Regret

I regret almost everything in my life. I don't want to do this anymore.

What do I want to do? I don't know, but I'll know when I get there.

I should've moved

I'm having renter's remorse. I feel like I really shou've moved, should've bet on myself. Let myself breathe a little. Slept in a little. But I needed to get away, not move backwards. I don't have anywhere to GO. I need some respite, and I'm out of options. O, modern world. I just want somewhere to lay my weary head without it costing a thousand dollars. Is there a hippie commune nearby? Even a weekend yoga retreat will put me back nearly a thousand. Money, money money money money moneymoney.

What is bringing out the regrets tonight? I feel like after five years, people should be asking me my plans and inviting me places. I realize how that sounds. But it's how I feel. And as my therapist says, there are no wrong feelings. So I fell asleep on the couch here at nine instead. What would I have done out? Drank? Yep. So I'm glad that I didn't do that. Tomorrow there is a SLUT WALK that I really want to attend, but I guess I'll attend that alone. I wanted to go with someone, but noe one wants want s to do it with me. "I'm so alone." -Fake Lindsay Lohan on the cover of Us Weekly.

Remember Gone with the Wind? Scarlett is always trying to get Ashely Wilkes to notice her and (spoiler alert) she finally gets her way only to realize that he isn't what she wants because he kind of sucks. That's how I feel.

Doink!

Race to the bottom

Recently a friend has taken a fancy to a fellow who is in the unfortunate predicament of having the words "White Pride" permanently painted to his chest. I suppose the circumstance isn't so unfortunate to him, however, because he can't be bothered with getting it removed or covered -- even a black bar would do given the situation. It's very perplexing to me how indifferent my friend is to her condition since she is a very reasonable young lady. And a very nice young lady.

I can't support something that I know to be wrong. I'm sure he's perfectly lovely to my friend, and even to those black coworkers who apparently know all about his tattoo, but this is 2011 and decent people just can't support that. I'm sure he's cool if I met him, and no I haven't met him and I don't have anything personal. It is my sincerest belief that he chooses to live out his life with hate speech on a large part of real estate on his body, and for that I really don't want anything to do with him.

And I guess the friend in question has read this and since defriended me on Facebook. I would suppose that it was her passive aggressive way at retaliation for this very post. And I may also suppose, if I took a deep look into my own personal motivations, that these musings are a tinge passive aggressive as well. In addition, I feel like I need to put my thoughts in the universe. To consolidate and refine my thoughts, since at times they can be all over the place.

Tunnel Vision

You walk down the tunnel and what's at the end, you figure it out when you get there but at least you'll know, right? But why would you not want to know?

2moro

"She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing." — Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)

Nostalgia

Remember on 80's sitcoms, there was a popular theme for having one of the main characters fall in love for someone, only to find out that their love interest was actually IN A WHEELCHAIR? During that time, technology enabled people to connect, without having to see the person (phone dating?). So there was always someone, like Zack Morris, who thought he'd be finding a bodacious babe on the other end of the line, only to find her unable to move her legs. This caused an emotional dilemma for our protagonist, but he/she always let the inner beauty of the object of his/her affection shine through. Then they were never seen nor heard from again.

Nowadays we don't have that because of the internet. I guess you could Skype and not know the other person can't stand up, but I think that somehow you'd just know. I think in the 70s it used to be interracial dating, and in the 90s maybe that person was really a dude or a lady. I don't know. But I do know for 10 glorious years we learned through our favorite sitcom character that people in wheelchairs are people too.