I get this way. Restless, nervous, anxious, unsettled. Usually, given the environment was ideal, I would go treading off into the streets. Walk around. Wander off. Get "lost" for a while and clear my head. Eventually figure out what is bothering me. However, my level of agitation is not quite high enough for me to want to go out into the arctic air, right now. So, I sit... I think. I pour it all out through my fingertips.

I get this way. My imagination carries me away. I think the best. One little thing happens, doesn't happen, I think the worst. It's not too late to turn around. It's safer. Back out. Won't make a difference. It's all in your head anyway. There you go, idealizing again. It's too great, too good to be true.

It couldn't possibly be.


This is a dangerous point. It's what awakens the little voice in my head that tells me how to behave. How to walk, talk, react. Tells me how to get the upper hand and manipulate the situation. And it isn't me.
Why, then, do I get this way? Perhaps it's that pesky little.. pending... detail, causing the devil and angel on my shoulders to play a rough game of tug of war with my heart (Not over who - but WHEN). Fulfill a promise or desire?

Well, I say enough. P.S. I Love You, however cheesy and sweet and painful to watch, is doing a surprisingly good job at cheering me up. :)

Denise: [Denise is admiring Ted as he walks by] Ooohhh, he's delicious isn't he? I'd serve coffee on that ass.
John: Do you have to be so vulgar about men? Like they're pieces of meat?
Denise: I'm sorry, John. I forgot you're sensitive about your flat ass.
John: You know, Denise, that's why you're not married. Women act like men. Then they complain men don't want them.
Denise: Oh, is that why? 'Cause I thought it was something different. I thought that it was 'cause I deserved the best and he's out there. He's just with all the wrong women. And let me be clear. After CENTURIES of men looking at my tits in stead of my eyes and pinching my ass instead of shaking my hand, I now have the *DIVINE* right to stare at a man's BACKSIDE with vulgar, cheap appreciation if I want to!
Sharon: Well said!

Hehehe!