There was a girl, we’ll call her C.
Wait.
This doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter. It’s entries like this, or similar LJ entries I once wrote that bring back the bittersweet memories of a relationship that was screwed up by both people. There’s no longer any blame or guilt attached, just a reminiscent sense of bewilderment that something so good could go so bad. It was my first exposure to deep emotional pain*, and one I’m never likely to forget, but at the same time it was moderately self-induced. I could have done things vastly differently.
Now, more often than not, it amuses me. Lots of things amuse me.
Turisas covering Rasputin, and actually making it rock amuses me.
Grooming my supervisor into the sort of boss I can more easily manipulate amuses me.
Riding too fast, leaning too far, and being an aggressive little twerp on the bike amuses me, sometimes.
*after a long period of emotional insensibility. Childhood had its ups and downs.
Life should be amusing. You’re only on the planet for a geological blink, may as well make the most of it. Do, rather than contemplate. Work your arse off and save all your money for two decades to buy an Aston Martin and live in it, if that’s what you want. Nobody has the right to judge you (short of criminal acts, naturally) and we’re all different. Some more different than others. Clearly.
That said, I’m off to work to put away more cash for Next Bike. Which is getting jitteringly close. I can almost feel the triple rumbling.
