and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

I've been told by a few that the really good stuff on here is my mopey depressed shit when a woman doesn't swing my way. That may be true - I have a hard time evaluating my own - but if it is I have to apologize for the complete lack of quality on here lately.

I've just been numb.

Somehow graduate school decisions don't ellicit quite the deep emotional channeling that women do - whodda thunk it? So you've had to stare at this dullard stumbling his way through his quarter-life crisis of where-why-what am I doing with my life? Always questions that don't mean squat when it comes down to the women.. why that is, I couldn't say.

I suspect it all has a lot to do with a little thing we call sex - it being our reason here on earth, to procreate like good little children and make more little children.

So what I did there was try to tie the woman in with the weight of the school choice.. Tried to claim I'd make my decision based on her, this one female, based on what? On a few months and a couple overnight visits? Who am I?

But I did. Somehow I make a heck of a lot more promises to myself, in my head, than I do to anyone in the real world.. and those are the promises that get kept the most cause there is no fooling your own. Like promising to run six miles and trying to run four. I just can't do it.

So I made this promise in my mind and in doing so sealed up my fate like a letter dropped in a mailbox - the kind that you're grabbing at two seconds too late, wishing you didn't send it, wishing maybe you'd been a little less harsh or a little more diplomatic - the kind where you sit down, head leaned back against the mailbox, sighing, waiting for the mailman to come and unload the damn thing so maybe you can beg for the letter back even though you know that's a federal offense and he couldn't do that if he wanted to - the kind where even though you'd pay anything in the world to get it back you're damn glad you had the balls for that split second it took to actually drop it down the slot in the first place. I sealed up my fate, I'm happy with that, now it's just a matter of waiting the two long years for that proverbial letter to get proverbially delivered.

And then someday there will be a real letter, delivered, and that will be the period on the end of a very long sentence within one chapter of the book of my life.