Life is Like a Condiment Packet . . .

If you squeeze it, it seems full. If you let it lie there, it's boring. If you slice it or dice it or run over it with your car, y ou just get ketchup all over the road. So, I think the best theory is to keep it firmly held in your hand and don't forget about it or let it lie stagnant or you will be disappointed.

It's been nearly 1 1/2 months since my last entry and if you think I'm going back to update every day between then and now, you're nuts. My life is not nearly exciting enough to fill that many entries so I find it's best to summarize here. I moved, towards the end of March. I still see Eddie from time to time. I've had another date with another guy, we'll call him Eagle, and I'll probably see him again. I might see yet another, but that remains to be seen. I quit my Aftershock meetings, much to his dismay although he doesn't know it's official yet. My friends are busy having babies and getting married and I do nothing but assist in the process. I'd imagine that whenever the day comes that this romantic every gets hitched and starts cranking out kids, there will be some fantastic parties because a) no one thought they would ever happen and b) it will have been so long since someone got married or had a kid that everyone will be thrilled to attend a party. Unfortunately, it will be a cup of Ensure meal replacement at the local legion hall or even nursing home because I'll be 150 when it finally happens and they'll have to feed us intravenously because our esophagus' no longer function and we can't see each other because our cataracts have taken over our vision, but I'm sure it will be a real hootin' good time!

I'm not bitter though, not in the slightest. This single life is actually pretty advantageous. I can go wherever the hell I please whenever the hell I choose to go there. It's fantastic. I can come home late and leave late and the only one that I'm responsible for is my cat. Speaking of, I'd better pay her some attention and unpack some more boxes. Until we meet again . . .