After that last, clarifications may be in order.

The irony is. . .I'm not angry.

The word is resigned.

I like my life. I enjoy my life. I have no faith in others. I still sigh when I see a beautiful sunset. I still smile when my dog greets me at the back door. I still laugh when people tell funny jokes. I still listen quietly when a child asks for my attention.

Yes, one of those sentences seems to not fit with the others.

But it's true. I'm not bitter. I'm not angry. I'm not depressed. I'm just. . .resigned.

I can write something like the last post (I call Bullshit) and it's not a big deal to me. That's just how I see the world. Sure, it sounds like a full blown railing-against-the-fury-of-the-storm rant complete with shaking my fists at the heavens (Curse you heavens! Doubly so since Tim taught me the best way to shake my fist at thee!) but in truth. . . I deploy no energy in my frustration with the race that I feel has failed me in its inability to reach any of its true potential.

One of my best friends feels that drudgery is the only way to perfection.

Is he wrong? No, not really. I mean, damn, he's got a good point. If you aren't willing to put your nose to the grindstone, and do the damn work. . . you're not going to really see enough improvement to stand out from the crowd of wannabes. I have a degree that proves that you've got to knuckle down and get the work done.

But something about the idea of drudgery as something we should attain and maintain freaks me the hell out.

Is that related to what I was talking about above? No, not really. I think my mind is wandering.

By the way, I found a new collection of beers I like. Rogue. Try 'em out. Your local fresh market or equivalent might have 'em.