Everything you can imagine is real. -Pablo Picasso

(posted by Venus)

I feel like I’m just passing by in life. Like I’m sitting back waiting for something to happen. I know it will happen, it always does. Are the choices we make actually choices of an infinite nature? Or do our personalities restrict us to only certain paths? Maybe someone who has an unexplained phobia is given that phobia to aide them with a certain situation in the future. I guess that all leads back to fate. Do I believe in fate? I think I do. Granted, not all the small choices in life could be controlled by it. I don’t believe that it’s fate which allows you to have a chicken salad for lunch. That is too immaterial to even think about. Who cares why you eat what you eat. But what about the larger choices? Like where you live, what your home looks like, what country you reside in. One may have enough gusto to just pack a bag and move halfway around the world while another only dreams.

I wonder if a single event can change a life path and set it’s future direction. When we were thinking of buying a bigger apartment, I had this thought. If we get this place, my future is set out ahead of me. Live there, have one child, and one day own the firm I’m working at. Or, there’s another thought. If for some reason, neither of us can have kids, we will get a penthouse downtown and live a luxurious life. That would of course mean that I would work downtown. There I could fully use my abilities and see how far I could actually go in my career. Maybe I’d be a CFO of a huge corporation. Or maybe I’ll find myself alone in life in which case I’ll retreat to Thailand and teach english. How do I get to these conclusions? It’s very straight in my mind. If…then. If….then. I don’t understand how I get to the particular “then” in question, but once I see it, there is absolutely no other possible scenario. I don’t think everyone’s this rigid, are they?

Maybe I should just chill out. I’ve been told many times that my shoulders are too wide for someone my age. I carry the weight of the world on them. Now, if that were true, my darling, I wouldn’t have to do anymore shoulder shrugs at the gym, now, would I?

As I think about the events of this so far unfulfilled day, I look over at the blue bong sitting on the desk. What a mess. I need to get some new screens. Hash is great but the oil plugs up anything it’s smoked through. I empty the ashes directly on the desk. Later would be a better time to be neat and tidy. Not now. Never now. I pile a pinch of really dry shredded pot into the bowl, light it and inhale deeply. The weight of the world is lifting from my shoulders. Ahh. Ironically, now I can breathe. With each exhale I feel lighter. The phone rings for the third time in a row and I decide to answer the hubby’s call.

me: “How’s your day going?”
“Pretty good. Where were you this afternoon?”
“I went grocery shopping. There was a sale on meat, so I bought some. I also got a bunch of meats and cheeses for the psychic party tomorrow. So don’t eat it all.”
“I’ve been looking into the Philippines.”
“For what?”
“Apparently it’s super cheap, even cheaper than Thailand. And it’s a free stopover.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. That’s the idea you hated when I was first looking into flights. You are SO three months behind, sweetheart.”

Of course he has to think of it to make it a good idea. Men. Gotta love ’em (and I do).

Grocery Shopping. That reminds me, I have to put away the food. I walk lazily to the kitchen and start emptying the bags. Sausage, turkey slices, three kinds of cheeses. Mmm. Grapes and tomatoes, coffee and whipping cream. Eggs. And enough meat to last two weeks. What have I eaten today? A little can of tuna, the kind with the pull off lid. Goddamn cat food. Why did I even bother? I need something else. I grab a wing off the rotissery chicken and put it in the fridge. I used to love rotissery, but I think I overdid it when converted from a vegetarian back to a carnivore. It’s just not as good as it used to be. Oh, well. It’s still better than tofu.

Hee hee hee.

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