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I’ve got stuff to tell you, and yet we actually saw each other this weekend. It was a bit like a dream, one you wish you would never wake up from. Well. I’m wide awake, and that’s life.
This party we’re throwing’s gonna be pretty sweet. Not like I have to tell you that. I’m just typing to type at this point. Far past the boundary where it’s even possible I’d be working on something work related because, I mean, who’s programming at 60 words per minute? Russians, that’s who. Not me though. I’m Col. America, demoted from captain long ago for affairs, both sordid and frequent.
Speaking of, I’ve been thinking, just because you get better at dealing and existing around women, you certainly don’t understand them any better. It’s more like you just get dulled by the insanity, like those dogs that Pavlov or whoever kept electrocuting until they stopped yelping and accepted their lot, however wretched. So, they occasionally do crazy things. And while I used to rub my eyes and do a triple-take, it doesn’t happen as much. My glassy 1000-yard stare is unchanging watch woman’s tempestuous white-capped seas: aloof, disdainful and thirsty.