For hours I could stand in the corner of my kitchen, against the granite cool. I am secure and tight in my space with grape in hand and feeling rather different. My thoughts flow rapidly like the Mississippi after cold cold days. I place my hand on the counter top to brace for my next daydream. I play out future moments, sing the words to Train, and stir rice. I'll do it again tomorrow night. The future moments will change and rolls will reverse like the tide of the great Mississippi. And tomorrow it will be rice. Again.

irish car bomb

omg.

I sat there and sat there. Had another drink. Another. I waited for that feeling. That alcohol induced "I still don't give a rat's dirty follicle what you're saying, but I've moved passed caring" feeling. It didn't happen. Not soon enough. Not until I was up, and ready to go home. "Okay, thanks for an evening." "We'll have to talk about doing this again sometime...."


Here are the three doors:

Behind Door #1 -

Great guy. Great job. Great personality. Available.

Behind Door #2 -

Again guy. Great job, but been there done that. Personality. Available.

Behind Door #3 -

Unavailable. Period.



Certainly, this isn't difficult. "I'll take Door # 3"

-The sunglasses get me everytime.