I've been on a bit of a hiatus, effectively ending my attempts to write every day. I'm not sorry, though, because one, it's the holidays, and two, I think I'm the only one who is actually reading this stuff. I don't have anything in particular to say, so I will just write and see what the topic ends up being. No apologies on the rambling today, by the way.That every present topic of love is haunting me like Patrick Swayze did with Whoopi, but in a less awkward sense. I can't help but notice that everyone around me seems to be piecing their lives together with someone. Even the lowest of low losers that I thought could never find someone, and I'm not sorry for being mean, have found others that want them. Do I have a sign on my forehead that says "DANGER?" I mean, I'm not one to go mushy at love stories or swoon when some cheesy movie where the couples end up happily ever after. But I am, although I grudgingly admit this, ready for a little love in my life. I've come to that point where I want to get a taste of the happiness that I see; that I read about in my books. That's the big trouble with love, too. While I spend a lot of effort avoiding it, it is almost impossible because it's too popular a subject for books. I have experienced love through books, read about how people get torn like animals from the loss of love or feel reborn with the return of love. How can I not ignore this blatant outpouring from my one of my favorite past-times?
Ok, I'm so over talking about this right now. It's depressing. I should just take the hint that I'm supposed to be a solitary little wanderer....sigh.
(Listening to "Heartless" ~~Kanye West " ...to a woman so heartless" is that me?)
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