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

Gak. It's Friday afternoon and it feels like Tuesday morning. I don't know where this week went but I'm feeling it from all sides and, not only that, but I've heard the same from more than a few people. My housemate said he felt like it was Monday yesterday, a co-worker asked "where'd the week go?" and a good friend of mine telephoned and said he was having a great Wednesday because he "felt like it was Sunday". What.. the.. fah?

Regardless, let me take this low-traffic Friday to go on about some personal gunk that hopefully will get buried under a few more posts by the time the high-hit Mon/Tue time of week rolls around.

I finally got my hospital bill. I knew it wasn't going to be pretty what with a antibiotic cocktail shot in the ass, a tetanus booster, and some x-rays, but I was hoping that I'd come in under ~US$695. Why US$690? Well, if you've read those previous posts about my little hospital adventures then you know that I don't have health coverage. You should also know that had I optioned health coverage through my university for this year it would have cost me US$1080. Now, my previous hospital adventure back in September (this one in Canada) cost me CDN$470 (US$385). As everyone knows, 1080 - 385 = 695. Therefore, I figured, if I can keep my health costs below $695 for the rest of the year then I've beat the system... well, financially anyway. So what's the news?

$100 for the antibiotic shot
$77 for the tetanus
$82 for three xrays
$40 for the xray technician
$184 for the visit
$75 for the next-day followup visit.

Total: US$558. Ding ding ding ding I am a winner. For all the bad-luck griping I've down, I do still live a semi-charmed life.

Then again, September is not here yet so I'm still uninsured. Perhaps I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch.

In addition to the medical bad luck I got a few speeding tickets this last weekend, too. Both reduced, $244 total. If I add that to the medical bills I'm $107 over. Ahhh shit, can't win 'em all. $107 is really a small price to pay for membership dues to the semi-charmed life club.

Regardless of my luck, or lack of bad luck (I refuse to say I have good luck), I am still going outside to pound on the largest tree I can find. It's hard to find real wood in this office.

So what other aspects of my life are so semi-charmed you ask? Well, practically all of it, but I'll detail just one more for you today. I've been nothing but semi-charmed in my love life. It's nothing to write home about, it doesn't involve crazy threesomes or too many serious long term relationships. It doesn't include hundreds of sordid one-night stands. It does, however, epitomize moderation in all of these... I think. Certainly, it's a humble opinion I present, but don't get jealous just yet.. Moderation is never dramatic and rarely, if ever, truly desired. It's just a good saying to justify not livin' (L I V I N). That's fine, I've been trying to keep on livin but maybe I'm just destined for a moderate experience?..

And baby, that is just my problem. Moderation looks great on paper, makes for a good deal, sign at the dotted line honey cause here I come but wait; stop. Who wants to go half way just to turn around? How many people do you know climb almost to the top of a mountain just to go back down again? How far do you think Shackleton would have made it over Elephant Island if he'd settled for half-spirit? Where do you think Lewis and Clark would have settled if they hadn't had the drive..

Ohio?

Bah to Ohio. Moderation indeed and look what they're doing with it. Cleveland, Bowling Green, and the Rock and Roll hall of fame, huh? Yah, right guys. Keep it up.

I don't want to live my life with moderation cause it frankly bores the fuck out of my skull and it's probably, probably, just what gets me in trouble in the first place. I don't like the nice girls I like the adorable punch-drunk-with-cuteness ones. I don't like pretty I like beautiful. I don't like normal, sane, ordinary. I like crazy, wild, energized-by-the-very-air-they-breath girls who flutter around in a social situation like butterflies on a summer's day. I like girls so mysterious that talking to them is like sitting at a campfire, barely being able to make out the facial features of the person across from you, flamelight licking across your view enough to shine a little detail on their cheeks, the outline of their hair, their smile... and maybe just maybe maybe if you're lucky, you can get a tiny glimpse of their soul.

So what's the problem? It's fleeting. Butterflies, in their adult life, live to be a week old, maybe two. These are not creatures to become overly attached to, this is not the solution to a happy life. Winged creatures are not for tying down, binding up, or forcing into cages. These little puppies need to flutter wherever they may - about a room, illuminating all the faces with smiles - even if ever so briefly.

I don't claim to have a sixth-sense but I do have a butterfly radar and it's attached directly to my brain-bone that says "dig her, like her, date her" whenever it goes off. It's a dangerous connection and a signal to be sent back from whence it came. It spells trouble in more than one language and though these little insects may not be praying mantis they will nevertheless chew you up and spit you out. When they are done with you your head may still be attached but it is no more functional for thought than a bowling ball stuck atop a broom stick.

So I know these things; I see the warning signs and step carefully with light feet, tip toeing through my evenings out at bars. I keep a measured distance but like a recovering addict I nevertheless sneak a swig of that magic elixir when I can, if I think no one is looking, if I'm feeling low-down. Sweet is the taste, but the bitter stays on far after you have swallowed, like a candy too intense for it's own good.

I brush every day but the cavities keep coming.

And so I take the little bits of advice I get now and again; like cough syrup, forced into my mouth while I twist my head sideways in disgust. The latest in the trainwreck that is attempts to change who my very being is:

the gist of what I will tell you is that I am sure that things happen for a reason......you will find a girl that makes you forget the auburn chick ever existed....and it happens when you least expect it.....just gotta keep on truckin'.....

And while it is appreciated it nonetheless has a paper-thin effect. It may shade me from the brilliance of the sun if held up to the window but, regardless, I can still see the light.

You can only seek advice so long before you realize that your life can only be lived by you. It's a conundrum that our mother's and father's struggle with, our friends despise, and even the government will try to ignore.. but it is as true as the day is long, as right as the sky is wide, and as blatant as a fat man's fart in a crowded room.

So I can't understand, truly, the oft-repeated mantra that things come together as if they are planned. I can't really believe I will forget the auburn chick no matter who tells me or what I see - not until I truly live it, for myself. In the meantime all I can do is sit and wait, try not to gorge myself on butterflies like a kid in a candy store, try to accept that patience is a virtuous endeavour, and hope that someday I will find the other half of my semi-charmed life.