Monday, July 19, 2021


According to my apartment mate, concerning my love life years ago, I am myopic, Dutch, strange, and desperate. She feels that this explains a lot. Personally, as the subject of this analysis, I feel that this does not give me enough credit for intelligence and good taste. Especially as my eye power, Dutchness, strangeness, and capacity for desperation have without a doubt gotten more so over the years. So you'd think that if, ages ago, they had caused a love life, at this stage in the game I should be swimming in the flesh pots.

I shall, of course, disregard her commentary on these matters.

Myopic, Dutch, strange, and desperate.

Good grief.

All of this was more or less pursuant the upcoming nuptials of her sister in law's niece. Who appears to be marrying a man who is at least a decade older, judging by the photo. As an elderly crotchittant, I can only approve of a picture showing an antique bag of bones and wrinkles finding desperate happiness in his waning years with a sweet young thing.
Precisely like Judith and Holofernes.

I shall go outside to ponder these things while taking a walk with my pipe.
The fog lifted early this morning, there is strong evidence of sunlight out there, it's may be warm today. Upon my return, the apartment mate will have headed to work, and the next smoke will be indoors (with her bedroom door firmly shut, and windows open for ventilation). In the afternoon I'll head down to Chinatown -- there's some grocery shopping I need to do, as well as snacking upon which attention needs to be spent -- and all in all it will be a nice quiet day filled with myopia, Dutchitude, strangeness, and desperation.

Actually, strike that last part. Those last two items. I am neither strange nor desperate, those have never marked my character, and I have no idea where she got that idea. She tends, at times, towards a cynicism. Which contrasts completely with my own sunny disposition and positive attitude toward life.

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