Trying to Catch the Deluge

I like airports. I like waiting in airports, I like meeting people in airports, I like joining three related thoughts to form a profound argument about my personal feelings. But I’ve heard that one should be careful about always using the rule of three. Becomes redundant, or maybe just tiresome. You can do a lot of thinking in an airport. Being forced to wait for something, letting yourself be carried along by the whims of others, resolving inner frustrations, adding fourth thoughts to avoid redundant patterns of writing. Ah what inanities my stabs at literary worth contain. Self-deprecation is the key to validity in life. And I say that to allow myself the thought that I hold the key. For that’s all I have with which to hold it.

You’re allergic to love. Bless you. Thank you. Not wholly true, what I am allergic to though is decisions. My mind goes numb, I’m paralyzed when faced with them. Blame it on being a Libra. Although I like to think the real reason is that I’m such an altruist that I feel concerned for the welfare of others through my decisions. But it’s all rubbish, I mean, I can cut the mustard well enough, but it doesn’t help me. Faced with two decisions, both of which would be thrilling, and I can’t decide because I fear the loss of one opportunity. Is that wrong? ‘Cause I fear that it’s terrible. Life should be about the things you do, rather than the things you don’t. It’s always been my curse though: to dwell, to regret, to doubt… What a fine example of the faults of humanity I am. Yeah. Fine. Note the sarcasm there. I was trying to lay it on pretty thick.

Someday I’ll find happiness in a paper cup, and drink it.