Don't Be Late

Here I am on the short side of caring. The general consensus is that I should if I really want to get anywhere. This is the problem. Given the multiple choices I can't decide if there is really any better than here and I've learned that maybe has a built in excuse for not wanting to stick my neck out.

I used to date a girl who just couldn't tell the truth. She was an artist, suicidal and more than a little dramatic. She constantly complained that no one understood her despite the fact that everything she said was pure and unequivocal bullshit. We dated for a little while and I began to understand that she was, perhaps, the most self-destructive person I had ever met. However, she was cute. What could I do? In the end she started sleeping with my best friend and justified it by saying that we had never really dated in the first place. I asked her to give me back the keys to my apartment and waved goodbye from the balcony while dialing up her replacement.

The truth, I told myself, was that hedging your bets nets a small income. I believe this in theory but since when has a theory ever performed well outside the lab? In the end she married some guy and had a couple of kids and from all reports lives across the tracks from crazy. She accomplished what I couldn't and that was to relinquish the death grip on her teenaged fantasies about what is really important in life. As time goes by, it seems, and correct me if I'm wrong, the envelope we've gotten stuffed into seems roomy by college standards and the smell of dirty socks fades as our sense are dulled. Principles? Integrity? Proof? Who needs them when the alternative is angst, frustration and weekly visits to the pharmacological equivalent of an endless May two-four party and you're the host with the most? I still wonder what she might have become if she'd just gone completely crazy. By the way, I'm not talking about you, you.