Sometimes the major propellant through life is something akin to the shrug of the shoulders. Lurching forward one shrug at a time. Like a muffled breaststroke through soupy waters. Well, at least, that's how it feels to me sometimes. Information trickles in and I respond as the glacier responds to gravity.

You know, I am really not getting to the point. I am avoiding it and trying to sound word-y. Verbose. Whichever.

You become enamored of someone over the course of a couple years but never say anything about it because it doesn't at all appear to be headed anywhere. She comes and goes and you follow those comings and goings and you let it flow over you like a small creek. One day, she comes around and - as if she has read your mind - she tells you that she knows how you feel. And she says that she feels the same way, but that because of so much baggage and uncertainty, she cannot reciprocate or let anything manifest itself in her life. Which you agree would probably not be too good an idea.

Then it becomes like every other time. If-it-weren't-for-this-or-that-we-would-be-perfect. There are always so many conditions that hinder anything from moving ahead even an inch. I never see the need to challenge any of those conditions because I do not want to lift them up and be exposed to what is actually underneath them. It is better sometimes to just accept the facade. It is better sometimes to just be a mensch and swallow your pride and your self-worth and move ahead without them. Which, essentially, is to move ahead alone.

I spent the last couple hours before I went to bed last night trying to find something in my reading that would give me something to mentally rally-round. I wasn't into it. I couldn't find anything because I couldn't get my head going to begin the search in earnest. This is no case of melancholia. No. This is simple disappointment. At least she left me with glimmers of hope. That is more than I have ever received.