Trunk First
February is a brutal month. It packs all the misery and dread of the other winter months, only in a neat and tidy twenty eight days. Or twenty nine, depending upon the mood of the beasts that control such things. Or really, just the year.
Regardless, packing all of those horrible emotions into the smaller window, like packing an elephant into your duffel bag, requires some creativity on the party of February, and every year, it manages to surprise me with new and wonderful ways of doing so. Ironically, if I were a stronger, more secure, less emotionally stunted and socially retarded person, I would have asked her out earlier, possibly avoiding the horrible fate which befell me, which would have helped me become the more balanced, well adjusted individual who is absolutely no fun to mock and who does not share his misery with all of you well meaning passers-by, mostly because he lacks sufficient misery to do so.
Such moments of consciousness, when I discover such insight, only contribute to adding, piling on perhaps, accumulating you might even say, to my horrible amount of regret and gloom. I coulda been a contenda. Or at least, I can say that in earlier age, an earlier personality inhabited this husk, not yet shattered into glass, blown over the edge. Then this body was taken over by me.
posted by The Idiot @ 11:37 PM
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