life is a party

Mom always said, you have to make your own good time.

I was thinking about that 80% happy that i'm supposed to have now that i'm left hand heavy and i realized, it's not his responsibility. it's mine. it's only taken me more than 29 years. How slow am i?? funny how people can beat you over the head with something but unless you figure it out on your own, it doesn't mean a thing.

i have another eye-opener to reveal. One person cannot be everything for another. i'm not even sure one can be everything for oneself. But i see nothing wrong with filling what i perceive to be gaps, with others strong suits. Now, the challenge is how to reconcile this with that infernal thing called morals. I best figure out a definition for those but quick.

Wandering Star

Earlier this week i found myself, shall we say, intimately (i really dislike that word; seems like such an impersonal way to say such a very personal thing) interacting with my hubby. While this is lovely, the soundtrack in my head was inappropriate to say the very least.


sigh.

God of Mercy, thy name be Distraction

So i had this distraction. A fun little thing. Something to waste away the minutes between conference calls and meetings. It was relatively harmless -all things considered. A little imagination and a lot of memory can go a long way in improving a given situation.

Then this other distraction, having lain dorment for over two years, rears his attractive head. Since i really do think my brain works best when NOT left to it's own devices, this diversion works out well. Phone call, CDs, email, meeting, CDs, email, phone calls, CA.. Wake up dreaming... Much more gray matter intensive than the previous distraction, this one seemed promising.

that's right, seemed. That's past tense kiddies. Something is over.

Sigh. There is so much to write. The beer is sort of tangling things up, and there's more than a mouse awake in this house.

I'm feeling slighted. Receive absolutely lovely email one morning -we're talking the kind of email one rereads when one is feeling down, the sort one can't bear to delete, and a few short hours later receive another email of striking contrast, essentially saying 'eh, too risky'. I disagree. And so I return to the ennui to which i am so accustomed. (I apologize for overuse of this word but it's so damn accurate.)

I'm not a fan of games. I excell at them however. Go to a tiny New England private school, then attend a well regarded tiny New England private university, and try not to learn how to play social games. Here's where i sound as obnoxious as i hopefully ever get. I got to the point where if i wanted a.. distraction, I got it. That's not to say i tasted the fruit in every garden (;) ) but the gate was opened to me, and opened wide. And so, i felt it only fair to warn this latest preoccupation of mine; i am good at these games. What is this game of which you speak? Why, it's the who's-less-interested game of course. Certainly, the game is substantially tougher when one, at times, wants not much more than to grab ones opponent and shag them, but i feel sure i can withstand the temptation. I do have 8 years of practice under my belt. And 8 years of practicing anything are sure to have a positive effect on any skillset, as a fine young man once told me.

As one of my most favorite fictional characters was wont to say - the game is afoot.

Peppermint Icecream for the Soul

Welcome back.

Here I sit, at 10:45ish, on a Wednesday night, alone. J is mad at me and therefore not talking to me. Again. I'm listening to Guaraldi, Bing and Cole, typing away, and thinking far too much for my own good. It's the usual run of things i suppose.

Let's start with the basics. Here's my christmas list.

I want excitement. I want that 'Oh my dear sweet lord above is he going to kiss me' feeling. I want butterflies and a mouth full of words that won't come out right. I want refinement and the appreciation of real art and good beer.

It's funny that for a while i was ready to give up all that i have for a set of beautiful blue eyes, wonderfully laid artwork and some serious passion. Now i find it tedious. Sigh, the above-mentioned excitement has ruined me for all other imaginary suitors.

I suppose i ask for too much. But this depresses me. Where is that line? That illusive line betwixt the man who does not exist, and the the one who isn't close enough to the man who cannot exist. The waiting for the impossible and the settling for the inevitable?

I only get one go 'round in this bod with this brain, but i ain't getting any younger. And that's not hurry up and do something -that's if you do something wrong, you'll not just be stuck, you'll beold and stuck. In a few short months i'll be significantly older. Words cannot adequately describe how much i dread that day.

Back at square one. How many times have i said i need to do something? What is it that i need to do? Something meaningful? Exciting? Fulfilling? Hedonistic? Anything to relieve this terrible boredom i think will do the trick.

So - shall i apologize? I always say, one should not apologize for anything for which one is not truly sorry. Why must i apologize for working late? I never require such a thing. It's worth apologizing for liking where i work and my cohorts i suppose. I need to apologize for such a thing it seems.

So this entry wasn't exactly the Peppermint stick icecream i'd hoped it'd be, but i feel a teensy bit better. Perhaps it's time to lay down next to the man who yet again won't speak to me, and see if i can sleep this ennui off for another day.