It's Gonna Be A Bright. . .

. . . bright, sunshiney day.

I can see all the obstacles in my way.
And how.

I am endeavoring to live frame-by-frame, and stop making up shit that just isn't happening. The next scene hasn't been written yet.

Anything I have with me at any given moment is all I have, necessarily.
One cup of coffee.
One glass of water.
The music from PTD's The Shadow Box.
A couple of people with whom I am loosely acquainted.
One computer.

Everything around me is serving its desired purpose for the moment - as am I; I honestly couldn't ask for anything else.

Because, you know, when I said "I'll take it," I meant as is.

"You can't hide behind social graces,
So don't try to be all touchy-feely..."

Really. I don't have any illusions about anyone.
Among our redeeming qualities - admit it - we're mostly trifling assholes.
At least you, and I, are in good company.

It was discussed, recently, the manner in which one may learn from discussing things with, and listening to various people. I have thus decided that in my dealings with people who tell me stories, tell me various interpretations, exaggerations, or reiterations of happenings, I have learned, consistently, about behavioral patterns. Patterns in which to behave, and in which to never to behave.
On the other hand - and to keep myself from sounding overly critical and obtuse - I can only assume that there are people learning the same thing from me.

I only hope you realize how much you can learn.

Carry on, my wayward [Ypsilantaholic] sons.


("...Those people who smile too much, watch their eyes,
I only know 'cause I'm like that sometimes...")