July 20, 2008

I have about seven of them – drafts of posts I intend to make, but then I have too many things to do.  Life intrude and I don’t have the time to make certain I’m satisfied.  Damn you, perfectionist tendencies!

But I don’t even want to talk about those things.  Eventually, you can have them – updates on the school thing; on a classy dress fitting I had; on dogsitting for a malamute.  At this moment I have one thing on my mind.

Something happened last week – we’ve been calling it an adventure, but now I think it was more of a mishap.  I am not the catalyst for drama, ever, so it was out of character for me to pursue this adventure.  Truthfully, I didn’t want to pursue it.  What I recall was a pretty adamant objection to it, in fact – though, since honesty is the name of the game, I did enjoy myself during the adventure itself.  Mishap.

But now there have been unexpected consequences. No, damnit, that’s another lie. There have been plain old consequences of a hugely predictable nature.  Of course nothing good could come of the adventure-mishap.  And we knew it.  But we did it anyway.

So.  Why do people do stupid shit?  Why do we chase after the elusive adventure-experience, only to find that it’s – of course – nothing but a mess?  Why do we look at an impending clusterfuck and say “No way that’ll be a clusterfuck!”

Stupid.  You need to learn to listen to yourself, Yvanka.  You already knew the score.


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