Um, yeah. So that was a really long sabbatical. Apologies (even though I highly doubt anyone is still reading this and hence the redundancy of an apology). Life has kept me somewhat preoccupied to really rant about anything.
Actually, preoccupation would be the wrong misnomer to my lack of ranting. I just really don't give a shit about stuff like I used to. I don't mean I've become heartless. Kittens, puppies, Hermes (my golden retriever), sad love stories still get me. But things I should rightly(?) get all self righteous about just don't seem to incite the similar urge to rant. You could say, I became more selfish. Besides friends and family, anything that doesn't affect me or is of use to, or anything which I'm unable to remedy by myself through proactive action or otherwise; I could not care less.
For example, I used to hate the whole hipster counter culture. I hated their whole condescending and Oh-I-Like-Things-That-Are-Not-The-Norm-I.e-I'm-Cooler(than you) attitude. Them and their Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, their free trade coffee, their typewriters and their stocking nets. You get the idea. Nowadays I don't even bat an eyelid. They do not serve any purpose towards me achieving my goals (getting laid, getting paid mostly preoccupy those goals. Nothing long term as yet). Plus, with the 20/20 vision of hindsight, being angry all the time is just tiring. Yes I know. Repeating myself. But I mean it this time. Really. Bar some ultra-mega-super-hyper traumatic incident happens which will revert me back to bitterness and self pity. Like Subway running out of meatballs on Meatball Wednesday.
Not everything has changed of course. I'm still significant other-less, still smoking and drinking like its a dying fad, still very much in love with Americana and still employed (with a 4 month stretch of non-employment based on labor solidarity). Still me, basically, just less ranty. I haven't given much thought about Ms Goodgame and MsTeenCristine, besides the occasional (very occasional) Facebook stalk. I still talk to Michelle as we have since entered a strictly platonic relationship (as we can see from precedent, we just do not work as a couple. Plus you know, lesbian, straight guy. Not going to Gigli it.
One thing I would like to address, since this post has gotten considerable real world traction, is the particular subject of the ode which I drunkenly wrote about in 2010. After three years, I feel the same about her. And I still wish her happiness with her current man, who is of course one of the nicest guys you can ever have the pleasure of meeting. He's my friend and will always be my friend. Also, let's get this straight: I'm not in love with her. I'm in love with the idea of her. She's the epitome of the eventual one. She's just not meant for me. Not in this life or maybe even the others. That's the way the karmic cookie crumbles. Move on and get over it.
Besides everything mentioned above, life is complacently copacetic. And I like it that way. I don't think I would like to divulge the copacetic-ness of my life details (anymore) as I still believe in a modicum of privacy. Besides, aren't my thoughts and opinions already personal enough?
May or may not post again. We'll see when the fancy to put thoughts to words hits again. Till then, keep it copacetic.
This post was written to the songs of Taylor Swift. Say what you will about her. She's just a good singer. She gives me the same feel-good sorta bittersweet reminisce of better times feelings that I felt when I heard Michelle Branch. And no, my ovaries have not dropped last I checked. I just appreciate good music (to me anyway). Whatever its source.