One day. It's all I ask.

Of course I'm lying.

***

Do we really need the self-pitying violin in the corner? Nagging away, not even waiting for a reason to play. It's because we loathe happiness. Or find the concept boring. Or have been estranged from it for so long that it has become something entirely alien; and when the opportune moment comes we grind and bare our teeth.

"I'm tired." "If you hadn't dragged me out of..." "What's the point?" "I would rather..." Speeding and veering around corners as if the car needs to express the same selfish sentiment. I'll admit it, I forced it. Took a chance to see where it might lead. and I wouldn't take it back. How can someone mature without seeing projection in action? Helping out of some sort of self-protecting mechanism. Automatic. As if I should be an exception, giving ways out when there should be none other than to plough through the conscious choice by following it.

My choice and my terms. Be happy for that. One meal. Be thankful we're together for this time. One day. We'll stop making asses of ourselves, sooner or later, and if not, determination to has to count.

***

Honesty is becoming addictive. Hell, if I had a nickel for every TMI, secret uncorked and genie freed. Person hurt, vindication and shock.

I want, no, need less to think about and only think it's high time I regained my own opinion on things. Monosyllabic avoidance and baseline is not who I am, and they knew it so I should live up to that.

Amazing what a vacation and a good night of disgruntled Flash games can do to the brain.

Keith