Open wide and the love will come out

Just so you know, I chose this over masturbation today. Well — essentially — is there really a difference? Different material as the source of stimulation I suppose. A little less dripping, one ultimately hopes.

Choosing this activity over the other was not for my lack of trying, but it is a little stupid actually how a single thought of you can disrupt any existing intentions towards anything else. I have still not picked up a book since I last saw your face — what is Love in the Time of Cholera when compared to love in the time of right fucking now?

Is it just me, or do I ask a lot of questions? But that does not make me crazy. Expecting answers... that would make me crazy... in a way, it already has. For whatever reason, though, I do not really need them as desperately now as I once did. In a lot of ways, I really do not need them whatsoever; knowing the story behind everything is nice and all, but it pitilessly puts an end to countless possibilities. Schrödinger's cat could be dead, alive, or any number of goofy things in between. And yeah, that feline could be adorably batting around a ball of yarn when you open that box, but it could also be crawling with maggots and amid the more colorful stages of decomposition. Knowledge has its price.