There are things I am distinctly good at. Quite a few things actually. And there are some at which I suck the proverbial walnuts. Not as many, but a few. Today I've managed to hit a smattering of both categories, enough to where I am lulled into a false sense of secure fuckedness, and not the good kind of fuckedness where you get all sweaty and slippery and grin for a week. Nope, this is the kind where you cut up slices of an apple and eat them with habanero pepper sauce. It's the kind where you become a ghost, an echo, a shadow of the self, delivering platitudes and sympathy instead of truth and meat.
Gorgonzola is still good cheese.
Doesn't much matter in the overall scheme of things, I suppose. In the morning I still wake up alone and have to pee, the laundry has to get done and the bills have to be paid. Dreaming is for dreamers, doing is for doers. If'n you want me, I'll be over here malingering.