Pigeons, Swans, and Next Lifetimes

Goodbyes suck.  They really do.  I am not very good at them, and it makes me sad to think of all the people (including me) who say that they will keep in touch, but who don't. 

Goodbyes also suck because you have a script of what you want to say, but you say none of it.  You mumble something about missing people, but you never tell them why you will miss them.

As for me, I'm forgettable.   Pigeon common, that's me.  It's funny to consider yourself pigeon-common forgettable.  Yeah, yeah, I need therapy.  How can a therapist fix non-existent belief in one's self?

I do want to believe in reincarnation, though.  Next lifetime I want to be right and get it right.  I want to be dazzling, intoxicatingly beautiful, irresistible, charming, and less intelligent.  With all of these wonderful qualities, it will not be necessary to self-ruminate/self-flagellate so much.  I want to be swan rare next go-around.

On that note, I'll be running around looking for an oddly familiar short blonde with blue eyes that responds to "hamster."  "Are you my friend from a lifetime ago?"  Good God, that would be totally funny. 

I had lunch yesterday at a wonderful Italian restaurant, but I wound up leaving my leftovers in the car on a fifty-degree day.  Can you say salmonella or botchilism?  The bad thing about drinking two martinis is that you lose common sense; the good thing about drinking two martinis is that you feel relaxed.

I have a hard time relaxing.  If I had a penny for every time someone said that to me, I would be a millionaire.  Then I could pay someone to fix me and my life.

A friend of mine said he would try to fix me up, and then when I say I think that's a cool idea (after flip-flopping like Kerry), he gets strangely silent.  Alrighty then, dangle that carrot on a string in front of the loveable jackass.  I just would love to be privy to the hard sell.  Next lifetime perhaps I'll get to exact bittersweet revenge.

Off to get a shower and to write Christmas cards.