Overthunk

I live near the police station of my town. This evening, a beautiful evening with the sun slanting its golden rays through my open car windows, I was driving around, long hair flying, lipstick on, sunglasses on, listening to Sublime's song, "Get Ready." Interestingly, the way I timed it, it took just the perfect amount of time to leave the gas station, cross the parking lots and be passing right in front of the police station as Bradley is wailing, "Load up the bong! Crank up the song! Let the informer call 911! Load up the bong! Crank up the song! Let the informer call 911!" Why I do these things, I don't know.

(Warning: Cheese may be needed. Whine ahead.) The trouble with anything online is, it's you but it's not you. With predominantly online relationships, this is you but not you added to them but not them. This plus time equals an exponentially inaccurate virtual folly. The most important stuff that happens in my life, I don't write about. What's the line between "free spirited" and "skanky"? How come the amount you want someone is inversely proportional to the amount they want you, and even if that ratio changes, between the same two people , it still applies? Death: horrifying snuffer of sacred life force, or just welcome relief? What if all the things I'm pretty sure God is ok with, He isn't? Is it possible to never hear another depressing news story again? As I age, my emotions rule me less, resulting in more days of relative calm and happiness. As a tradeoff, I don't get as excited about as many things. If you want something, give up on...