Tuesday, Aug. 16, 2005 - 1:41 p.m.
"She was a dangerous dingbat with a very pure dedication to the Love and Adventure Ethic-but I recognized a warrior when I met one, and on the way down the mountain I knew what Clyde must have felt like when he first met Bonnie." --Hunter S. Thompson
I read that quote to a friend of mine last night, and he insisted I must adopt it as a personal motto due to his perception of an eerie similarity between said quote and my Supremely Demented way of life. Okay, so where's my Clyde?
Love and Adventure. Sigh. Love doesn't seem to be working so well for me...a certain ambulance chaser I know has informed me that what I feel/felt for Thomas cannot possibly be real Love due to the brevity of acquaintance. I don't know what the hell to think anymore, though I am growing alarmed at the rate of attrition at which I am losing my best friends. Maybe I should only date enemies, then it wouldn't hurt to lose them.
And what's up with the ridiculous timing of events in my life? Within days of losing Thomas, I meet Machiavelli...right when I'm scheduled to be leaving New Orleans for good. Which idea has suddenly lost it's savour. I give up. I am going to let someone else make all of my decisions for me and tell me what to do...I no longer trust my judgement in any damned arena at all. If anyone feels like playing God with my life, give me a call or send me email with detailed instructions as to where I should go and what the fuck I should do. Thank you.
And in the meantime? In the immortal words of Cinderella, or one of those whiny passive little two-dimensional princesses..."Someday my Prince will come..."
