I May Lead a Life of Luck

Whenever I fall into a state of seemingly permanent malaise and backwardness I find that only the abnormal experiences of a happenstance life stand any chance of jarring me from my self-victimizing complacence.

But why did it have to happen like this?

Why did fate seem so willing to pull me along on a knotted string while caring so little for my bumbling, foul-footed romantic self?

That question has, I'm sure, been posed many a time throughout the ages by many different people in many different manners as a result of many different experiences.
Even so, I feel like my asking is something individual, something particular, unique, special.

When we arrived at the curbside I felt the rising warmth of recognition for the small group of people encircling the small black table.
And then, on second perusal, I found myself the object of a cosmic joke as the woman I love sat so close to the man I might and the man I did.

God, could I be any less prepared?
Don't ask.
Don't ask me that question.


Only do.
Please do.
I want and sometimes even think I need to talk about it but I still end up feeling ill-spoken, totally scattered, and all around childish when finally discussing the matter at any length.

As if I didn't have a hard enough time trying to make up my mind...about anything.