Sometimes late at night, when I get home after work and I'm tired from the walk, and I'm just ready to sleep, and that's all that matters to me at the end of the day is lying down and watching cartoons on the insides of my closed eyelids... sometimes, when I get home, after I've unlocked the door and walked through the kitchen, and taken my shoes off in the hallway so they don't squeak on the floor, and filled my water cup in the bathroom, and stand before the closed door to my bedroom, sometimes I imagine that my life is completely different right at that moment, and that I actually got married like we'd planned, and that when I open the bedroom door my wife will be in there, either sleeping or sitting up reading or doing something on her laptop or watching TV, and an imaginary feeling of happiness will congeal and last for about a second. It never lasts any longer than that. I figure that we get just about exactly a second to experience the happiness of our imaginations. It's not enough by a trillionfold to be real, but somehow it's enough to power a sadness that seems like it could last forever. Isn't that kind of stupid?
Doesn't it seem like I just harp and harp about this? The girlie heart breaky thing? Won't I ever shut up about it? It's just on this blog though. I'm allowed to, as long as it's just on this blog. It's my blog, and I'm just talking to myself, and I have these thoughts anyway, so I'm not hurting anybody by kind of hosing down the inside of my skull and spraying the scummy residue onto this page.