Another bleary-eyed post? Sure, why not.
I didn't ask the woman to coffee. I had an opportunity, but hesitated. And we all know what happens to he who hesitates.
He plays online scrabble with friends on late Sunday nights. (t's a blast, but still.)
I suddenly want to write really sappy love poetry. Something about missed chances. But not the one you're thinking about--I'm now inspired by something else, something i've felt for a while now. I'll spare you the bother of reading it; it wouldn't have been very good, I would have overshared or made it too obviously about the person who would have inspired it, and I would have eventually been embarrassed and taken it down. I'm cutting out the middle man, here, people. For you. Everything I do, I do it for you. Just like Bryan Adams.
Point being, I sometimes long for the fork in the road i chose not to take, seven years ago. But who knows how life now would have been different if that particular butterfly had fluttered by in a different way. A different sneeze, a different stampede. A different Dave.
So i don't wish I could change the past. Just the present. Just the present.
("So why don't you?" Dave's insane married friends say, in low-lit spots around the stage.)
Too many impracticalities. Plus, if I just outright told this person, "Look kiddo, my future is still up in the air, I know i'm not much to look at and my very best quality may just be my ability to make you laugh, but no matter what, I'm fairly confident in the fact that I'm in love with you, and want to make you happy for the rest of my natural days," if I said all that, I'd be met with embarrassed laughter, and a swift rebuttal which would dropkick my bruised ego back to the farthest corners of the friend-zone. Might as well just stay right here and mull.
Just cutting out the middle-man here.
This post doesn't seem as upbeat as the last one. Apparently lack of sleep isn't the leading factor in blog-optimism.
Geez, sometimes these blogs are the textual equivalent of drunk-dialing. Better go before I start naming names.
Goodnight, internets. Tomorrow will be better, I promise.