I worry about my random attention to detail when it approaches the extreme. I can’t help but worry that it’s linked somehow to the spirituality that I fear is just mild schitzophranea. My window has been replaced, and it’s muted the sounds outside the car and magnified the sounds in the car to such a way that driving without a stereo is going to drive me mad.
One down, I tell my car, and only three to go. I’ll take care of you.
The only woman I’ve ever been in love with and am still friends with is frustrated and torn with helplessness. And I can’t really do anything to help. I’m not involved, but I swear to Draconis that her pain is tangible.
I can only say thank you for making my backyard infinitely bigger.
They tell us we’re the best. Nobody hits and surpasses expectations like we do. We continually push ourselves and can only be driven from the inside, as any compensation from the outside is horrendously insignificant. A good friend and someone whom I respect spiritually told me yesterday that I shouldn’t accept the dirt that I’m being handed.
My birthday party may get us evicted from the overwhelming response I’ve gotten. Dig it. The Dave/Schwa/Skippy is mighty. Hee hee.