Macrewrite.

Got let out today and had to make more than a few decissions... On the one hand change is unavoidable but I have decided to go back to macrewrite. My one place of sanity.
My progression or lack of it will follow there.... ) Cold killing wishfull thinker.

Esperwankig.

Mi. Mishnerbit kum yor.
Sherbit nit kumiaku. Mi shutsa morisha ka.Min im agashwa, mitz shebits likwda.
le gevits mi ta smetit is nitzits. Mar kwa smidis niitis leg it merovak.
Et bla shimika.
Fwer kuus, The Wishful Thinker.

Newtons Cradle. ( Part Two.)

I've been sitting at home for the last 3 days, hardly eating, drinking, sleeping or in a state of mind to be responssible. And so it goes.
I've been trying to lift the right and the left ball up to exactly the same height so that when all movement had ended the middle ball hadn't moved at all. It's been driving me nuts. Now and then I thought I got pretty close. But a miss is as good as a mile...

Still looking forwards,
Wishfull Thinking.

The Wrong Trousers.(Or at least I thought.)

I pulled on the only clean pair of jeans that I could see with my bleary missted early morning eyes. I thought my weight had remained pretty constant over the last few months. Maybe too much ice-cream? Anyway; I didn't feel good the whole day, I felt sick, but I did my job.
And at least nobody died. That would be too boring.
Wishfull Thinker.

Damaged Goods.

I've only ever owned one car in my life, when I was eighteen. But the driving began to interfere with my drinking and it started to fall apart so I got rid of it. It wasn't the most beautiful of cars, an Opel Kadet, I beleive, but it got me and my friends to party's and concerts for a while.
I only got money for scrap !!!!!

Everything still looked really good from the outside but everything was rotting away from the inside. Out.
And so it goes. Such is life.

I'm not looking forward to my next dentists appointment.
But apart from the dental problems, of which I have no idea, it all looks pretty good from the outside, ( for my age,) but I realise there are things going on within. A twitch here, an ache there........

I can't buy a new one and reperation is still only a temporary reprieve of the inevertable. ( Conclusion.)
And it's much the same with love.
Still in love but not sure of reperation.
There is no cure.
The scrapheap beckons.

Wishfull Thinking.

Down Down... ( Deeper And Down.)

At first you're in the sky, on cloud nine. Then you have this wonderfull falling feeling. And then you're back to earth. And things go along fine for a while apart from the usual dips and bumps.
But then after another while, for no other reason than human curiousity, you start digging. And you dig further and further. Just under the suface you find gem stones, gold and gifts. But you keep on digging and you discover a world of chaos. You dig further to try to get away from what you have seen only to come across a desperate, hopeless little man.
And he scares the pants off of you.

But you (or at least 75% of you,) have the courage and innocence to climb your way back up. Only to find that you are once again alone.

Parachuting is not as exiting as falling in love.

This is a true statement.
Signed; The Wishful Thinker.

Choises, choises ! ( Pick and mix. )

Everyday so many choises to make.
Will I cross the road whilst the red man is showing or will I wait for the green man?
Will I have ham on rye or pastrami with Saurkraut?
Will I offer help to the poor young girl who is lying in the midddle of the road or will I trust the five people who are already standing around her and just ride on?

Will I talk to the pretty girl who sits on her own or will I sit and fantasize about what could have been?
Will I take water or wine with my meal? Or a whisky?
Will I stop drinking altogeather in the expectation of living a longer life or am I happier to die a little younger?
Will I stop smoking and start jogging?

I've figured out that about 37% of my intuition was good.
So I'm still none the wiser. And neither is she.

So I crossed the road when the man turned to green. But of course one angry driver had to screech to a halt and give me the finger.
I had the pasrami. That was a good choise.

I left the girl in the hands of the five who were standing around her.
I tried to jog back from the pub tonight and fell flat on my face.
Choises and good intentions.