trot

we call them killer whales

for personal clarification, yes.

i began my day semi-hopeful. i hoped for a “yes.” upon receipt of an indifferent “meh,” i felt blue. it seemed once again that hope had charmed it’s way into my sensibilities despite my alert, capable and rational mind. but hope feels good like going as high as you can on a swing. buoyant and nauseating simultaneously. reality is good too. more like steak (which i rarely eat). bloody and filling.

the problem is not hope or reality really. the problem is me and hoping that an unavailable disaffected person will start to give a shit because i am nice or funny, or whatever enough.

i forget. it doesn’t happen that way. never will, never does.

so, after a long beer-filled and lazy lunch, i have regained my senses. hope tastes great but is less filling.

xxoo
trot