getting older.
You want the armchair. You want the skydiving.
My crutch for a kingdom.
Sat at home last night and watched 'voyager' among other things. I only thought once about what a waste I am watching this show. I realize that I always berate myself for not doing things, but I never do them. My shrink says that I should definitely stop berating myself and then maybe I'll do things - maybe I won't.
Last night, in bed, I made myself do things that writers are supposed to do: think about their story. When the thought occurred that I 'should' (shrink hates "should") do this, I automatically glanced at the clock wondering if I would have time for said endeavor - and was shocked.
All the time I spend ruminating on the wrong things I'm doing and the people who don't give a shit about me that I give a shit about and the creeping void that will engulf me since I think it will. I think of the strangeness.
Have I told you already (I can't be bothered to remember what I tell people anymore - which is one of my least favorite traits in others - go figure eight) - no I don't think I have as I usually don't tell stories - just kvetch... I digress.
There was a man in the check-out line as I purchased my goods (in hopes to start "eating healthier and lose this depression/panic/vicarious spring break weight"). He ID-ed me for the wine (for use in my mushroom sauce - a nice chianti if you recall). Then he said "wow, you are two days older than me". We bantered a bit (although I don't have the spark and am a reluctant communer with peeps these days) about my two-day wisdom (brent watkins is two days older than me and we've done the same joke - as an aside - to fluff the story out)...
I wearily remarked out of the only wisdom I seem to embody lately: "hmmm. Well, life sure didn't turn out the way we imagined did it?"