The first instinct has always been—will always be—to flee from impending disaster. As far as I can tell, I've played this game as tight, as taut as I might ever play it, given the circumstances, given what shape I'm in, and I really couldn't have hoped for more. It wasn't about not being enough (although that may be true) nor was it about not being true to myself. That's all there is, there ain't no mo'. I've been down this road so many times, the thought of even one more trip makes me utterly sick.

Not so still, perhaps. But just as hopeless.

I would say that it’s a sense of foreboding, but I don’t want it to all negative like that.

(disclaimer: all that I understand of m-theory is what I have read from Brian Greene's excellent popular texts The Elegant Universe: Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate Theory and The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time, and the Texture of Reality. I am hampered by my inability to do calculations more complex than integration, and in reality don't really use much more than basic algebra these days.)

Hey! This could be Dick Cheney's new theme song! I think it should play every time he appears on screen. Heh.

I'm probably looking at this the wrong way, but I find that there's something emasculating about being considered "safe" by an attractive woman.

What would you make of this if I text-messaged you this:

At some point I may require some Haldol.

As I lay me down to sleep. A brief summary of the days gone by.

The twilight creeps upon my heart.
     A veil is draped upon my brow.
As all my hopes and dreams depart.
     All happiness is lost from here.
     And what remains? A single tear.