the grey area

i’ve had several false starts writing this just now, and i’m frustrated to no end that it’s not working. i think perhaps i’m doing it wrong somehow, but i don’t know what about it is wrong or how to dewrongify it. i was trying to tell you how truly nice my evening has been and where i went and what i did and who with, but it’s not going according to plan. maybe it’s that there is no plan.

see, i can only do so much unbridled gushing about just how really great everything is, before it becomes either ludicrous or just lame. and i’d prefer not to inadvertently caricaturize my existence for you or, worse, shift it from reality to the artful posturing thereof. and frankly, though it works fantastically for my own personal benefit, i’m tired of being so fucking cryptic all the time. so, i’m stuck.

it’s fairly easy, when you’re miserable, to poignantly and accurately describe the tiny little things that stab away at the back of your brain while you’re trying to function with the front of it. what’s harder is when it all gets good, and those tiny little things become grains of sand rather than shards of glass.