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| Here I sit at work. I've been on the phone with a guy at Dell for over 80 minutes. That's 1hr20min in normal talk. So I'm on the phone, listening to Morrissey radio on Pandora.com, typing a xanga post.
All in all, not a bad day so far. | | |
| So I'm finally 21. I have already developed a taste for expensive scotch. Mein Flugzeug, is it ever good.
Brian and I made a flying trip down to Kearney, where we met up with a friend of his, and then went to a bar.
A wise man once told me that a smoke goes great with alcohol, period. But if you have a smoke right when you are just kind-of buzzed, now that--that is freaking fantastic.
A wise, wise man. | | |
| You know, I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I've come to the conclusion that this really isn't a weblog at all. What is it, then? Well, it's a weblog. Because every time I make a statement about anything, I am proven wrong within a matter of minutes. Except for that last statement. It's true.
My future is not in my control at all. Sometimes it is frustrating, and sometimes it is comforting.
Which is worse: Trying to create your own circumstances and failing (ruining things)
Or: Waiting to see how things pan out and never seeing it happen
???
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| It's crazy when you think, "Hey, I will check my blog--I have
not done that for a long time," so you do, and you see the last time
you posted, and you see what that last post was about. And you remember
what it was like when you posted that last post, and how you felt, and
you think about all that has or hasn't happened or changed since that
post, and you realize that months have passed...
It's true that some things have changed since that last post,
and I thank God for those changes; it's also true that some certain
things haven't changed at all since then--and I vehemently thank God
for those certain non-changes. (Still other things haven't changed, and
those make it plain that there is much work for me to do; but I am
still alive, meaning that God is giving me the opportunity to fulfill
those works.)
As I sit on my caboose and test out my new roll-up keyboard, I
think of some of the possibilities that lie in front of me, all thanks
to God's gracious giving. I think to myself, "We'd better get started."
"And, they're off!"
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| "You left me; I didn't leave you. What has been you preoccupation with staying? You can't lie to a person the way you do and expect them to still think of you as a friend. You can't leave and stay at the same time. And I certainly don't want to follow you as you do things to hurt me, even when I have asked you not to do them. Besides, it has always pleased you to keep me last on your list of priorities. So you go to those more important people, and have them satisfy your needs. I don't see why I should be involved as long as they are around."
The last things I will say to her, if she ever contacts me again.
Can I let this go, now? I would like to. I am trying.
Anger has a ruthless grapple check, and life apparently rolls twenties.
How am I going to survive this encounter?
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