Suppose Houston happy beating Yanks. Bit of a bear, I must say, hanging in there all the way. No production. Would like to see Cubs and Yanks in Series; Cubbies certainly due. That would be good, if they won it all.
Above is Roman bath in Bath, England. I am here and now. There were just a couple of psychologists swapping bureaucratic complaints and comic relief about clients in treatment calling 911 when they don't get what they want, no one answering the nursing calls in facilities. Hey... tub does wonders for me.
Get a real hot head, then plunge cold. Mostly just think (ruminate) too much. Phantom conversations. Transactional proxies. Just don't get wound up over nothing, I tell myself. What, therefore, is something? Being and nothingness indeed. What is authentic in my proximity let alone about myself? Not much. Everyone seems to be acting out roles, hiding behind masks. I live in my head waiting on events.
Ah; le cri de couer... could stand a friend.
But it's not going to happen. Women, contemporary women, are not in the least bit interested in much beyond themselves and whatever social circle they inhabit. (I do not wish to be cynical.) Nor can I seek instant meeting of the minds. All this takes cultivation and they don't care to. Men are dogs school of thought prevalent. Can't recall the last time I had a conversation with one. They all talk so much and so fast.
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