Been reading all your blogs every month or so. Usually the last page or two. It makes me happy when any of you succeed or find some measure of fulfillment in your lives. When things’re bad I want to pick you up by the armpits and tell you to it’s not as bad as all that. You’re alive and capable. What’re you complaining about? Get to work.
I don’t think I’ll ever break away from allowing others to influence my emotions that way. If I cared to look into my types ‘n such I could probably explain why, but the analyses give me a headache. If someone wrote a story of a character for each type I might gain a better understanding. It’d make for an interesting book, but only if the stories weren’t overt. In stories, unlike in the rest of life, you shouldn’t be overt. Be complex. Explain without explaining. “And the lesson was…” is the worst thing you could do.
I do things to get women to kiss me and bend over and plead. I have a look, even, which is news to me. Sometimes I’m just not sure what to say to someone I’d like to get to know a little better at a slower pace. We’re sitting at Starbucks and the country music’s playing and we talk about work as a makeup counter girl at Sears and as a grown man playing video games for a living and then. And then.
Which is to say I’m 30 next month and the opposite sex still mystifies me on certain levels. Which is to say sometimes I’ve got nothing to say except lines that get women to kiss me and bend over and plead.
“Have you attained a heightened state of awareness? From yoga?”
A polite laugh.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, no.”
“I hear it’s somethin’ else. Like weightlessness. Like your mind is just released from this mortal coil. I’m jealous, you know.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
“That you can do yoga. That you can focus your mind and body like that. You’ll reach goals most people won’t ever get to, I bet. I can’t do it. No way. My mind’s a mess.”